Chapter 9: The Unattractive Flower (5)
Chapter 9: The Unattractive Flower (5)
Translation: Godtl
Waking up at the crack of dawn in the Demon Realm.
Spinning the reward room roulette on the fourth floor while having Viche store the materials.
Ascending back through the third, second, and first floors of the Demon Realm.
Paying a 25% customs duty in kind at the checkpoint before finally completing clearance procedures.
Though they'd hurried as much as possible, by the time the two stepped out of the express lounge, it was already nearing midnight.
Nortaris was a city that shone brighter at night.
The square bustled with adventurers returning from day trips and wholesalers buying goods fresh from the Demon Realm.
The rows of inns and hotels were packed to the brim with guests checking in.
Penelope looked utterly exhausted.
"You've really been through a lot these past two days."
"Ugh, I feel so gross... I need a bath..."
Normally, Penelope would have snapped something like, "Is that all the gratitude I get for my efforts?" But now she just dragged her feet, her shoes scraping against the ground.
"It's gotten so late... Miss Penelope, is your residence far from here? I can book you a room nearby so you can rest properly."
Personally, I was immensely grateful.
Not only had her permit been a great help, but I'd never imagined she'd assist me so enthusiastically.
Even now, I wasn't quite sure why.
"No need."
"You even used expensive alchemical catalysts, didn't you? I'd like to show at least that much sincerity, so don't refuse."
"Hmm~ Well, I'll accept your thanks. But I don't need lodging."
Penelope's voice, which had seemed on the verge of collapsing, suddenly regained its vitality.
The change was so abrupt that I wondered if she'd been exaggerating her exhaustion all along.
"I have VIP membership at The Litchfield Hotel."
"You certainly have all sorts of things."
"...Did you hear me? I said VIP membership at The Litchfield Hotel."
'The Litchfield Hotel' was exactly what its name suggested—the tallest hotel in Litchfield Square.
With its overwhelming height of twelve stories, it was a landmark visible from anywhere in the square.
"150 years of tradition. Exquisite mid-era Britannian architectural style. The Rosemore family's skyscraper hotel that has never once lost its title as Nortaris's finest since its opening. Didn't you know?"
"I'm aware. Who in Nortaris hasn't heard of that hotel? It's right there, plain as day."
"...Never mind."
Just like that, the life drained back out of Penelope, and after a half-hearted farewell, she disappeared.
"Hmm."
She really was an unpredictable young lady.
Though Nortaris shone brighter at night, that was only true for the bustling streets.
The Brellum shopping district, a ghost town even at high noon, was now so quiet it seemed haunted by actual ghosts.
—Ding-a-ling
Lighting the lamp in the shop, the warm orange glow softened the bleakness.
Returning to a familiar place put me at ease, and with that ease came a release of tension—and with it, exhaustion.
"It's been a while since I've pulled all-nighters two days in a row."
I hadn't slept last night either, keeping watch.
Back when I was actively conquering the Demon Realm, there were times I'd gone a full week without proper sleep, half-dozing while fending off waves of monsters.
"I've grown much weaker compared to those days."
—Sssssss
To shake off the drowsiness, I brewed a strong cup of coffee and headed upstairs.
Originally, the second floor had been a workshop for building coffee machines, but now it stood empty.
The reason Jurgen hadn't gone straight to a hotel near the square was that he had work to do here tonight.
"Viche. Could you bring out the materials?"
Namely, processing the materials obtained from the labyrinthine Demon Realm.
Since the resources from the reward room weren't in a finished state, this part required extra effort.
[Here]
Viche's tentacles slithered about, piling cinnamon, nutmeg, neroli, and vanilla beans onto the worktable by the handful.
The recipe for Coca-Cola is a top-secret formula, kept under strict guard in a bank vault.
Only two people in the world know the recipe, and even licensed manufacturers don't know the exact production method...
...or so goes the marketing ploy to maximize mystique, though by now, many know it's a lie.
It's not like we're dealing with nanotechnology—analyzing the composition of a mere liquid is child's play for modern machinery.
According to Britannia's advanced liquid analyzers, the ingredients in cola fall into two broad categories.
