Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Veronica
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Veronica.
With my party members, we'd booked rooms at the inn, drank until late, and now it was the morning after.
I was on my way downstairs to grab some breakfast.
What the...?
'Am I still not fully sober?'
Or maybe I'm dreaming.
The reason for those thoughts was nothing major.
I rubbed my eyes and chugged some cold water, but there she was—Veronica, staring at me with the same sullen expression.
Her beautiful silver hair framed those golden eyes infused with holy power, gazing blankly at me.
"......"
What the hell was this situation?
I remembered staggering back to my room with Ermé last night somehow.
'So why is Veronica right in front of me?'
As that thought crossed my mind, Veronica crossed her legs and stared me down.
"You seem to be coming around now. Think you could drop the rudeness?"
"More than that, you barging into the inn out of nowhere seems way ruder."
Honestly, it sent a little chill down my spine.
Right after yesterday's mess, she shows up the next day... and now again.
'Thought I'd never have to see her face again.'
That was my take, but clearly not hers.
"So why are you here?"
"To make a deal."
"A deal?"
A deal out of the blue?
Puzzled, I headed to the kitchen. No one was around.
If word got out the Saintess was here, you'd expect at least one person to poke their head in.
'Did she clear everyone out?'
With her position and status as Saintess, it wasn't impossible.
But first things first.
'Stomach's killing me.'
Ever since picking up the elf's alchemy techniques, I'd been allowed to use the kitchen—
on the condition that I whipped up meals for the innkeeper too, of course.
'Saves on food costs, and Ermé loves it, so whatever.'
I just don't get what her deal is with slightly umami-packed dishes.
After last night's drinking, I went for a hangover cure: seafood pasta with a spicy jjampong vibe, something like a tomato-based pasché.
Wanted to kick up the heat with some chili powder or gochujang, but
"What, you cook too?"
"Basics."
"Short-tempered, huh. Smells decent, at least."
When's that arrogant attitude gonna get fixed?
'People don't change.'
To be precise, by modern standards, anyone under twenty-five can be molded with enough effort.
But I didn't have the spare time for a woman who'd tried to brainwash me.
I made three portions of pasché, grabbed mine, and sat at a table far from Veronica.
She scowled hard at that and plopped right back down in front of me.
"What about mine?"
"Help yourself."
"Some guest service."
Veronica grumbled.
Guest? More like a freeloading pest.
I shoveled a bite of my homemade tomato pasché into my mouth.
'Damn, this turned out good.'
I'd done my share of cooking in my past life, but this felt different.
Like recipes were spawning in my head on their own.
Seemed the elf's alchemy skills tied to cooking were bleeding over.
"......Looks tasty."
"It is."
Damn right—who made it?
Veronica eyed my spaghetti for a moment, then stabbed her fork in and snagged a piece of bacon.
"......!"
And then—
Her eyes rolled back as she vacuumed up every last strand of pasta from my bowl.
Hey, you jerk.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Let's make a deal."
Veronica said coldly.
But the tomato sauce smeared on her lips and the hem of her priestess robes kinda ruined the vibe.
"Wipe your mouth before you talk."
"What on my... oh."
She swiped the sauce from her mouth with a finger, popped it in, and repeated herself.
"You're a damn good cook. Next time, toss in some shrimp."
"No next time."
"Why not? You could be an imperial chef with skills like this..."
"No way."
"Hell, I could hire you as the Saintess's personal chef."
"Didn't you say you're not the Saintess?"
"......Let's make a deal."
"What kind?"
"The girl who called me a fake Saintess yesterday."
"......"
Fake Saintess... or rather, stand-in for the real one.
I looked at Veronica. Every time I did, Rozante came to mind.
'......Just looking at her feels kinda holy.'
Saintesses have that distinct aura.
"Truth is, I'd picked up on the signs even before she opened her mouth."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. The Pope and cardinals' interest in me started fading bit by bit."
You call that signs?
Sounds more like paranoia.
"......But it's weird, right? I'm the best Saintess in history. Looks included."
Veronica sneaked a glance at the mirror as she said it.
I gave her a dead-fish stare.
"See? Super weird. Only three candidates, one dropped out. If it's her, she barely scraped by the minimum quals."
"Minimum quals?"
"Simple stuff. Hero candidate baseline: one S-grade gift or two A-grades. You know that much, right?"
"Yeah."
"And with level-ups, how many gifts you snag is the hurdle. Minimum means grabbing one before level 5."
So that's how it worked.
'......Hold up.'
I've been stacking nothing but gifts so far.
Usually people say skills level up, but mine have all been gifts.
-That's why you're the most suited to become a Hero.
'......'
Hated it even more because it rang true.
Anything else, fine—but if I became a Hero?
'I'd have to fight those demons who wrecked the Cradle.'
Couldn't get more nightmarish.
"Anyway, I added a whopping three gifts before hitting level 6."
"......"
Bragging now?
At my look, Veronica shook her head.
"You probably don't get it... but the record for most gifts among Saintesses was two. And mine were all A-grade minimum."
