Blackwood Village (2)
Giant food. Colossal dishes.
They were creations most people would never even dare attempt—and rarer still were those who actually finished every last bite. Yet that very impossibility made them pure romance, the sort of thing that alone could set a person's heart racing with longing.
That was why people sparkled at the sight of a whole roast weighing dozens of kilograms, even if only on video, and why they marveled at the impossibly oversized cartoon meats of comics and anime. Of course they did.
A sandwich could just as easily become that kind of object of desire. Anyone who had ever eaten a sandwich had, at least once, harbored a quiet dream of one that was thick and long and utterly enormous.
Karem was no different.
And the Fool's Gold Loaf was the sandwich that faithfully soothed that very romance of his.
A thick loaf, crisp on the outside and soft within. Hollowed out and packed with an entire jar of grape jam and peanut butter, then stuffed with dozens of slices of bacon fried to perfect crispness. True, there had been no peanut butter available, so he had recreated something close with almond butter—but the taste alone was something Karem could guarantee.
Sweet grape jam. Salty, crackling bacon. Rich, nutty almond butter. That sweet-and-salty harmony, layered with deep nuttiness, possessed a flavor that transcended mere truth.
"Mm! Ordinary sandwiches are always too small—leaves you wanting more. This big, satisfying size is perfect."
"Ah…"
Beside Catherine sat the commander of the rescue force. True to the name Giant Churchill, the sandwich was vanishing at a visible rate in his enormous hands. Karem felt a hollow pang watching a dish he had put real care into (short cooking time or not) disappear in an instant right before his eyes.
"Boy. Boy! What's got you looking so flustered?"
"Ah—my apologies."
Startled back to his senses by the prompting, Karem quickly offered Catherine a piece of the Fool's Gold Loaf he had sliced in advance (before the Giant could snatch the whole thing). She took a bite, smiled at the harmony of flavors spreading through her mouth, and swallowed.
"So, Sir Churchill. What important business brings the commander of the rescue force all the way out here in person?"
It was a fair question. A person of power was supposed to make their footsteps heavy with meaning. Karem privately thought Catherine herself had been dashing about quite a lot lately, but circumstances—short staff, emergencies, and the like—had left her little choice. Still, a true power-holder invested even a single step or gesture with hidden weight. That was what she was pointing out.
And yet:
"Hm? I just heard the chef of Lord Atanitas was outstanding, so I thought I'd drop by for a look."
There was no deeper meaning. The world occasionally produced absolute free spirits who simply did whatever they pleased. The Giant answered with perfect nonchalance while polishing off the final piece of sandwich—still far larger than Catherine's share—in a single bite.
"W-what?"
Catherine was thrown by the sheer bluntness of it. Her long-honed instincts and experience confirmed he was telling the complete truth, which only left her more flustered.
"For something that trivial, without any notice…?"
"Hm? Let me turn the question around."
"What do you mean?"
"Is there any particular reason I shouldn't? I've heard young Lord Godwin drops by fairly often as well."
And our adorable youngest lady too, he added. Catherine closed her mouth, unable to deny it. Godwin, whose presence grew more imposing by the day, and Alicia, who regularly bypassed the Mage's Tower's latest security systems, had long since become ordinary fixtures of daily life there.
"In that spirit… you there—Karem, was it?"
"Yes, sir. That's right, Sir Churchill."
"Right. What's this sandwich called?"
"Fool's Gold Loaf, sir."
"Hmm? Why give such a delicious, enormous sandwich a name like that?"
Karem had no answer ready. He had a suspicion, of course, but he kept it to himself. After all, only a fool would try to eat a sandwich this massive in one sitting—and yet it tasted so good that the name almost made sense.
"Because only a fool would finish off a sandwich this huge in a single meal. That's why it's called that."
Catherine's crisp reply made Karem flinch. Did she just read my mind? Of course not. She had simply reached the same conclusion on her own.
"Mmm. That somehow feels like it's aimed straight at me."
"I never named any particular person."
Catherine urged Karem to feed her another bite of sandwich.
"So the only reason you came all this way was that? Just because you wanted to taste something my personal chef made?"
"Well… there is actually one more reason, but—"
"Ah, good. Finally the serious part—"
"Sir Churchill—!"
A faint yet booming voice suddenly rang out from beyond the lodging. Its owner kept calling the Giant's name, searching for him.
"Blast—. So they've tracked me all the way here."