First, the base ingredients: carbonated water, phosphoric acid, sugar, caffeine, and caramel coloring.
But mixing these alone would only yield a dark, sour, and strangely bitter carbonated sugar water.
The true kick of the cola recipe lay in the second ingredient—the flavorings.
Depending on the precise ratio of these flavorings, the drink's taste, the depth and breadth of its aroma, would shift dramatically.
Jurgen was attempting to recreate these flavorings using locally sourced ingredients as much as possible.
"Give me a hand, will you?"
[Candy?]
"I'll give you plenty of candy."
[Plenty!]
Viche, who had been peeking out from the bag with her many eyes, wriggled out gleefully, using her tentacles to crawl forward.
"I'll explain each step. Watch closely and follow along. First, peel the bark from the cassia tree. Yes, just like that."
The first ingredient was cassia bark.
Using a scraper, Jurgen carefully peeled only the bark from the cassia wood Penelope had chopped into pieces.
[Easy.] [Viche.] [Genius.]
"Of course you are."
Viche had often assisted in preparing alchemical ingredients, so after just one demonstration, she replicated the task with practiced ease.
"Next is how to prepare the nutmeg."
The second ingredient: nutmeg.
Once upon a time on Earth, this spice queen had traded for more than its weight in gold.
The fruit resembled a Western pear, with a large, avocado-like seed at its core.
Truthfully, the flesh itself held no value—only the seed inside mattered.
The red membrane encasing the seed was a separate spice called mace, and once stripped away, the dried and ground seed became nutmeg.
Its scent was sharp and cool like mint, yet also carried the rounded warmth of cinnamon and ginger.
"We only need the seed, so you can eat the flesh. Ah, and the red part too."
[Viche.] [Happy.]
The third ingredient was neroli, the blossom of the orange tree.
Not the common sweet orange, but the bitter orange.
Its bright citrus fragrance had often been used in perfumery.
"Miss Lily loved this scent so much she used to wear it every day."
[Mama?]
"Tsk, if she heard you say that, she'd be furious. Anyway, just discard the wilted neroli flowers."
[Roger!]
These white flowers would later be pressed whole to extract essential oil, so no further preparation was needed.
"Hmm... The real problem is this one."
The last ingredient, vanilla bean, proved trickier.
Freshly harvested from the Demon Realm, the vanilla bean resembled a plump, oversized green pod.
Inside the pod lay sticky beads known as vanilla bean caviar, the very essence of vanilla's fragrance.
"The issue is, we can't use it as is."
Simply scraping out the caviar wasn't enough.
Freshly harvested vanilla lacked sweetness and depth, instead carrying a raw bitterness and grassy aftertaste.
The pod needed to be blanched until it turned brown, then fermented and dried in a cool place.
But for Jurgen, Britannia's foremost alchemist, this was merely time-consuming—not difficult.
An alchemist's skill was also measured by how well they could refine their materials.
"Let's get started."
He prepared a large pot and heated the water to 80 degrees.
When the plump, elongated vanilla beans were submerged in the hot water, they took on a murky hue in under a minute.
This step prevented spoilage during fermentation and accelerated maturation—but leaving them too long would ruin them.
The timing had to be precise: 1 to 2 minutes, no more.
"That's enough, take them out now..."
Next, the beans were wrapped in white cloth to maximize vanilla flavor through fermentation.
Normally, this required maintaining a steady 40-50 degrees for a week—but who had that kind of time?
The cola needed to be finished as soon as possible.
Jurgen channeled mana into the vanilla beans.
"Accelerate."
A simple alchemical spell, composed of just one Code.
Few alchemists in the entire continent could manifest this without a catalyst.
The mana seeped into the beans, hastening enzymatic fermentation.
Once the timing was right, he moved to the second step.
"Dry."
The vanilla beans, longer than an adult's palm, shrank instantly, darkening to a near-black brown.
At the perfect moment, Jurgen withdrew his hand.
Splitting one in half, he scraped the center with a thin metal rod—revealing a sticky, concentrated black caviar that released an intoxicating wave of vanilla fragrance.
Undoubtedly, it was a resounding success.
"I think I'm getting the hang of it."