"So?"
"So it's weird! Even if they set me up as a body double and there's some other Saintess... could she really be a Saintess?"
She spoke like no one could top her right now.
Made a certain amount of sense.
'Doesn't explain that ego, though.'
Tap tap.
I drummed the table.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Deal's simple. Saw you were great at hiding last time. Infiltrate the chu—"
"Pass."
"Ah, why!"
"Not my strong suit."
"Tch, figures. You're Sword Hero material, not some thief. Swordsmen are the worst."
I'm the Thief Hero.
But I kept quiet to avoid the hassle.
"That all?"
"......Bring that girl."
"Our leader's busy."
"Booze and bed, probably."
"Doesn't wanna see you from the jump."
Veronica furrowed her brow at that and let out a deep sigh.
"Fine. I'm out."
Whatever bugged her, she turned and left.
"......What're you doing?"
"Can snag some takeout on the way!"
She swiped Ermé's and the innkeeper's portions and bolted.
What kinda woman is she?
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "That woman came here... and stole food you made, Yuseong?"
"......That's the important part?"
"Of course! It's one of my rare joys!"
Ermé wore a rare angry face.
"How could you share such premium intel and repay me like this?! We gotta complain!"
I didn't ask how.
Ermé might actually try something crazy.
I didn't care, but I worried she'd get dragged into weirdness.
"Calm down first."
"Hoo... fine, only 'cause it's you, Yuseong."
Ermé crossed her arms and sat.
"But if Veronica's the fake Saintess, what's the real deal?"
"......You wanna know about the real one?"
Ermé grimaced like she hated remembering.
I was curious, sure.
'But not really dying to know.'
Her eyes screamed trouble if I pried.
"I can tell you if you're curious. Gotta do maintenance for about a week anyway."
"Maintenance?"
"Yeah. We've seen the third stratum, so prep for the fourth. Taking a week off before that. Burn too hot, and you crash."
"Fair. We've pushed hard."
The Labyrinth's a stress factory. From the tenth floor on, some parties rest for weeks.
"Tough on the others, but they're all gunning for level-ups eventually."
Ermé clenched her fist as she spoke. She was dead serious about leading this party.
"Rozante'll hit her stride soon, Teresa's leveling next, and once Marcel does too—we're charging the fourth stratum."
"Fourth's the ant zone, right?"
"Yep. Tricky bunch. Soldier ants have tough shells. But their drops are hot commodities."
"Nice."
Perfect timing.
Been mulling armor lately.
'Leather's fine.'
But I needed enough defense to survive a solid hit.
Survive that, and Rozante's holy power could patch me up.
'Guess I'll hit up that craftsman.'
And commission the wire launcher too.
"Lots of requests?"
"Metal plates to layer on leather, and a wire-firing gadget."
"Handy for traps in a pinch. Why not borrow some magic for it?"
"Magic?"
"Yeah. Artifact's overkill, but enchantments? Boost firing speed or whatever."
Solid idea.
I mulled it over.
Money wasn't an issue. Five hundred platinum coins—each worth a hundred gold.
Might as well go all-in.
I stood and headed for the forge.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Long time no see!"
"What, two of you this time."
"Oh, you came alone last time?"
"Needed something."
"So what's the reason today?"
I explained my contraption idea to Durin.
"Shoot wire to bind foes or set traps? Not bad."
Durin pondered briefly, then spoke.
"Came up with a real pain in the ass. Fun concept, though. First time making one, so it'll take a bit."
"Roughly how many days?"
"Got nothing going on, so about five."
"Works."
"Complex thing like that ain't cheap, though."
"How much?"
"Gotta charge around thirty gold, I'd say."
Thirty gold.
Bargain.
I pulled out a single platinum and handed it over.
"Flinging it like that? Made a killing, huh."
"Enough to eat and play for a while."
"Still, save some. Life's got dry spells after fat ones."
Durin handed back seventy gold in change.
With the commission set, I picked up some armor.
Scouting means nothing too heavy.
Chest plate should do.
"Try this."
"This?"
"Cut from a breastplate. You look like a mover—better than full knight gear. Greaves too, check 'em out."
"Can I try?"
"Go for it."
I went to strap on the greaves, but Volkan's gifted iron balls got in the way. Set them down and fitted the greaves.
"Owner of those ridiculous iron balls was you?"
"......You made these, Durin?"
"Yeah, that brute ordered some weird shit. Tweaked 'em for him."
Durin fetched four more iron balls from the back.
"......?"
"His. Due for pickup today—wear 'em on the way out."
"......"
Really didn't want 'em, but free gear's free.
'......Gotta get stronger somehow.'
I ditched my old balls and clipped on Durin's. My body turned leaden—heavy enough fighting seemed impossible.
"......? Problem?"
"This how you wear 'em?"
"Yup. But pair it with the other set."
"......?"
Is this old man nuts?
At my glare, Durin snickered.
"That's what he ordered. They match."
"......"
"No need for the face. Volkan paid out of pocket—call it a gift."
Hated gifts like this.