Chapter 183
Chapter 183
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 183
Chapter Title: A Pleasant Banquet, and (1)
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After finishing up my business, I chatted briefly with the guards. I asked about the atmosphere in Corin, what kind of work there was for mercenaries, if there were any big jobs, and so on.
It seemed the carriage thieves had been a real headache for more than just a day or two. He handed over all sorts of information with the relief of someone who's finally pulled a nagging tooth.
Corin was running smoothly right now, which made it a great place for mercenaries like me to make a living. Plus, the lord would soon be recruiting mercenaries for a subjugation campaign—something to aim for.
After exchanging various bits of talk, I finally asked the most important question.
“Is there an inn you’d recommend? Somewhere good for a drink. Price doesn’t matter.”
Unlike mercenaries who obsess over the cheapest digs, my “price doesn’t matter” caught him off guard. The guard burst into hearty laughter.
“Price doesn’t matter? Then there’s no place like ‘Obern’s Grapevine.’ Rooms are a bit cramped, but the food’s out of this world.”
“Thanks. Looking forward to it.”
“Tell ’em Zackery sent you.”
“Got it. Take care.”
I gave a small smile and a wave, then stepped out onto the street. Better to snag a room before evening hit. Once the sun dipped, mercenaries would swarm the place.
We passed through the shopping district toward the street lined with inns. Along the way, I bought a basket each of high-quality apples and carrots. For Storm, who’d worked hard.
The ‘Obern’s Grapevine’ the guard mentioned was tucked away in a quiet corner, even among the inns. This modest two-story building didn’t quite fit a big city, flanked by a pair of massive grapevines. That explained the name.
We pulled the carriage up in front.
“El. While I book the room, feed Storm some carrots and apples. As much as he wants. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious.”
“Yes, Master.”
El looked up at me with unusually wide eyes and nodded vigorously. Leaving him and Aila behind, Lloyd and I headed inside.
As it looked from outside, the inn was small. Stairs to the upper floor split the place into two areas: one seemed to be the dining room, the other a spot for light drinks and chat. The dining side had just three tables, two already occupied by people eating.
“Welcome!”
A small, plump woman as compact as her inn greeted us. Sleeves rolled to her elbows, curly hair piled high, she called out cheerfully.
“New faces. What can I get you? Meal? Drink? Room?”
“All of the above.”
“You’re in luck. One room left.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah. Plenty of space for two.”
“Make it three. One more outside.”
“Oh! Three... In that case, I can move an extra bed from another room.”
I exchanged a glance with Lloyd. Fortunately, he nodded without complaint.
“Sounds good.”
We paid a week’s room fee upfront and moved our luggage to the assigned spot. Despite my worries, the room was spacious enough—even with the extra bed, it felt comfortable. No spot for Aila, though, so she’d bunk with Storm in the stables.
After sorting our gear, we headed downstairs. Just then, a group of four or five mercenaries trudged in. Exhausted looks—they weren’t here for drinks. Food, for sure. I quickly claimed the last dining table before they all piled in. Sure enough, the owner apologized about no seats and turned them away. I stifled a laugh watching them shuffle out. Ha, have a nimble day.
“Now, you lucky folks! Start with some goat’s milk.”
The innkeeper chuckled heartily and handed us three wooden cups, carved smooth and shiny. Warm goat’s milk filled them, wafting a sweet aroma unlike regular milk. One sip: hot, sweet, creamy bliss. She’d boiled it with sugarcane. Perfect aperitif to settle the stomach. Made me even hungrier.
“How about the meal?”
“What’s your top recommendation?”
“Fresh coral shrimp just in. Sauté with asparagus—it’s divine. Lumer black pork’s great too. So tender, just poach in wine and it slides right down. Figs on the side? Perfection.”
“And drinks?”
“Plenty of wines. Otherwise, cream ale from green barley.”
“Nice. Coral shrimp first, then. Half sautéed with asparagus, half fried with shallots. Black pork however you like, but with beets and mushrooms. Figs with cheese and honey.”
“Got hibiscus honey fresh.”
“Perfect. Oh, cream beans too?”
“Of course. Local specialty.”
“Boiled, please.”
“Salt on the side.”
“Thanks. And two ales.”
She grinned at me like ‘Finally, a good customer,’ then bustled off to the kitchen.
First up: figs with cheese and honey salad, plus the cream beans.
Corin’s cream beans were oddballs—thin pale-green pods hiding white innards. Raw, they’re just beans. Boiled? Chewy yet creamy. Hence the name. Unlike regular beans, they had a subtle sweetness that bloomed with a touch of salt, rich and full.
“Ccream beans...”
El murmured, lost in memory, holding one.
“When I was little, I hated these. Weird texture. They said sweet, but I couldn’t taste it...”
“Hard to picture picky El.”
“I’d hide them under my plate. Dad caught me every time.”
El gazed at the bean with a bittersweet smile, then popped it in.
“...Now they taste sweet.”
Some foods are like that. I used to pick beans out of bean rice as a kid—till Mom smacked my back. I ruffled El’s hair, then ate one myself.
The fig salad was stellar too. Melting fruit, floral hibiscus honey, pungent goat cheese—pure harmony. Bad figs reek grassy; these were fresh, juicy, sweet.
Stomach settled, out came the shrimp sauté and fry, plus the ale! Green barley cream ale lived up to the hype: dense, creamy foam, fresh scent teasing the palate. I dipped a plump fried shrimp in sauce and bit. Crunch! Sizzle! Crispy batter, snappy meat. Before the heat faded, I chugged ale.
“Kaaah...!”
That’s it. Cold brew swept the oily throat clean—mind sharpened. Live for this! Damn, this innkeeper’s a pro. Sure, anything fries well, but this was next level.
“Fry’s insanely crisp. ‘That method,’ right?”
“Ho, you noticed. Yep—beer batter.”
Smart cookie. Carbonation crisps it up. I knew from some cooking show, but in this pseudo-medieval world? Innkeeper’s no amateur!
The asparagus sauté was tasty different—veggie juices melding with shrimp. Just salt, pepper, olive oil? Impressive.
As shrimp and ale dwindled, black pork arrived. Lloyd and I ordered another round.
The pork gleamed dark brown—poached in wine, as described. Beets and mushrooms reduced in the same. Unlike grilled, it melted—fat, rind, all. Fork met knife, juices flowed, meat shredded effortlessly. I split my slab into three, sharing with Lloyd and El, keeping the last for me.
“Top with beets and shrooms—seasoning’s spot on.”
Promising. I halved the silken beet, piled it on, added mushrooms, and shoved in.
“Mmm...!”
Deep wine sweetness soaked the meat, black pork’s umami dancing on the tongue. Too tender to chew—gone in a melt. Killer. Noticeably rich? Ale cuts it perfect. Tender sweet meat, bitter chill brew! Huge slab vanished fast.
Whew, satisfying meal like this in ages. My cooking’s good, but nothing beats someone else’s... Hot bath now, and I’m set. I raised a hand to the innkeeper for bathwater.
“Hey!”
That was when it happened.