Slice-of-Life Wedding Arc?!

Morning light streamed in golden rays through the thin curtains onto the large canopy bed.

Marcus yawned long and heartily, stretched like a cat, and sank even deeper into the silky sheets and the soft mattress.

Outside, a bright, melodious ringing of bells echoed from the city’s towers.

“Just a few minutes longer…” he murmured, rolling over to the other side.

Eventually, he dragged himself out of bed, shuffled across the polished marble floor to a table that was nearly collapsing under fruits, pastries, and honey-glazed treats.

Hands on his hips, he studied the buffet as if he had to weigh his choice very carefully.

“Hmmm… decisions, decisions…” he muttered.

In the end, he grabbed a round fruit he had never seen before, bit into it heartily so that the sweet juice sprayed out, and stepped onto the balcony.

Before him spread the palace district of Haltharan: terraces of white stone, blooming gardens, elegant towers whose banners fluttered in the morning wind.

Marcus leaned on the railing, perfectly content, and with exaggerated flourish pulled out a slender elven pipe.

He lit it, inhaled, and blew the smoke into the clear air.

“I could get used to this…” he murmured.

Then came a knock at the door.

“Come in!” he called grandly, still standing like the master of the house on the balcony.

The door swung open, and in came Gus, his demon arm hidden under bandages, a grumpy look on his face.

“Ahhh, there he is!” Marcus grinned. “My best man! Want a beer?” He was already reaching for a jug that sat on the table.

“Dude, seriously?” Gus groaned. “It’s ten in the morning. And you’ve got an appointment with the tailor soon, remember? And also…” his eyes narrowed, “maybe put on some clothes? We’ve got a lot of crap to take care of!”

Marcus blinked, glanced down at the silk robe sliding halfway off his shoulders, and grinned crookedly. “Oh, that was today? I must’ve lost track of time, what with being treated like a king here…”

Gus folded his arms. “You do realize that’s only because Caeriel and I killed the demon general, right? You should be glad we kept quiet to the king about you hanging out in some dungeon with Bromor the whole time...”

Marcus put a finger to his lips. “Shhh! Don’t start that again! If that comes out, this wedding might blow up. Is that what you want, Gus? You want to take away the woman of my dreams, huh? Do you!?”

Gus sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. But honestly… hard to believe a month ago we were just two carefree bachelors. And now I’m your best man and you’re marrying a damn elven princess. How crazy is that?”

Marcus grinned smugly while pulling on a pair of pants. “Well, my friend, sometimes you just have to accept heaven’s gifts without asking too many questions.”

And so they set off, a little late, on their way to the tailor.

---

It had now been two weeks since the group returned to Haltharan with the battered Golf.

They had only planned to stock up on supplies, renew their gear, and rest briefly before heading toward Iron Maw.

But the news of their victory over the demon general Kazzander had spread faster than they imagined.

Already at the city gate, an elven crowd had gathered, curious eyes fixed on them.

The little elf girl from their shared captivity spotted Gus, rushed up to him, and hugged him with tears in her eyes as he stepped out of the car.

“See! He told the truth!” she cried excitedly. “His human companion, and even a dwarf, they were just waiting for their chance to strike the orcs!”

The old farmer, who had once eyed Gus with suspicion, scratched his head in shame. “By the gods… so it’s true. I never thought that…”

Bromor opened his mouth to clarify, but Marcus immediately threw an arm around his shoulder and butted in:

“Exactly! Rescue at the last second! And that demon general… what was his name again… Alexander?”

“Kazzander…” Gus sighed.

“Right, him! We gave him a good thrashing, didn’t we, Gus?” Marcus winked and patted him on the back.

“...We?”

Caeriel opened her mouth to set the record straight, but before she could, Captain Jathiran pushed through the crowd with a troop of soldiers, his gaze serious and skeptical.

“Ranger Caeriel. If I had known this demon general was so weak that even you could defeat him, we’d have taken care of him weeks ago. And now you shame the king again by letting humans and dwarves steal the glory? Pathetic,” he snapped.

Caeriel pressed her lips together, a flicker of anger in her eyes.

