I Heard the Knight Order's Kimchi Stew Is That Delicious

In the Empire, if you asked a hundred people to name the single most respected profession—the dream job—ninety of them would give you the same answer.

A knight.

The dashing figure in resplendent armor astride a fine steed, embodying chivalry in service of a lady. The hero of every adventure saga and dragon-slaying epic ever written.

If you asked children what they wanted to be when they grew up, ninety out of a hundred would say a knight. In terms of modern prestige, think A-list influencers and celebrities rolled into one.

But firsthand experience has a way of taking the shine off.

'It's just a government job with a fancy paint job.'

At least, being an Imperial Knight was.

Unlike free knights or those sworn to noble houses, the pay wasn't spectacular, but your retirement was utterly secure. Once you hit adulthood, it became a different kind of dream job. The kind where, once you land it, you cannot be fired short of death or voluntary resignation. An ironclad rice bowl.

And realistically, the Imperial Knight Order almost never saw real danger. The territorial orders handled the run-of-the-mill conflicts, and if a war got too big, the Capital Guard and the Empire's regular forces stepped in.

There were exactly two scenarios that put the Imperial Knights on a battlefield.

The emperor leading a campaign personally, or the empire teetering on the brink of collapse.

In case number two, we'd all be dead anyway, so functionally speaking, it was an adamantium-plated guarantee of lifetime employment.

The upside of being an Imperial Knight was that I couldn't get fired. The downside, as the saying goes, is that neither could your asshole superiors.

The Princess's Knight Order, where I served, held a similar status.

If you want to split hairs, the Imperial Knight Order was like working for the Seoul Metropolitan Government, and the Princess's Order was like working for the Gangnam District Office. Different address, same stupidly cushy deal.

And today, I intended to quit that stupidly cushy, retirement-guaranteed post.

"Sir, I'm resigning."

"Are you serious?"

Commander Luke stared up at me, his face radiating disbelief.

"Yes. Today marks seven years, does it not?"

"That it does."

"I'm done."

"You sound like a man who's been counting the days."

"I'd rather not kill people for a living anymore."

That was a lie. The Princess's Order didn't do much killing, and it wasn't like we'd been constantly dragged off to war. Only my first year had involved any real fighting.

My real reason for quitting?

I didn't want to die.

Wait, didn't I just call it a death-proof, stupidly cushy gig?

I'm sure someone's asking that.

Fine. It is a stupidly cushy gig. But that stupidly cushy Princess's Knight Order? Three years from now, every single one of them gets wiped out.

One year from now, the Second Princess Diana becomes empress, and the Order becomes her personal instrument of power. That's the problem. You become the honor guard of a tyrant. The Order gets rebranded as the First Imperial Knight Order and turns into the core department responsible for the Blood Purges.

The woman history would remember as the Empire's greatest villainess—Diana. The architect of the Empire's fracture into three warring states. The Blood Empress who orchestrated five separate purges.

'The only way to survive is to leave while she's still just a princess.'

Whether the threat came from Diana herself or from the future rebellion, it didn't matter. Once my hands got anywhere near the systematic beheading of nobles, my own head would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠roll in a heartbeat.

If I were just some ordinary civil servant, I might have risked it. There'd at least be a chance. But this is different. I'd sooner die than become a war criminal.

'War criminals get the firing squad. End of story!'

This world might not have guns, but whatever! The dying part is the same.

Commander Luke shook his head at my words.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow that."

"Why not?"

"Your skills are exceptional."

"After seven years, it's free agency. Or rather, I'm aware it's time for a new contract."

Knights of the Empire are given two oaths. One when they first become knights, and the second when the first oath is fulfilled. The initial pledge is called the Seven-Year Oath, modeled after the legendary pact made between the Empire's first emperor and the first Knight Commander.

The idea was simple: the knight swears seven years of loyalty, and the liege rewards him accordingly. At the end, if the knight finds his lord worthy, he offers his sword in true fealty. If the lord finds the knight a useful and faithful blade, he accepts it, forging a genuine master-and-servant bond.

Once those seven years elapsed, both parties had a choice. Renew the oath, or seek a new lord. The knight proves his ability; the lord proves his leadership. That mutual proving ground was the original spirit of the Seven-Year Oath.

These days, though, it mostly serves as a tool for knights to inflate their own market value. Think of it like a star baseball player hitting free agency to drive up his price tag. FA, plain and simple. If you're mediocre, you take a pay cut. If you're hot, you land an absurd blockbuster deal. If neither, you move to a team that'll match your asking price.

Or you retire.

Exactly like me, right now.

"Your skills are too outstanding. Termination is not an option."

"You know as well as I do, Commander, that's not in the rules. Not even the Princess's Order can override the Seven-Year Oath."

Commander Luke rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"...Why do you want to leave?"

"I'm burned out. I can't do this anymore."

"Haah. You are a core asset of this order."

"Core asset my ass. That's what you say, but I'm treated like a mess cook."

Yeah. Mess cook. A knight who just happens to be decent at cooking.

Commander Luke's face twisted at that.

"You are no mere mess cook."

"What am I, then?"

"An elite culinary knight."

"...Isn't that the same thing?"