Churchill, who had been casually brushing crumbs from his palm onto the plate, looked briefly nonplussed. Then, with a speed invisible to the eye and utterly unsuited to his massive frame—yet perfectly fitting for a Sword Master—he launched himself straight out the window of the lodging.
"Keep the fact that I was here a secret!"
And just like that, he was gone beyond the window.
The absurdity of the whole episode left both Karem and Catherine turning to stare at each other, wordlessly asking with their eyes what on earth had just happened.
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock! Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock!
Moments later someone knocked politely yet rapidly on the door. Karem looked away and opened it at once.
"Good afternoon!"
"Sir Remus?"
"You must be the famous chef Karem!"
After exchanging greetings with Remus, the Giant's squire, Karem got straight to the point.
"Apologies for the sudden intrusion. Sorry about that."
"What brings you in such a hurry, if I may—"
"Ah! Has Sir Churchill fled—excuse me, visited here by any chance?"
"Oh."
Only then did Karem realize the Giant's true purpose in coming. He politely indicated his employer, still seated at the table inside the lodging, with an open palm.
"Lady Atanitas? Sir Remus says so."
"No need for 'Sir.' Just call me Remus."
Catherine took that cue and simply pointed toward one side of the lodging—specifically the window that had just been thrown wide open. The curtain fluttered faintly toward Remus.
"Blast! One step too late!"
"Until a moment ago he was sitting right there, stealing Lady Atanitas's snack."
"Mm. As his squire, allow me to apologize on his behalf for this rudeness—"
"No, what exactly is going on here?"
At that, Remus—who was only a few years older than Karem—aged a solid decade in an instant, new wrinkles appearing on his face.
"Haa… this is terribly improper of me to say, but Sir Churchill, to put it crudely, dumped all the thinking work on his staff officers and subordinates and then deserted."
"W-what?"
"So I must continue tracking Sir Churchill. I'll take my leave now. Lady Atanitas—my apologies for the intrusion."
Remus bowed once to Karem, once to Catherine, then moved with the same wind-like swiftness as his master, as expected of the Giant's squire. Karem briefly reflected that it was a rather unique master-servant relationship before closing the door. Only after shutting the window as well, still wearing a faintly sour expression, did he return to his place.
"Is that just how Sword Masters are?"
"Don't be so quick to generalize. That mercenary from before was lighthearted too, but he wasn't quite on that level."
"Was that so?"
"It was. Now finish feeding me this sandwich."
Karem brought the neglected sandwich back to Catherine's lips, then suddenly thought: Huh. When you get right down to it, this isn't even that unusual, is it? Compared to Catherine and Olivier constantly flinging magic at each other at the drop of a hat, Gordon and Sir Churchill hardly seemed special. Finally convinced, Karem felt lighter as he lifted a handkerchief and brushed the crumbs from the corner of Catherine's mouth.
The rescue force's overall commander continued to pull the same stunt of deserting meetings. Yet the mission itself proceeded without issue. The purpose of the rescue force had been crystal clear from the start, and Alfred had never expected the Giant to actually command it anyway.
The reason Alfred had assigned Sir Giant Churchill—a full Sword Master—to the rescue force was not so that he would lead it. His nominal position as commander existed solely because of his high rank and outstanding skill. Pure martial power, nothing more. Not because he was any good at command.
In practice, the rescue force was run by the staff officers. Nothing particularly obstructed them. Every plan the officers devised was simply executed under the Giant's name. Field work had always kept rolling even without the high-and-mighty present.
Unlike the Giant, however, Catherine had no leisure or freedom to enjoy. Two days had already passed since their arrival at Blackwood Village. In that time one local lord would invite her, then another, then some noble would throw a small banquet and send an invitation. Having attended yet another such gathering, Catherine returned to the lodging after spending a suitable amount of time taking the temperature of the room, sighing all the way.
"If it's that bothersome, couldn't you just refuse?"
"I intend to, starting tomorrow."
Catherine drew a deep breath, glanced at Karem who was carrying the gifts she had received in her stead, and nodded.
"Well, at this point I've met everyone worth meeting. Refusing invitations after this shouldn't matter."
"Then shall I politely turn down any that arrive from now on?"
Catherine waved a hand dismissively. The meaning was clear without words.
Karem still didn't fully understand why she had been running around accepting every noble invitation. Her status rivaled that of Alfred's direct court mage. By custom she outranked most counts; if she refused, the other party should be the one left wanting. He wasn't curious enough to ask her directly, though, so he rummaged through his mind for something to lift her mood.
"Lady Atanitas. Fancy something sweet for a snack?"
