Chapter 24
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Obtaining the Farm (3)
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It had been a long time since the last drinking session.
Back when he was only responsible for feeding the Fishing Cooperative in the village, drinking parties popped up every other day. But ever since he unexpectedly became the Village Chief, one thing after another kept cropping up, leaving no time for a proper bender.
"Ugh... my head."
It started with beer, moved to wine, and ended with soaked liquor. His head felt like it was splitting open that morning.
He couldn't even remember how he'd made it back to his room.
"That's why mixing drinks always leaves you wrecked."
"You have quite a ways to go by carriage. You gonna be okay?"
"Yeah, no choice. Ugh!"
Ian was in his inn room, where he was supposed to be alone.
'Why is this guy just hanging around without a sound?'
It seemed personal space meant nothing in this world.
"How long have you been there?"
"Just got here. Word came that the supply wagon we arranged yesterday is waiting. Hurry up and come down."
"Ah, sorry. I'll grab my stuff, swing by the kitchen real quick, and head right out."
As the saying went, rip the iron horns off while they're short.
He'd paid for the auction right away and taken ownership, so he was eager to head to the newly acquired farm—even if just for a day—and check its condition firsthand.
He still couldn't ride a horse, though, and since they were going anyway, he'd reserved a supply wagon the night before to haul some things along.
He'd asked Anton to grab whatever seedlings and seeds were available on short notice, and the inn staff must have picked them up at dawn and loaded them properly.
"Should've paced yourself."
Dominic regretted it as his head throbbed, stomach churned, and throat burned like fire, but the milk was already spilled.
**
Clop clop, clop clop.
Thud, thud.
From afar, it was a serene sight.
A supply wagon rumbling down a quiet dirt road through lush green fields under skies dotted with fluffy clouds!
A scene that could soothe any onlooker's heart.
"Urk!"
But as someone said, life is a comedy from afar, a tragedy up close.
"Urk! Cough, cough! Blech, heave!"
"Can you quit it already?"
Ian, riding ahead on horseback, furrowed his brow.
"I want to! Urp! But does this look voluntary? Urk!"
Looked like he'd caught a real hangover bug.
Vomit trailed steadily behind the wagon.
"Talk about a public nuisance. Tsk tsk."
"It's not like anyone's using this road anyway. Urp!"
Nothing left to come up, but his hangover kept forcing up the bile.
"Here, Village Chief, have some water."
The boy driving the wagon from the front seat handed Dominic a water bottle with a worried look.
"Thanks. Urk!"
"The road to the farm is all dirt... Sorry about that."
"What're you sorry for? It's the road's fault."
"Still..."
"Thanks to you, we're not lost. I should be grateful."
"N-no! You saved me from prison and gave me this job!"
The boy driving the wagon was the very one who'd handed over the Rondo Merchant Group's promissory note to Dominic.
"Raki, you said it's been ages since you last went to the farm?"
"Yeah. Haven't been back once since joining the Rondo Merchant Group. No time off..."
"You're staying a few days, right? Catch up with your family while you're at it."
"Heh heh, yeah. Thank you, Village Chief."
The boy, whom he'd dragged to court as a witness, had lit up upon seeing the name of the farm Dominic had won at auction.
It was where his family lived.
'No need to ask the details.'
Dominic deliberately didn't pry into why his family worked at that farm.
It was obvious.
The auctioneer had even mentioned it when introducing the farm.
The workers were victims of illegal usury, and they'd be free the moment ownership changed.
"I'll prep a meal when we arrive."
"Nah, no need."
"But..."
"Got something I wanna eat. Urk!"
"Here, water! Water!"
It was a peaceful afternoon.
How much time passed?
"We're here, Village Chief! This is it!"
At Raki's excited shout, Dominic hauled himself up from the wagon's corner.
Sticking his head out, a pastoral vista refreshed his eyes.
"Nice."
"Right?"
The boy's face, which had seemed forced into adulthood, finally broke into a smile fitting his age.
'Kids should get to be kids.'
That's when it happened.
"Raki!"
"Mom! Dad!"
A middle-aged couple came running from afar, shouting their son's name at the top of their lungs.
"Knight, let's give them space. Gotta check out the farm anyway."
"...Yeah."
Dominic, looking pale, slung a small backpack over his shoulder and walked off in the opposite direction from the approaching family.
Ian followed.
"They said it was small, but this is tiny..."
