Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Veteran Knows Best
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"Yawn."
Dillon let out a massive yawn and rubbed his nose.
He hadn't slept a wink after overdoing it with the drinks last night, and even though the sun was high in the sky, exhaustion poured over him.
"Why hasn't this kid shown up yet..."
"Sorry I'm late!"
A brown-haired girl came dashing up, breathless and out of sorts.
"You're late, you know."
"Sorry. I had to wait until the inn got busy."
"Shouldn't you be helping out more because of that?"
"I'd just get in the way anyway."
"...If you get caught, Mr. Colton will make sure you never set foot outside again."
"Then I just won't get caught, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure you won't."
Dillon climbed up onto the wagon seat.
"Need a hand?"
"I can get up on my own, thanks."
Dillon shrugged as his offered hand was firmly rejected.
"We're off."
With a loud neigh from the donkey, the wagon lurched into motion.
Their destination was Greenveil, home to the Bellaardi family's castle. It was about a two-hour round trip by cart, and the two had been making the journey back and forth for the past few days.
But their purposes were entirely different.
For Dillon, a merchant by trade, daily trips were par for the course. Ailin, however, had roped him into helping with her personal errand.
"Ailin."
Growing bored on the road, Dillon finally spoke up.
"This might sound weird asking now, but... why on earth do you want to become a maid?"
It was a question he'd held back until now, sensing she didn't really want to talk about it.
'But after all the favors I've done her, she'll tell me, right?'
Dillon was the chatty type, with curiosity to match. Holding back this long was, even by his own standards, impressive.
But Ailin was resolute.
"I told you not to ask about that."
"Hey!"
"If I tell you, you'll blab to my mom and dad."
"Come on! If I was gonna do that, I'd have ratted you out for sneaking into the castle town ages ago!"
Dillon felt wronged.
"Still no. Merchants can't be trusted, as the saying goes."
"...Who says?"
"My mom and dad."
"Hah, and they're doing business with us... Betrayal, pure and simple."
Ailin giggled at his dramatic sigh, but her smile soon faded.
'Sorry, but I can't tell you that much.'
She'd brushed it off vaguely, but the real reason was something else.
Ailin had always been sharp as a tack. That's why she couldn't settle for the life she had.
Others saw her as a simple tomboy, but no one truly knew what lay beneath the surface.
Her carefree act was just a defense mechanism to ignore reality.
'Reality.'
The world around her wasn't kind to women.
A woman's life here meant finding a match suited to her station, marrying, supporting her husband, and raising kids. That was it.
And as an only child, she'd have to take in a son-in-law to carry on the family business.
Her future was all but set.
'...No.'
Ailin desperately denied it.
She had no intention of surrendering to fate. She didn't want to waste her life running a roadside inn.
'I'll become a noble for sure.'
And becoming a maid was merely a means to that end.
Maids built connections, and those could lead to becoming part of the nobility.
It was a long shot, but legends of such rags-to-riches tales did exist.
And right now, Ailin was heading to the castle town to meet her.
"Fine, whatever."
Resigned to her stubbornness, Dillon changed the subject.
"Can I at least ask this?"
"What?"
"To get into the training academy, you need a patron, right? How are you handling that?"
Not just any woman could become a maid.
Even daughters of noble houses or commoners with patrons only got 'eligibility' for the academy.
Becoming a real maid came after that—only survivors of the grueling training were officially hired.
Nobles paraded skilled maids to flaunt their wealth and boost their egos, much like commoners sought maids for upward mobility.
It was a far cry from mere slavery.
But Ailin had no patron at all. That's what Dillon was pointing out.
Of course, she had a plan.
"That's why I'm going to find one now."
"...Huh?"
"You didn't know?"
Dillon blinked. A horrifying thought crossed his mind.
"No way. The person you're looking for isn't 'that woman,' is it?"
"Probably is."
"You lunatic! You're really going to the Black Widow?!"
Dillon glanced around nervously, as if someone might have overheard, then added,
"Are you insane?"
"Yup. Perfectly sane."
"Hah, you really are something else...!"
A brief silence followed.
"Rosalind Vandimion... right?"
"That's her."
Rosalind Vandimion.
A legendary figure who rose from maid to head of her house, an idol for countless common women of the era.
Ailin had heard about a week ago that she was visiting Greenveil—from Dillon, who frequented the castle town.
It felt like a gift from the heavens, so she'd decided to seek her out right away.
"Hoo."
Dillon let out a dazed sigh.
As a merchant, he'd heard endless bad rumors about the Black Widow.
"Okay, say you actually get Rosalind Vandimion as your patron by some miracle. Then what?"
"Then what?"
"How do you pass the maid exam? Maids have to cook well, you know."