"Yes. Something so sweet it melts both tongue and brain."
"Hmm. What we have on hand won't be enough for that. Might have to raid the supply officer's warehouse again."
"No need to go that far. Dig through the mountain of gifts piled up in the lodging."
Catherine tapped the dirt path with her staff.
"There's bound to be honey or sugar among them."
"Uh… your gifts, my lady?"
"Yes. That heap of boxes that started arriving from day one."
"And I should…?"
They were gifts, even if from others. Karem wondered whether it was really all right. Catherine, however, remained utterly unshaken. With no choice, he accepted. Thinking of it as proxy-opening random gift boxes made it feel lighter somehow. Besides, if any of those boxes contained food, the moment Catherine so much as touched them they would crumble and vanish in an instant—so her decision was perfectly sensible.
"Ahh. Ah? Ahhh—"
"Hm? What is it?"
"Nothing, my lady."
And that was when Karem finally understood why Catherine, for all her complaints of annoyance, had been answering invitations nonstop from dawn until late night. Inviting a person of high standing naturally required offering something of value in return. And Catherine was, of course, a diplomatic treasure that every power-holder was desperate to befriend, practically dancing with impatience. After all, she ranked among the five closest confidants of the de facto king of Iceland; the ecology of the lesser powers living in Iceland was all too predictable.
Murmur murmur—
As Karem followed Catherine back toward the lodging, the commotion from the relatively nearby palisade grew louder.
"Hmm. Something's noisy."
"Could monsters have come near the village?"
"With that many search parties and adventurer groups from the rescue force out there?"
"Just in case, let's take a look."
Things had been quiet until now—what could it be? Curious, Karem followed Catherine toward the palisade.
The top of the palisade was as crowded as it was noisy—soldiers, mercenaries, and adventurers in considerable numbers. Thanks to the soldiers who recognized Catherine, Karem was able to stand beside her and see the cause of the commotion for himself. Not that it would have been possible to miss it. When the forest straight ahead was thrashing as if whipped by wind and a haze of dust was rising, anyone would notice.
"A monster attack?"
"Possibly. Though I don't think it's something I need to step in for just yet."
Then people burst out of the dark woods. Not one or two—dozens of them. They came running as if pursued by something, and the moment they spotted the palisade and the village where Karem stood, their faces lit up and they poured on even more speed.
A short while later, one more figure emerged from the forest: a stout old man in slightly soiled priestly robes who looked for all the world like a chubby Santa Claus.
"Is that—isn't that Lord Iona?"
"That heavy build and the pure white beard. Definitely."
Then Karem witnessed an astonishing sight. Ice suddenly coated Iona's fist the instant he cleared the trees. He seized the trunk of a nearby tree, heaved with a grunt—and uprooted it completely, toppling it over.
"Huh? Wait—wait, what?"
"Even with a body and age like that, he is still an Elder of the Three Gods Sect."
"Is that supposed to explain this?!"
"Then how exactly do you think one claims an elder's seat in a religion—by politics and money alone? In this barren Iceland, where outside the cities the axe comes before the law—"
Before she could finish, the tree crashed to the ground in two halves. Through the gap charged a man with a longsword—someone Karem could never forget, a benefactor.
"W-wait, isn't that Gordon?"
"Looks like he came to make some money. And now the real culprit behind this uproar appears."
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud—
Everyone on the palisade, Karem included, felt the vibration. No—it wasn't vibration. It was the sound of countless living creatures running. The dust cloud rising above the forest hinted at their scale.
Then an enormous swarm burst from the trees.
Bodies as massive and heavy as bears, with fur just as thick. Not as fast as a horse, yet possessing the devastating charge that only that much weight could deliver. Broad, heavy black tails that looked like oars torn from a warship—thick enough to snap ancient trees with a single swing. And huge, square teeth that caught the sunlight and gleamed threateningly as they clenched crude stone spears in their jaws.
"B-bear-beavers?"
"Grizzly Beavers! So it's that season already!"
"Uh, what? What did you say?"
Grizzly what?
A name that somehow combined extreme menace with complete absurdity. Karem half-wondered if he had misheard, yet the scene before his eyes was real. The lead Grizzly Beaver raised its spear and pointed it straight at Blackwood Village.
Aaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!!
As if that were the signal—or rather, because it was the signal—dozens more, then still more Grizzly Beavers poured from the forest, each brandishing crude stone weapons as they charged.
Carried on the wind, a sweet and alluring fragrance began to drift through the air.