As expected, it wasn't particularly difficult, but it did require a lot of effort.
Still, for the sake of cola, it was a hassle worth enduring.
"Looks like overtime is inevitable tonight."
[Overtime] [Candy] [Lots]
"I'll give you ten."
[Ten!!!]
Viche, who had been peeling cassia bark with dozens of tentacles, wiggled in delight.
The Litchfield Hotel was different right from the lobby.
The marble floor gleamed like a black-and-white chessboard.
An antique chandelier stretched down from the impossibly high ceiling, its light cascading over the ivory ornaments adorning the staircase railings.
Throughout the hotel, lush roses—the symbol of House Rosemore—flourished in defiance of the seasons, their freshness on full display.
The hems of dresses swayed like tropical fish tails to the tune of piano music, while men in tailcoats exchanged refined laughter.
People wrapped themselves in exaggerated elegance, as if to prove their status as the upper crust.
Merely stepping through the wing doors felt like crossing into another world.
Perhaps it wasn't just a metaphor.
Ordinary folk would never so much as set foot on this marble floor in their lifetimes—only the most carefully selected guests could inscribe their names in the Litchfield Hotel's registry.
The Litchfield wasn't just a symbol of wealth; it was the very embodiment of Nortaris' prestige.
In other words, it was a space that suited Penelope perfectly.
Yet, compared to the bustling square filled with sweaty adventurers, this opulent scenery suffocated her even more.
"..."
"..."
"..."
As Penelope stepped into the center of the lobby, a hush fell over the room.
The gazes of noblewomen hiding their mouths behind fans, the haughty stares of gentlemen with chins held high—all flickered toward her.
But only for a moment.
The moment Penelope turned toward a secluded corner, the stifled murmurs resumed like a broken audio device suddenly reconnecting.
She didn't need to wonder what they were whispering about at lowered volumes.
'That's Penelope, isn't it? The third daughter of House Rosemore?'
'Yes, it's astonishing how brazenly she walks around in public. I wouldn't dare show my face if I were her.'
'Incompetent, arrogant, and shameless to boot? No wonder no one's lining up to marry her.'
'Heh, well, she's got a pretty face at least. She'd make a decent mistress, wouldn't she? If she begged hard enough, I might even consider it.'
'Watch your tongue. She's still a Rosemore, no matter what.'
'What's there to fear? Rumor has it the family doesn't even care about her.'
It was probably something along those lines.
When Penelope turned her head with an impassive expression, those who met her eyes hastily averted their gazes.
"Welcome back, young miss. Shall I inform General Manager Ritz of your arrival?"
"No need. I'm tired—just show me to my room."
Guided by the butler, Penelope took the elevator to the top-floor suite.
"May you have a pleasant rest—"
"Thanks. I'll go in now."
—Click.
Only then did Penelope exhale sharply, as if she had been holding her breath like a fish trapped in a bowl.
The suite was, as always, so extravagantly luxurious that even the lobby's opulence paled in comparison.
"Haah..."
Kicking off her shoes and carelessly shedding her clothes, Penelope padded barefoot across the crimson rug toward the bathroom.
The bathtub—whether an art piece or a functional item, it was impossible to tell—had already been filled with water, the temperature perfectly attuned to her preference.
She dipped a toe in.
Perfect.
Steam curled upward as Penelope eased herself into the tub.
"It's a bit too big for one person..."
Her voice echoed faintly in the vast bathroom, far too spacious for a single occupant.
Yes.
This was the life that suited Penelope Rosemore.
Not felling trees in the Demon Realm with sawdust clinging to her skin, nor curling up under a blanket beside a campfire like some vagrant.
This was her destiny—determined the moment she was born, the moment she inherited the blood of House Rosemore.
Once her bath was over, she would slip into a plush robe and replenish her hydration with mineral water from a crystal decanter.
If she felt peckish, she'd pluck fresh fruit from the basket on the table before sinking into a bed softer than clouds.
If boredom struck, she might gaze at the nightscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows while flipping through a book.
As always.
Naturally.
Alone.
"...I want cola."
Penelope let her head thunk lightly against the edge of the tub.