He'd hit the nail on the head, much as she hated to admit it. Ailin had zero talent for cooking.
They said smart people were good cooks, but Ailin was hopeless in the kitchen.
"...I'll manage somehow. The academy teaches that stuff, right?"
Dillon felt a sudden pang of guilt at her uncharacteristically unsure tone and quickly said,
"Forget that. Why not just marry Damon? Your parents seemed thrilled about it."
"No way."
"Why? He even proposed. And the rumors are already out there."
"What?!"
Ailin shot to her feet, yelling.
"Are you crazy?!"
Her reaction was so fierce the cart nearly tipped.
"Hey, I'm ten years older than you—don't call me crazy. You asked me to spread the rumors in the first place."
"When did I?!"
"What, so it was a lie?"
"That was... I mean...!"
His food was so good it just slipped out without thinking...
For some reason, she couldn't say it.
Instead, something else tumbled out, like an excuse.
"I meant promote the beef stew, you idiot."
"Oh yeah? Now that you mention it, I wanna eat it again. It was so good."
*Slurp.* Ailin shot Dillon a pitiful look as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"This is exactly why they say not to trust merchants..."
"Kekeke."
"Don't laugh."
Sulking, Ailin turned her head away sharply.
"Anyway, he's not an option."
"Why? He's got a good face, solid build. Sure, he grumbles a bit, but his personality's decent enough..."
She couldn't quite call it 'good.'
He'd mellowed out lately, but still.
"His cooking more than makes up for it."
"..."
Ailin had no comeback. Everything he said rang true.
For a commoner, Damon was quite handsome, and in this era, sturdy was king.
And unexpectedly, his cooking was top-notch.
'Yeah. Top-notch.'
That was the problem.
Even if she married Damon, one of them would have to take over the family business.
But Ailin had no desire to be a woodcutter's wife, and Damon was too talented for a rural inn.
'Better if he married Cynthia instead.'
Cynthia had a decent background and no family business tying her down—she'd make a fine supporter.
Finally, Ailin spat out a concise summary of her reasoning.
"He has his own family business to inherit..."
The unintended bitterness in her words puzzled Dillon when—
'Ugh!'
A sharp pain suddenly gripped her chest, like thousands of needles stabbing at once.
"Ailin...? You okay?"
"Y-yeah."
"What's wrong? You look hurt."
"...It's nothing. Probably motion sickness."
Thankfully, the pain faded as quickly as always.
But the lingering unease came from how frequently these episodes had been hitting lately.
'Why's my body acting up like this recently?'
She needed to secure a stable position fast, if only to afford treatment.
Medical care wasn't cheap.
'Which is why Damon is even less of an option.'
Unless he leveraged his talent to become, say, the royal chef.
'Or even the lord's castle chef...'
Pfft.
Ailin chuckled at the absurd thought.
No way that'd happen. She just shook her head.
'Hmm...'
I'm sitting at a table for four right now.
Directly across from me is Deborah, with Hans beside her.
Our guest, Elfriede, is right next to me—and strangely, she smells amazing. Not shampoo or body wash, but a fresh, delightful fragrance I hadn't enjoyed in ages. It lifted my spirits instantly.
Anyway.
"S-sorry to interrupt, but... may I get up and prepare the meal now?"
The three—no, two humans and one elf—were deep in a conversation I couldn't follow, so I shamelessly cut in.
I had work to do, after all.
"Oh, right. Go ahead, dear. We got carried away. Sorry about that."
"Yay, finally time to eat? My stomach was just starting to rumble."
*Scrape.*
As soon as permission came, I pushed back my chair. Deborah added,
"You get to taste your cooking sooner than I thought. You know where the ingredients are, right?"
"More or less. I'll ask if I need anything."
"Okay. We're looking forward to it."
"Me too~"
I smiled back at the silver-haired elf's beaming grin.
My heart melted a little, but I quickly composed myself.
When cooking, emotions had to be set aside. Years of training had taught me that.
Even with top celebrities at my old shop, I'd kept my cool. This body had done it.
Though even they paled next to Elfriede's stunning beauty, my mind was now as clear as a mountain stream.
'Alright, first things first.'
I quickly surveyed the kitchen ingredients.
Compared to a modern home, it was sparse, but self-sufficiency meant most basics were on hand.
Besides, any chef worth their salt could whip up a meal from whatever's in the pantry.
'Hmm.'
Elfriede doesn't like veggies, so meat it is.
Perfect—Deborah had bought beef sirloin that morning for salting.
'Great, that'll do.'
The veteran knows best, indeed.
*Scrrch, scrrch.*
I grabbed the whetstone and started sharpening the kitchen knife right away.