The Black Gold of Cooking: Soy Sauce (1)

"Uuungh! I'm so stiff."

Catherine dragged her exhausted body back to her private quarters in the tower. Without even combing her disheveled hair, she flopped into a chair like a limp cat, arms dangling. In that same posture she stretched her arms and legs out as far as they would go, letting out a long, thorough stretch.

Work had not stopped raining down on Catherine for the past several days. No—she had already expected as much on the carriage ride back to Winterhome. Strictly speaking, she had seen it coming ever since Blackwood Village. More precisely, she had roughly guessed it the moment Karem began making desserts with vanilla, and she had been certain when Iona asked her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to refine it.

Her lord was a man who moved for the sake of a prosperous Iceland. There was no way Alfred would let an innovative spice like vanilla slip through his fingers. Had refining it required sophisticated magic or alchemy, that would have been another matter. What vanilla actually needed was only the most basic alchemy—usable even by those who could not handle mana—along with strong spirits and various other materials. All Catherine had done after returning was distribute the vanilla-refining recipe to the mages under her and pass along the necessary precautions. Teaching the method to the subcontractors according to Iona’s wishes was her subordinates’ job.

Of course, if the work had ended there she would never have been this worn out. Compared to the workload bombs of last autumn and winter, this was laughable. Catherine also had to prepare the appointment ceremony. Had it been an ordinary knighting, she would not even have needed to step in; the candidate, a few witnesses, some knights, and Alfred himself to receive the oath of fealty would have been enough. But this was the knighting of a wandering mercenary who was also a Sword Master. Considering how others would look at it, they could not simply rush through the proceedings. Catherine understood that. If they made the ceremony shabby and the man left in dissatisfaction, Alfred would be the one to take the loss. Moreover, this was no ordinary knighting. They were preparing a baronial investiture as well—complete with a fief. And if the recipient was a Sword Master… well. The sole complaint was that the Sword Master in question happened to be Gordon, a man who treated the dignity of a great mage as a joke and whose head was full of schemes for teasing her.

Even for an investiture ceremony it was not a large-scale festival like Winter-Ascend, so there was not much that required Catherine to throw herself into it in earnest. At most she had to inspect the leftover Flower of—fireworks, as Karem called them—from Winter-Ascend, and check the various magical tools that would be used in the ceremony. Only then did she realize her mistake. This kind of drudgery was not work a great mage ought to be doing with her own hands. Yet every subordinate who should have handled it had long since left the castle to conduct training. The only people available to check things right now were three: herself, Olivier, and Young Master Robin. Even when Olivier grumbled that a man his age should not have to do this sort of thing, Catherine could find nothing to say. At least the innocent Young Master Robin regarded the entire ordeal as nothing more than training, which was a small mercy.

"If I’d known it would turn out like this I would have made those idiots do it. At least it’s fortunate we’re not making a grand production of it and are holding it first in the great hall during dinner."

And so she finally faced her first rest in two days. Compared to the consecutive all-nighters that had stretched across two seasons last year and into early this year, the workload was laughable—yet tired was still tired.

By the way, she wanted a snack. The kid was probably in the kitchen—ah.

"Come to think of it, I heard the kid seems to have converted to religion lately."

During the all-nighters Catherine had not had a single moment to see Karem. Through Mary, however, who came to deliver the lunch boxes he prepared, she had managed to hear a little of his recent doings. To his usual routine of simply circling among the tower, the castle kitchen, and the warehouse, the temple prepared inside the main keep had suddenly been added. Immediately afterward he would return to the tower and hole up somewhere. According to Mary he had been visiting every day these past few days carrying several kinds of dishes.

"Hmm. Does he have some worry?"

For a moment Catherine felt a flash of indignation. If a retainer had worries he ought to tell his master first. Instead he had gone scampering off to a third party—though, to be fair, a temple was precisely the place one went with worries, and the people there were rather important personages.