"Still, it's called a farm."
"True enough."
The farm wasn't just a few paddy fields—it was substantial.
'No wonder talk came up of it feeding the whole village as a communal farm.'
At a glance, it was easily the size of Evergreen village itself.
And the soil was pitch black.
Bending down to touch it, even Dominic's untrained eye could tell it was rich and fertile.
"Expensive for its size, but now I see why."
He'd sunk his pocket change and every coin borrowed from Anton and the bank into it.
He'd worried it might be subpar, but this was a relief.
"Shall we tackle the urgent stuff first?"
"Urgent stuff?"
"Hangover cure."
Gonna die here, he muttered to himself as he deftly gathered dry grass and twigs, striking flint to spark a fire.
"Not gonna inspect the farm?"
"It gonna run away if I don't look now? You eating?"
"...Sure."
Ian's ears turned a bit red, embarrassed by his own words.
"Ooh! Still fresh!"
Dominic pulled two glass jars from the depths of his backpack.
"What's that?"
Ian asked.
One jar held what looked like cow offal, but the dark lump in the other was harder to identify.
"Never seen blood sausage before?"
"...Blood sausage?"
"Cow's blood."
"Urk!"
This time, it was Ian retching.
"You're not seriously gonna eat that, are you?"
"Ah, Knight, you want some without the blood sausage?"
Fair enough—some folks just couldn't stomach it.
With that, Dominic casually dumped the blood sausage lump from the jar into boiling water.
"Gonna quick-pickle some greens while that's going..."
In any world, come harvest, folks gathered leaf trimmings to dry for lean times.
Cow offal, scraps, blood sausage—all the same.
To those without, they were prime ingredients.
'Not like I can't eat 'em. It's different from raw veggies.'
Of course, Dominic ate for the taste.
He'd asked the inn staff to pre-boil and squeeze the greens dry. Into a wooden bowl they went, mixed vigorously with soy sauce, gochujang, chili powder, pepper, miso, minced garlic, ginger, and more from the village haul. His mouth already watered.
"Blood sausage's done! Ahh, pure bliss."
Dominic admired the clean cross-section of the perfectly boiled sausage, impressed by his own cooking.
Watching him, Ian's ears reddened again.
He was ashamed of himself.
'I thought I'd witness the common folk's life up close... Still a long way to go.'
But oblivious to Ian's reflection, Dominic focused solely on brewing his hangover soup.
Boiled offal and scraps, plus the seasoned greens, went into the bubbling pot. He cranked up the heat once more.
"...Add the blood sausage."
"Thought you weren't eating it."
"Wanna try."
"...? Good call. Yangpyeong hangover stew ain't the same without it."
At Ian's words, Dominic plunged the massive blood sausage lump into the iron cauldron.
The water boiled, and a familiar aroma began to waft.
"Just the smell's curing me."
Beside it, the pot rice was nearly done.
'Hangover fix means Yangpyeong stew!'
Bean sprout soup was great, but alas, bean sprouts weren't easy to find here.
'Soon as we're back in the village, gotta grow some.'
He'd ordered seeds, so it wouldn't be long.
The day for Jeonju-style bean sprout rice soup with squid chunks wasn't far off.
"Dig in—it's hot, so careful. Ah, the color tells ya: it's spicy."
He'd even thrown in cheongyang peppers, which he rarely used. A proper hangover stew.
Not bad-looking for a rush job.
A steaming bowl packed with ingredients, chili oil flecking the top, assaulted the nose with spicy allure. It screamed generous hospitality.
'Did I overdo it?'
Hands used to feeding the bottomless pits of the Fishing Cooperative uncles had gotten generous without him noticing.
This pot alone was massive.
"Eh, leftovers for tomorrow."
Slurp.
Scooping a ladle nonchalantly,
"Buuuurp!"
His booze-battered gut unwound in seconds, a belch escaping naturally.
"Nothing beats broth for a hangover!"
Pizza guy, burger guy, cold buckwheat noodles champ, just-water purist, or "chase it with more booze" advocate.
Back in his old life, his buddies' hangover remedies varied wildly—hard to agree post-drink. But now?
'The guy holding the ladle decides. Jealous? Make your own.'
Dominic was team piping-hot, spicy broth all the way.
Gulp.
"...?"
As he inhaled the stew mixed with pot rice like a man possessed, he heard swallowing from nearby.