The Taste of Loyalty
The day before the gathering, Ed’s response proved to be the perfect remedy for the territory residents who had long endured poverty. As the saying goes, a single action is worth a thousand words—he won them over not with endless speeches, but with decisive deeds.
“This is heaven… Long live Lord Edga Fix…”
And that action was simply letting them taste the comforts of civilization, even if only for a few hours. Inside a massive PVC tent that completely blocked the scorching sun, they were given cool air from air conditioners and sweet sikhye to drink.
“Sleep well. If you’re going to work for me, you’ll need proper rest.”
Ed didn’t stop there. He provided bedding as well—soft pillows and mattresses enough for all five hundred people. The bedding he supplied was on an entirely different level from what commoners were used to. Peasant beds were little more than dry cloth stuffed haphazardly with straw and cotton batting; they offered little comfort beyond sleeping on bare ground.
“W-what is this…!?”
But Ed’s bedding was modern. Mattresses built with spring-supported elasticity and memory foam crafted from processed polyurethane, designed ergonomically to feel as if one were lying on a cloud.
“T-this sensation!!!”
The blankets were no less extraordinary. To people who had only known rough, rag-like cloth, Ed’s blankets felt like silk. Rubbing their legs against them sent waves of pleasure through their bodies. This, they realized, was true happiness—far better than any fleeting indulgence.
“Aah… aaah… This is what life is meant to be…”
Thus the territory residents drifted into afternoon naps in paradise, savoring the luxury of sleeping under blankets with cool air blowing over them—something they had never imagined possible. For once, those who had always lived in anxious uncertainty fell asleep in genuine comfort.
“Hwaaam~”
When they finally woke, it was already seven in the evening. Having never experienced such comfort, they had slept far longer than intended.
“What’s that smell?”
Upon waking, they noticed a delicious aroma drifting through the air. Though they had never smelled it before, they could tell instantly that whatever produced it would taste incredible. Drawn like moths to flame, the residents began moving toward the source. The scent came from beyond a partition at the far end of the tent, where someone was busily cooking.
“E-excuse me… who’s there?”
Grig, acting as their representative, pulled aside the partition to investigate. On the other side, the ones cooking were none other than the members of the Sibalsaegi club—Ed’s loyal followers who had answered his summons and were now frying chicken.
“I am Anthony, Lord Ed’s closest friend. At his earnest request, I am preparing this meal for you.”
Anthony, wearing an apron, sanitary gloves, and a head covering, puffed out his chest proudly. David, his hands coated in batter, shot him a sharp glare.
“Lord Ed’s closest friend? Don’t make me laugh. I, David, am his number-one loyal retainer.”
The two bickered over who held greater favor with Ed. Still, Grig understood clearly—they were subordinates summoned by Ed to serve the new lord’s people.
“W-wait a moment… It seems the new lord intends to grant us yet another gift…”
The residents swallowed hard and nodded. Whatever the food might be, they gathered in small groups, chatting excitedly with smiles on their faces.
“Form a line! One at a time!”
By the time the aroma of fried chicken had spread throughout the tent, seventeen slaves emerged carrying platters piled high with golden-brown chicken, distributing portions to the residents. The modern-recipe fried chicken—crispy and fragrant—was enough to drive them mad with anticipation. Once every resident had received one whole chicken…
“Can’t have chicken without beer.”
Ed appeared, having returned from the capital with a massive beer keg. The moment he entered, every resident bowed their heads in reverence.
“Chicken and beer go hand in hand.”
Ed set the keg on a table and began serving. Each person received one cup as a baseline, with plenty more available for refills. Once everyone had their chicken and beer, Ed stepped onto a makeshift platform.
“I know you must be hungry after sleeping without food. Eat your fill first. We’ll talk afterward.”
With that, he stepped down. In that moment, many residents thought the same thing: the new lord was truly different. He understood their desires and showed consideration before even speaking.
“W-what… What is this flavor?”
Thus began the chicken tasting. Crispy batter and perfectly seasoned meat filled their mouths, turning the experience into a festival. A stimulating taste they had never known before exploded across their tongues.
“Aah… aaahhh…”
Tears welled in their eyes. It was like watching a starving kitten taste churu for the first time. Having survived on hard bread dipped in frog stew, the simple act of eating chicken moved them to tears.
“It’s… it’s so delicious…”
A strange scene unfolded inside the hall. Every resident sobbed while eating, unable to tell whether they were tasting chicken or weeping. Their long-suppressed sorrows had finally burst forth. For people who had watched neighbors starve to death, this high-calorie feast was overwhelming.