“You didn’t defeat him, Captain. These humans did.”

Jathiran nearly choked on his own rage, but the crowd cheered.

Soon after, the group stood in the grand hall of the palace.

The heavy doors swung open, sunlight streamed through tall windows, scattering across stained-glass mosaics.

At the far end, on the raised throne, sat the king, and beside him, as before, the princess.

Her hair fell like a golden waterfall over her shoulders, her skin pale as marble, and beneath long lashes her violet eyes shimmered like amethysts.

Caeriel stepped forward, knelt, her voice clear and firm.

“Your Majesty. The humans have succeeded. The general of the Demon King, Kazzander, has fallen.”

The king furrowed his brow, as if he couldn’t believe his own ears.

“Then… the rumors are true?” he asked in disbelief.

Caeriel lifted her chin. “They are.”

The king was silent for a long time, studying each of the four in turn, then finally closed his eyes heavily, took a deep breath, and raised his hand.

“…Then we owe you gratitude greater than words can express! Haltharan will grant you its full support in your fight against the Demon King. Whatever you need shall be yours. Until you depart again, enjoy our highest hospitality.”

His commanding tone followed as he ordered the court to honor the heroes, and the audience was ended.

The blaring trumpets were immediately cut short when Marcus stepped forward and raised his hand.

“Waaaait a minute!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

All eyes turned to him. The king blinked, frowning. “Forgetting?”

“Yes, forgetting! You said we could ask for a reward. Anything we want! Or did I get that wrong?”

A murmur rippled through the hall.

The king, already risen, squared his shoulders, looking irritated, but finally nodded slowly.

“That… I did indeed say. Very well. Speak, then. What is your wish?”

Gus’ and Caeriel’s eyes went wide, already sensing something stupid was coming.

Marcus took a step forward, puffed out his chest like he was about to accept a hero’s medal.

“I want the princess’s hand.”

A gasp swept through the crowd.

Outraged whispers, horrified gasps, as if Marcus had just announced he would burn down the palace.

The king froze in place, and beside him the princess stiffened, though her face remained unreadable, only her eyes flashed.

From the ranks of courtiers, Captain Jathiran stormed forward, breastplate gleaming, hatred in his eyes.

“How dare you!?”

He raged on, his sword half-drawn:

“Majesty! First this human soils your daughter with his lustful gaze, and now he dares to claim her like spoils of war!? I will...”

But the king only stared at Marcus, speechless, as if he had misheard.

Then he raised his hand to calm the uproar. “This is… an inappropriate joke. A union with the royal house is not up for discussion. Name something else.”

Before Marcus could reply, a clear voice rang out.

“Father.”

All eyes turned to the princess. 

She had lifted her veil slightly, her gaze steady, calm, but filled with a strange fire.

“You gave your word. Will you now break it? Will you bring shame upon our house?”

The hall gasped in shock, the king looked as though the ground had fallen away beneath him.

“Daughter!? Have you lost your mind?”

She placed a hand on her chest and declared, to everyone’s astonishment: “It is alright. I consent to the marriage!”

At that, her father could no longer object. With a pale face, he sank back onto his throne.

Behind Marcus, Gus nearly choked on his own spit. “Dude… you can’t be serious…” he whispered, horrified.

Bromor scratched his beard and nodded approvingly. “Ha! The lad got guts, I’ll give him that!”

Caeriel only shook her head in disbelief.

The king closed his eyes heavily, then stood and raised his arms. “The audience is over. There must now be… preparations. Please, just go…”

The doors of the hall swung open, trumpets blared, and whispers and shocked chatter swelled, louder and louder.

Gus grabbed Marcus by the collar, yanked him down, and hissed:

“I’m happy for you and your elven dream girl, really. But what about our Leyrunit plan? About Iron Maw, huh? Or did you forget we’ve got a fucking Demon King on our ass!?”

Marcus only grinned broadly, waving it off.

“Relax, man! After all that action, a little slice-of-life wedding arc can’t hurt!”

And while Marcus kept grinning, Caeriel thought to herself that this wedding was bound to end in catastrophe.