"Do you have any idea how good the food you make is? Has anyone in this order ever complained about your meals?"

"That's only because they don't want to get stuck with kitchen duty themselves."

"Ho, who dared to be so impudent? Was it the Vice-Commander? Senior Knight Herman? Whoever it was, I'll have them disciplined severely."

Now he was just deflecting.

"Commander, that won't change my mind."

"You've shaped our palates. Don't you bear some responsibility for that? Without your food, what are we supposed to look forward to at mealtimes? Hm?"

"..."

"If you leave, the old mess sergeant takes over again. We'll be back to dry, flavorless steamed meat, seafood bibim sauce with no seasoning soaked in, and whatever that abomination was, the boneless Coco fry that barely qualified as food."

"I've served those exact same menu items before."

"That's precisely why we need you! Because even under those wretched conditions! You! Achieved that flavor! The greatest elite culinary knight there is! We can't do this without you! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'll go straight to Her Highness and recommend an immediate salary increase—"

"Enough!"

Recommend me to the Second Princess Diana. How is that supposed to sound reassuring? She's the entire reason I'm getting out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of here.

Absolutely not. No way in hell.

"Do you truly hate the idea so much?"

"Of course I do. I'm exhausted. It's time I returned home and lived my own life."

"That Kimchi Stew you made—Her Highness was quite fond of it."

"I'm honored, but that doesn't change my decision."

"If you leave, Her Highness might fly into a rage. Losing her favored chef, after all."

"It'll be fine. A more capable chef will come along."

I was never a professionally trained cook. I just made whatever dishes I could recall from my old world. Spending years handling the order's kitchen alone had made me competent, and I'd picked up a few traditional Empire recipes along the way, but that was it. The world was full of chefs more skilled than me. My cooking would be forgotten soon enough.

"I don't need a territory. Just the severance pay."

"You really mean this."

"Yes."

He let out a sigh. Sorry to disappoint you, Commander. I know losing a promising asset stings, but there are dozens of better cooks than me out there, and even more better fighters.

Rest easy.

"You haven't been secretly contacted by another order, have you?"

"No tampering occurred."

"Tamper...? What does that mean?"

"It means there was no contact."

"You sometimes use the oddest words. Is that a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dialect from your homeland?"

"Something like that."

Commander Luke studied me for a long moment, then finally nodded.

"...Fine. I'll process your discharge. But remember, you'll be transferred to the Reserve Force."

Hold on. What?

"The Reserve Force?"

"You didn't know? Discharged knights remain in the Reserve Force for seven years. Subject to emergency recall."

The goddamn reserves exist in this world too?

"Well, by regulation, you won't get dragged back in unless we're at war with a foreign nation."

"...Understood."

Well, that's something at least.

"Your discharge is effective today, so you don't need to report in tomorrow. And another thing..."

"Yes?"

"Could you perhaps... leave behind the recipe for your Kimchi Stew?"

"That? Sure, you've all eaten plenty of it. Consider it done."

"Thank you."

I stepped out of the commander's office, stretched both arms wide, and let the wave of liberation crash over me.

"Finally free!"

Retired from knighthood. I was finally, actually escaping this hell.

"Are you truly leaving?"

"Yes. I'm gone."

The Vice-Commander of the Princess's Order. The unit's sole female knight.

Andy strode toward me with measured steps. I instinctively took a step back.

There were two people in this place I could never afford to get close to. One was Princess Diana. The other was standing right in front of me.

Why?

"Her Highness will be disappointed."

Because this woman was the Empire's Sword Master, the one who tormented the protagonists more than anyone else in that romance fantasy novel.

Andy Warmaiden, the Iron-Blooded Knight.

The merciless war machine who stood at the Blood Empress Diana's side and cut down her enemies like clockwork. You could argue Diana's rise to empress was entirely because of this woman's existence. How the hell was I supposed to get friendly with the cold-blooded killer from the novel?

Serving in the Princess's Order had been a daily hell because of her.

"Well... nothing to be done about it. I have my own life to live."

"Where will you go?"

"Back home."

She started to close in again, so I took another step back.

"Hmph... I've sensed this for a while, Sir Lucas. Do you find me intimidating?"

"N-no! Not at all!"

How did she know? She's terrifying.

I absolutely cannot get close to her.

Physically or psychologically.

I took another step back.

"...I do hope to visit you someday. In your hometown."

That's a genuinely chilling thing to say.

Wait. Was that a signal? Was she saying she'd track me down after I left the Order and kill me somehow?

That can't happen.

"Ahem. It's a remote backwater. Nothing worth seeing."

"That's all right."

"Pardon?"

"I would be coming to eat your cooking, after all."

"..."

She meant she'd kill me under the pretext of eating my food, right?

That would be a problem. I'd just clawed my way out of the Imperial Palace. I refused to die on the outside too.

"If you do visit, I'll make you the best meal I can."

"I'll look forward to it."

I gave her a curt nod and fled the scene as fast as dignity allowed.

The Palace was terrifying. The Princess's Order was terrifying.

None of it mattered anymore. I was free. I'd retreat to the countryside, open a little restaurant, and live quietly. Old habits die hard, after all.