“W-we must have fried it well…”
The Sibalsaegi members scratched the backs of their heads, smiling awkwardly. Though they had lived in luxury all their lives and couldn’t fully grasp the residents’ emotions, they felt strangely satisfied knowing they had done something good.
“The food you just ate is called chicken.”
Once the tearful tasting ended, Ed returned to the platform and began his speech. All eyes—swollen from crying—focused on him.
“As you’ve tasted, this isn’t something you can eat often. It’s a dish usually reserved for nobles’ tables.”
“……”
“But I can promise you this: from now on, this chicken will appear on your tables once a month—perhaps even once every two months.”
Shock rippled through the crowd. They had already been satisfied with tasting it once in their lives—yet now it would return regularly?
“Of course, that’s impossible right now. It will only become possible once the plans in my head are realized to some degree.”
Ed smoothly shifted the topic, reminding them that enjoying chicken required his plans to succeed first. Curiosity about those plans began to stir.
“And my plan is to make my territory the wealthiest in history.”
The declaration—that his territory would become the richest ever—made everyone swallow nervously. Then Ed delivered the true shock.
“And at the center of this plan must be all of you. I need your help.”
He needed commoners like them for his grand vision.
“I will build industry. And the workforce of that industry will be you. Only your passion and labor can turn my plan into reality.”
“……”
“So work for me. Pour your heart and soul into it. In return, I will reward you properly. You will become citizens of the empire’s wealthiest territory, with chicken and beer as part of your daily life. The bedding you slept on today, this comfortable temperature—everything will become your everyday reality.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Their hearts raced. They already ached to work for Ed. What the residents wanted was simple: to eat well and sleep well. Yet Ed promised more—he guaranteed them a human life.
“Be rewarded in proportion to your effort. Hold ambition and swear loyalty to me. If your abilities are recognized, you will receive fitting compensation.”
The atmosphere reached a fever pitch. Residents who had been tearing into chicken moments ago began rising one by one, their eyes burning with fierce determination as they looked at Ed. Then one of them raised a hand and began chanting.
“Fix!”
The word was “Fix”—the surname of a blacksmith, and also a commoner’s name. To them, it was deeply familiar.
“Fix!”
“Fix!”
“Fix!”
But today, the name they chanted was no longer just a blacksmith’s surname. It was the name of the lord to whom they would devote their lives. Captivated by the vision and values Ed had shown them, they shouted “Fix!” with thunderous voices.
“Fix!”
“Fix!”
“Fix!”
To them now, Fix was nothing less than a religion.
***
Having turned the territory’s greatest problem into his subordinates, Ed issued his first order: approach other Demon Cult factions scattered throughout the territory and persuade them to join. This was possible because Grig’s Demon Cult operated on the largest scale in the region. Since the cult was structured as isolated cells, the largest group held significant influence—Grig had unknowingly shaped the others.
In short, Grig held the Demon Cult organizations in the territory firmly in his grasp.
“Yes, my lord! I will bring them over without fail.”
Thus Grig began contacting other Demon Cult groups he knew. Meeting their leaders, he urged them to abandon the cult.
“Have you lost your mind? Bowing to nobles?”
“You’re spouting nonsense.”
“……What?”
“You need to taste Lord Edga Fix’s greatness yourself. Come with me.”
Grig’s method of recruitment was simple. He invited the leaders to his camp, offered them cool air conditioning and a cup of sikhye, then served chicken and beer while explaining Ed’s vision. Another fervent follower of Fix was born.
“I can’t believe I followed such an idiotic religion. I repent. I’ll bring everyone here immediately.”
“Good. Offer your heart to Lord Ed.”
One by one, the scattered cells began gathering at Grig’s camp—to have their hearts surgically restored and return to being human. Since Sophie lacked the power to fully purify hearts on her own, Ed’s surgery was essential.
“Only one day left now.”
Using Grig’s influence, Ed had successfully eliminated a significant number of the isolated cells. All that remained was to participate in tomorrow’s ritual and eliminate the Bishop—the root of everything—who was in the process of raping a dead maiden’s corpse to become a half-human, half-demon abomination.
“I’m looking forward to seeing the look on his face when he panics.”
The Bishop would appear at the gathering wearing a red mask. But the number of cultists present would be drastically reduced. Grig had visited countless cells and “fixed their broken heads.”
“I’ll wipe them all out.”
Ed smiled as he gripped the still-incomplete hilt of the Crucible. If the plan he and Grig’s group had devised succeeded, he would be able to charge the hell energy—the Crucible’s primary power source—considerably. The ultimate magic sword he had long awaited would finally be born.