Chapter 34
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 34
Chapter Title: Ambush (1)
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"Tonight's dinner was the best yet."
"At this rate, I wish we could eat out every day."
"Right? You pick exactly what you want, eat exactly how you want. It's pure bliss. Man..."
Even from a casual listen, the soldiers' satisfaction was off the charts.
For battle-hardened troops used to meager rations, choosing from twenty different dishes was a dream come true.
"As expected of Count Sinclair. How did he even think of this?"
"Hoho. Doesn't our head cook have some brilliant ideas? I slapped my knee when I first heard about it."
The count's shoulders puffed up with pride.
Viscount Delt's expression, by contrast, grew increasingly rigid.
"I can really feel how much Your Excellency cares for his soldiers. But preparing food like this must cost a fortune in military funds. Not every territory could pull it off. Such a shame."
Viscount Delt zeroed in on the expense.
His point: anyone with enough coin could pamper their troops like this. The lesser nobles nodded in agreement.
'Looks great, but Viscount Delt has a point. Over twenty dishes? Our territory couldn't swing that.'
'Tch. Pretty on the outside, rotten within. Sweeps like this don't wrap up in a day or two... And just how much did they blow to boost soldier morale?'
They'd hoped for something groundbreaking, but it boiled down to throwing money around. Disappointment flickered across the lords' faces.
"Seems there's a misunderstanding here."
"A misunderstanding?"
"Our soldiers' food budget is probably on par with your viscountcy's, I'd wager. But our head cook can explain it better than I can. He's the one in charge, after all. Haha."
The count flashed a hearty laugh and called for Dominic.
"You summoned me?"
Sweat beaded down Dominic's back.
Not from nerves around the highborn.
'Nail this, and it's a tax cut!'
In the end, it all came down to cash out of his own pocket!
Count Sinclair was generous when stroked right, bound to slash taxes by at least thirty percent for three years if his ego stayed flattered.
To Dominic, a firm believer that less tax paid was always better, this was the make-or-break of the campaign.
"The budget set by the stewards wasn't much different from peacetime. No extra funds?"
"Of course not. We're pinching every penny within the allotted amount."
"Then is tonight a special treat?"
A lesser lord couldn't hold back his curiosity.
"It's true there are more varieties than breakfast or lunch, but nothing extravagant."
"That doesn't add up. With this many options? You're not pulling our legs, are you?"
"How dare I lie before all you lords? It's all thanks to agonizing over ways not to disappoint a lord who personally oversees his soldiers' meals."
Dominic wove flattery seamlessly into his words.
"If agonizing cut costs, what steward would pull all-nighters wrestling ledgers?"
Most still weren't buying it.
Some even scowled, suspecting wordplay.
"My lord, may I explain to the assembled lords?"
"Go ahead."
"First off, more dish varieties obviously cost more."
"Exactly, no denying that."
Were they finally getting straight talk?
Viscount Delt nodded vigorously.
"But we couldn't skimp on options for our hardworking soldiers. So we cut costs elsewhere."
"Elsewhere? Where, besides ingredients?"
"Labor."
An unexpected answer.
"We do pull some soldiers for help, but do you know how many workers it takes for mass cooking, serving, prep, and cleanup?"
Just the dishwashing from two hundred men was impossible for one or two people.
This was a mobile monster sweep—no setting up camp hours ahead for prep.
To cook, serve, and clean in a tight window meant double the usual camp staff.
"Right. That's why most territories can't serve hot meals."
Places that ignored soldier chow or lacked means often just handed out raw rations: "Cook it yourselves."
At least this was monster-hunting; in territory wars or national conflicts, forget it.
"Precisely. Fewer workers means not just saved wages, but supplies for them too."
"Hm!"
"But fewer hands would mess up serving... Ah!"
One lord clapped as realization dawned.
"That's why the self-serve setup!"
"Exactly. Self-service frees up manpower and time, buying us cooking windows."
"Haha, so it wasn't just for show."
"Still, trimming a few workers doesn't explain this variety."
"True. Compromises were needed."
"Compromises?"
Dominic's face took on the look of a tormented master chef—grave, tinged with sorrow.
"As a cook, using top ingredients is natural. But when forced to choose between premium goods and hearty portions..."
Gulp.
Dominic's solemn tone hushed the crowd.
"I'd choose filling bellies."
His conviction rang with chef's pride.
The realm's lords marveled at this mere commoner's sincerity.
All an act, of course.
"That's your philosophy?"
Even Viscount Delt, itching for a gotcha, softened his tone. Dominic had acting chops.
"Gourmet delights are my ideal. But don't they have a time and place?"
"Time and place?"
"These soldiers march seven or eight hours on dirt roads daily. Protecting powerless villagers is noble, undeniable. But trudging under full gear in scorching sun drains body and soul."
The soldiers, wolfing down food, now set down spoons to listen.
"Weary bodies crave salt-replenishing, quick-energy foods over delicate gourmet balance."
"So the bold flavors?"
"Sharp eye, milord. No premium ingredients, but nothing subpar either. Strong seasonings bridged the quality gap—cut costs, hooked tastes."
Just as Dominic said.
The buffet favored heavy flavors.
Savory stir-fried meats, vinegar-zinged salads bursting with sour, egg custards loaded with dried shrimp, chicken perked with mashed overripe tomatoes.
Pastas boiled by type, with three salty sauces for choice; roasted potatoes paired with hollandaise for filling heft.
Evergreen's famed seaweed soup was now Dominic's signature, a staple everywhere; hearty barley bread, rough but nutty, a must-have.
Above all, pork stir-fry was non-negotiable.
Peppers jacked up costs, so milder spice was bittersweet—but the tweak made it a soldier favorite.
'Can't ditch pork stir-fry. What kinda burger joint skips patties?'
Meat side was sacred.
'Laborers need meat. Meat, meat, meat! Meat's always right! More's better! Never failed with heaps of it!'
Thus, pork stir-fry alternated spicy and soy-glazed, a fixed menu star.
Rice was a budget bust, but soldiers mixing it with noodles? Satisfaction city.
No need to spill it used pork scraps.
'Scraps? Whatever. Seasoning hides it. Cheap's king.'
His cost-slashing days as a small-firm nutritionist shone through.
"...I've learned much, Count."
Viscount Delt conceded defeat.
The count struggled to suppress his grin.
Slurp.
That night, Dominic received a letter from the count.
Evergreen's tax rate slashed a whopping eighty percent—for three years.
Encouraging a fledgling village's self-reliance. Perfect excuse.
"Great cover. Ahh... sweet booze."
Dominic's tent sat remote from camp.
Anton Merchant Group hands sneaked him beer on the sly—perfect for secret sips.
"Flattened my rival's nose. No more snooping."
Nursing his drink, he reread the sealed missive. Smiles bloomed.
Mission accomplished quicker than expected.
"Now it's real vacation. Not like I'm monster-slaying. Nightly brews? Sounds good. Booze hits right!"
He whistled cheerily.
Drunk under bright moonlight felt like paradise.
"Kinda miss it, though. Real burger joint needs yogurt drinks. Mint candy, instant coffee too! Try making those when free?"
Still no jajangmyeon, but wishlist piled up.
"Ah. Chicken sounds good."
Rustle.
Then—a sound that shouldn't be, right beside Dominic.