"Well, since it’s come to this I have no choice but to go ask him myself."

And coincidentally, she wanted a snack anyway. Catherine, who had been melting onto the floor like a cat in sunlight, rose with sudden agility and left her quarters at a brisk pace. Only moments earlier her body had been limp with fatigue, yet the thought of snacks forced vitality through her veins and temporarily numbed the exhaustion.

"Hmm, hmmm, hmm-hmm~♪"

She found herself humming without realizing it. It was still cheeky of him not to have confided in her. Even so, Karem’s merits were undeniable. Every time she pulled an all-nighter he had sent dishes through Mary. At first she had been uneasy when he suddenly used a crop called tomato—an improved variant of Red Witch’s Finger—yet every single dish had exceeded her expectations. Who would have thought that simply layering tomato and cheese and drizzling them with olive oil and balsamic vinegar could taste so good? What truly delighted her, however, were not the main dishes but the snacks that followed. And they were no ordinary snacks; they were further upgrades of the desserts she had already enjoyed.

"Castoss, was it? To think he would cook Castellan again."

Castoss. Bite-sized pieces of the already delicious Castellan, coated in egg wash, fried in syrup, then tossed in sugar. The result dug straight into a brain exhausted by fatigue and melted it with endless sweetness while remaining infinitely savory. Of course, had Karem heard the name he would have recalled his past life and insisted it was not Castoss but Casdoss, but Karem was not present, and to Catherine’s ears his naming sense had been hopeless for a long time.

"His cooking is so perfect—how can his naming skill be so…"

Still, she chose to understand with a generous heart. He was still young, after all. A master’s duty was to fill in a retainer’s shortcomings.

The tower that would normally have been filled with the sounds of collisions, small explosions, and frying was now empty of people, quiet to the point of desolation. As she descended the stairs Catherine suddenly thought better of it.

"Ah. It isn’t snack time yet."

She paused for a beat, then continued downward. She might possess the appearance of a vibrant young girl whose aging had been halted at a lofty realm, but she was emphatically an adult. A fucking adult who had long since left childhood behind had every right to eat snacks whenever she pleased. There would be consequences, of course, but so what? She was not the type to gain weight! Idly imagining how the female mages under her—Narke especially—would have shed tears of blood if they had been present, Catherine drew closer to the kitchen.

Then a single waft of smell reached her.

"Uuugh!?"

An indescribable odor brushed past her.

"Wh-what is this now!?"

Fragments of the past flashed through her mind. Garam. Red Witch’s Finger. Grizzly Beaver vanilla! While she had been away, what thoroughly suspicious experiment had the brat been conducting this time…!

Yet the source of the smell was not the kitchen. Nor was it Karem’s room. The farther she advanced along the corridor the stronger the odor became, and the moment she realized the place was an empty, unused warehouse she could no longer hold back. Catherine lightly gathered mana at her fingertip and stirred the air. Ambient mana answered her formula and formed a spell that settled over her nose. She lowered her handkerchief, touched her nose lightly, confirmed that the magic—though cast roughly—had taken hold, and strode toward the source. With every step the anger and bewilderment in her gait only grew.

The paralysis magic was working properly. Yet every time she breathed, an unsettling taste bloomed from the back of her tongue… How potent did a smell have to be before it became a taste? Even so, the flavor itself was not entirely unpleasant. If she had to describe it—well. The deep savoriness of infinitely condensed beans, with just a hint of acidity.

"Alright. Here it is."

Without hesitation she flung the door open. The first things that met her eyes were black-stained cloths scattered across the floor, a large basin smeared with black liquid, and sealed wooden barrels nestled among piles of straw. And there, at the center of it all—the source of the smell and the culprit of the entire situation—sat Karem. Hugging the Oak Barrel of Abundance, he held a brown lump bound with straw, white mold blooming across its surface and green flecks visible within. Looking closer she saw it was not just one. Brown lumps covered in white mold were stacked neatly on the straw pile behind him.

