Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Potato Mayo, Egg Mayo Salad
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"Hoo."
The situation from earlier had been truly dizzying.
The Saintess had collapsed suddenly, overcome by vertigo.
Fortunately, there had been an old shack nearby that the shepherds used.
I carefully scooped up her unconscious form.
Her body was far lighter and more delicate than I'd imagined.
I gently laid her down on the simple straw bed inside the shack. How much time had passed?
Soon, she let out a faint moan and slowly opened her eyes.
"Mm..."
"Are you awake, Saintess?"
She wore a confused expression for a moment, then spotted me sitting beside her and bolted upright in surprise.
"S-Sir Jonathan! What... what happened to me?!"
"You must have overexerted yourself and fainted. For now, it would be best if you lay back down and rested..."
Before I could finish, a sound so embarrassingly clear filled the quiet shack.
- Grroooowl...
"..."
"...///"
Lumiel's face turned as red as a ripe tomato as she clutched her stomach—the source of the noise.
She hung her head, fiddling only with the edge of the blanket.
"...Um, are you hungry by any chance?"
- ...Nod.
"Did you skip meals at the convent?"
To my cautious question, she bowed her head even lower.
Then, with great effort, she finally spoke.
"N-No, that's not it..."
"? Then what happened?"
"H-Hauuu..."
Her lips trembled, and she mumbled in a voice as tiny as a mosquito's.
"The... Penance Feast... was too harsh for my delicate tongue... I couldn't..."
Ah, Arrabbiata.
I'd thought I'd toned it down to easy mode even by this world's standards, but spice wimps exist everywhere, it seems.
Come to think of it, in modern Korea, Koreans say fried udon ramen with just a hint of pepper and chili powder isn't spicy, but foreigners find it hot enough.
In that sense, Arrabbiata must have been pure torture for her. And she couldn't skip the convent food either.
I hadn't meant to, but my creation had caused someone pain.
A pang of guilt rose alongside a sense of responsibility.
"So you barely ate any lunch. Did you have anything else?"
She bowed her head even deeper at my question and shook it slightly side to side.
"Don't tell me... you haven't eaten anything since dinner yesterday? You must have been up before dawn for Sunday prayers."
Her small nod drew an involuntary sigh from me.
No wonder she collapsed—skipping dinner, rising before dawn for prayers, then trekking out here.
Clearly, she needed food right away.
"Here, try this first."
In case the journey dragged on, I'd packed hardtack and jerky, which I now offered her.
She hesitated, then took a piece of hardtack and nibbled it ever so carefully.
But in the next instant, her brow furrowed faintly.
"..."
She seemed to struggle even to chew, moving her jaw laboriously several times.
"Um, is it too hard to eat—"
"N-No! Sir Jonathan! H-How could I refuse daily bread from you! I-I'm fine, really..."
She desperately pretended it was okay, but her paling face and straining jaw betrayed her completely.
I gently took the hardtack from her hand.
'If I'd just thought for a second, I'd have known better, you idiot.'
Hardtack for someone who'd fasted over a day, with a stomach already irritated by spice?
That's like handing a patient a rock to chew, you fool. Sigh.
Something softer like porridge would have been better.
I scolded myself inwardly and scanned the shack.
Luckily, a few ingredients left by the shepherds caught my eye.
"Oh..."
A few dirt-covered potatoes, carrots, celery, cucumbers, salt. And some fresh eggs on the shelf.
But this alone might be too rough for her. To make it softer, easier for a patient...
Right then, the perfect solution flashed in my mind.
I carefully untied the small leather pouch at my waist.
Inside, a glass jar preserved with magic chill felt pleasantly cool in my hand.
My first creation, meant for the Emperor first. Mayonnaise.
But a thought made me pause.
'His Imperial Majesty was to receive the first...'
The hesitation didn't last long.
Offering the first fruits to the Emperor was a vassal's duty, the firm foundation for my future ventures.
But before me lay a person felled by hunger and pain.
Why had I started all this? To curry favor with the powerful? To amass more wealth? No.
Just to make people happy with delicious food. To offer even a small comfort to the starving.
Of course, I calculate profits meticulously, but it's just one jar of mayo.
Ignoring the hungry soul before me for political gain would betray all my beliefs.
His Majesty wouldn't nitpick over this anyway. I'll present the truth a bit later.
"Saintess, please wait just a moment. I'll make something to soothe your empty stomach and weary tongue."
"Eh? N-No, don't. How could a noble like you do menial cooking yourself—"
She tried to dissuade me from cooking.
I replied firmly to her protests.
"What's wrong with that?"
"Eh...?"
"Preparing food for someone hungry and weary—is that anything to be ashamed of?"
"But cooking is for the lowly..."
"If nobility means leading by example, then isn't it shameful not to roll up our sleeves for the starving?"
Lumiel stared at me, as if holding her breath, at my resolute words.
With her behind me, I rolled up my sleeves and continued.
"If you see this as lowly, feel free to close your eyes. But saving face with the hungry before me isn't my way."
"Ah..."
A small gasp escaped her, and she stopped protesting.
With her silent now, I rolled up my sleeves fully and drew my multi-purpose knife.
Soon, potato and carrot peels fell away.
I boiled the peeled ones in a pot of lightly salted water.
Meanwhile, I boiled the eggs separately, cooled them, peeled, and separated yolks from whites.
I thinly sliced the celery and cucumbers, lightly salting them to crisp the texture while taming any bitterness.
"Hmm hmm~"
Once the potatoes were fluffy, I drained and mashed them while hot.
Smooth, no lumps, easy for her empty stomach to handle.
I mixed in the boiled yolk for nutty richness and finely chopped the white.
With everything prepped, I finally unveiled my secret weapon.
I heaped mayonnaise over the mashed potatoes and gently mixed in all the chopped ingredients.
The rough potato transformed into a glossy cream, filling the shack with nutty, tangy aroma.
In another bowl, I finely chopped the egg whites and blended the yolk separately with mayo.
One bowl: creamy mashed potato salad with chopped veggies.
The other: egg salad with minced whites and yolk mayo.
I crumbled the hardtack, toasted it crisp like croutons.
A final seasoning of salt, and the world's humblest yet warmest dish was complete.
"There, all done."
I placed the simple, heartfelt salads before her.
She hesitated briefly, but the nutty, creamy scent made her swallow dryly.
"Um..."
"? Is something wrong?"
"N-No, nothing..."
After a pause, she hesitantly spoke.
"I've... never seen such a luxurious spread before."
At her innocent hesitation, I smiled.
"What? It's not luxurious at all—just simple ingredients."
"R-Really?"
"Of course. See? Potatoes, carrots, celery, eggs."
Her golden eyes widened in surprise.
"You made all this... with just those?"
"Naturally. Want to try?"
Her golden eyes gazed wondrously at the humble bowls.
After a brief prayer, she delicately scooped a tiny bit of potato salad to her lips.
Her movements were cautious and graceful, befitting a saintess.
And the moment it touched her tongue...
"...!"
The tension drained from her shoulders.
This wasn't mere taste. It was salvation.
Cloud-soft potatoes melted on her tongue, warmly embracing her spice-weary, hunger-ravaged body.
An enigmatic nutty depth unified every ingredient, leaving only gentle warmth, no sharp edges.
The crisp cucumber and celery crunches were joyful signposts amid the softness.
"Ah..."
Unbeknownst to her, a clear teardrop formed at her golden lashes and slid down her pale cheek.
Tears of pure relief, dissolving the pain that clawed her tongue, her hunger, her self-loathing.
She quickly wiped her eyes and switched to the egg salad.
If potato was warm comfort, this was delicate abundance.
Mild minced whites and creamy yolk filled her mouth.
The toasted hardtack croutons added crisp contrast and toasty depth—a delightful duet.
"So good..."
She no longer hesitated.
Not gluttonous gorging, but reverent, each spoonful savored like holy communion.
She polished off both bowls cleanly, scraping the last drop of sauce preciously.
Finished, she set down the empty bowls and sat silently for a long while.
Color had returned to her once-pale cheeks; her golden eyes brimmed with fulfillment.
Finally, with conviction sparkling in those golden eyes, she looked up at me.
"...No doubt about it."
"Pardon? What do you—"
"You are undoubtedly a saint reborn!"