Clang!

The paralysis magic she had cast on her own nose shattered. Because she had applied it lightly, it could not withstand an odor beyond its limit. A light rebound rattled her brain, and on its heels came a tidal wave of—

"…Huuuup—"

Stagger—thud!

For an instant Catherine nearly blacked out. Barely managing to move her limp limbs to keep herself upright, she clenched her teeth and clung to the last thread of reason. This smell. It was obvious.

"Uh, Lady Atanitas?"

The greater the expectation, the greater the pain of betrayal. Twin flames of fury lit in Catherine’s eyes, her anticipation of sweet dessert thoroughly betrayed.

After the uproar had passed, various magic tools and spells had been used to drive the smell away, yet a faint coppery odor still lingered in the room. Catherine shook her head and glared at Karem, who knelt with his arms raised, trembling.

"Good. Unlike last time, you’re standing properly."

"I-I won’t offer any shabby excuses!"

Unlike the first time he had been thoroughly scolded by Catherine, Karem was unapologetically confident. What made him so confident was that, at least this time, he was not being wronged. Unlike the incident in Fungusby. Back then the chicken had vanished for a truly “mysterious” reason, and that had been unfair. This time he had acted with firm resolve. Even though his arms and legs ached so badly they shook, his upright gaze displeased Catherine, who clicked her tongue loudly.

"No—how long have you been doing this nonsense?"

"Uh, not many days. From the day before Lady Atanitas got buried ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in work…"

"What? In that short a time you caused this catastrophe?"

"There weren’t many successful ones to begin with…"

What did “failures” mean, and what did “successes” mean? Looking suspiciously at Karem and his “results,” Catherine caught, for the briefest moment, a familiar scent—not the coppery one, but something savory, with a hint of sourness. Could the white powder covering those lumps all be yeast?

"No, that isn’t the important part. Where’s Mary? There’s no way she would simply walk past a smell this terrible!"

"Uh… I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bribed her."

"Bribed? How on earth do you bribe a house elf—ah. Don’t tell me."

"Yes. Well. What Mary likes is pretty obvious."

Still holding his arms up, Karem shrugged. Catherine’s eyebrows twitched. So it had not been for her sake while she worked overtime. The desserts had merely been hush money so he could conduct this coppery, vigorous experiment. The fondness she had felt for him on the way here vanished completely. Deep disappointment bloomed in her chest. But why did something so trivial fill her with disappointment? No—before that.

"What the hell is this nasty lump covered in white yeast!?"

"Uh, I mashed boiled peas, mixed in a little flour and yeast, formed it into blocks, and fermented them? They’re called meju."

"Fermented? In only a few days?"

"Fermentation needs a long time in the end. Coincidentally I happened to have something that could shorten it a hundredfold—"

"The Oak Barrel of Abundance?"

"Yep. After discarding dozens until successful ones appeared, what’s left are the ones stacked on the straw. And the finished product is inside the barrel."

"With a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠smell this terrible, how on earth—"

Catherine suddenly realized. Just as she herself had not set foot in the tower for days, every mage including Narke had gone out to teach the vanilla extraction method. The only one left in the tower—no, the house elf—had been bought off with flashy, luxurious desserts, so of course there had been no one to stop Karem.

Karem shook his head and shrugged again.

"The failures smelled so bad that this is nothing. Fortunately Mary cleaned them up in time, so it’s better than it could have been. She hasn’t come today yet."

"If those aren’t the failures, then what are they!?"

"Those are the successful ones."

"…Fine. I’ll deal with that Mary later."

"Ehehe. Once you taste the result you’ll change your mind. How about trying it?"

"What? The result?"

Seizing the chance, Karem stretched his numb limbs and stood. He had not even been punished enough for her heart to soften. Catherine flared at the retainer who had risen without his master’s permission—but Karem was faster.

Pop.

The lid opened.

A picture drawn by ChatGPT.