Silbaerin (2)
"Dad!!"
"There you are, my girl!"
Ishilla climbed down from the carriage and ran straight into Kailan's arms. He had seen it coming, and he gathered her in without a moment's hesitation.
"But isn't the Academy about to start up again?"
"I know. But if I don't come now, I won't get another chance until summer break!"
They went into the manor and settled in to catch up on everything that had piled up between them. Letters could carry the news well enough, but sitting face to face and talking until the words ran out was another thing entirely.
They were deep in the middle of it when Ishilla slowly drew the mood in and lowered her voice.
"Dad... anyway. Have you been to the Kalian Forest lately?"
"The Kalian Forest? I was last there a year ago. The knights are due for a reconnaissance patrol before long."
"Oh... really? This is a real secret, but... there's a Master in the Kalian Forest right now!"
"Yes, yes. A Master... hm?"
He had been listening with half an ear, sure his daughter was fussing over nothing again, when a word came out that he could not simply let pass.
"A Master? What sort of Master?"
"There's a restaurant run by a Cooking Master from the East. I was shocked too, you know?"
As if everything she had said until then had only been a taste, Ishilla spilled the rest in a rush of excitement. She had ended up staying in the Kalian Forest last night without meaning to, and by chance she had found the Master's restaurant. The food she ate there was a flavor she had never tasted once in her life. It wasn't an inn, but he had taken her circumstances into account and even lent her a room.
When he had heard it all, Kailan let out a low hum.
"Hmm. You've been greatly in his debt. And if he truly is a master of cooking, all the more so..."
"Right. So I have a favor. Could you spread the word to the people you know?"
"That, I cannot do."
"Ehh? Why?!"
Ishilla, who had trusted her father without a shred of doubt, stared at him like a cat betrayed by the very person she had counted on. But Kailan had no choice. He could promote the place all he liked to the rest of the household, or to the people of the territory. Ishilla herself could wield that much influence. If she was asking him specifically, what she wanted was for him to recommend the restaurant to the leading figures of other houses as well.
"Ishilla. It isn't that I don't trust you... but I cannot blindly recommend a place I have never set foot in myself. The matter could grow into a political problem."
"Hngh... okay. I guess it can't be helped..."
After her mother died, Ishilla had taken to acting spoiled with Kailan more often. At the same time, she understood that her father was living with the same loss, so when he spoke as firmly as he did now, she accepted it even if it stung.
"Well. I would have had to go regardless... Ishilla."
"Mm?"
"On this forest patrol, your father will go as well. Once I meet this Master myself, I will be able to judge."
She was clearly biting it back so as not to put him in a difficult position, and the sight of that softened him. In truth, her unreasonable requests had always gone this way. He would refuse with a firm spine at first, and in the end he would give her what she wanted. Even Kailan Silbaerin, the Iron-Blooded Duke of the North, was helpless before his daughter.
"Wow! Really? Thank you, Dad!"
He had not agreed to promote the place. He had only said he would see it for himself and decide. Ishilla was already beaming as if she had won. Which meant, did it not, that she was certain he would be convinced the moment he tasted the Master's food?
How good must it have been, for her to go on like this... Now I'm curious myself.
Ishilla had lost her mother young, and for a long while afterward the shock had been so great she could barely get food down. Kailan, unable to bear the sight of her, had summoned cooks of real renown and had them prepare meal after meal, and every time she managed a single spoonful at most. Then, as the child grew thinner and thinner, he happened upon his late wife's recipe and made her a soup, and that little girl had wept in great drops and emptied the whole bowl. The memory was still carved into the Duke's mind.
His wife's recipe had given Ishilla her appetite back. It was also true that her palate had grown difficult to please along the way. And a cook had captured that Ishilla in a single meal.
If it was nothing more than interest earned by skill alone, he had no objection. But if that self-proclaimed master harbored some other feeling toward his daughter...
Whatever sort of man he is, I will see him with my own eyes.
His thoughts went to the beloved sword hanging on the office wall, its edge gleaming a cold blue. For the first time in a long while, his hands itched.
"Achoo!! Ugh... is it still this cold?"
Three days had already passed since Lady Ishilla, who had happened to stay the night at my place, went on her way. In all that time, not a single customer had come through the door. I had expected as much, and it still left a bitter taste I couldn't quite shake.
If it was going to be like this, maybe I should have forced my way into a spot inside the city.
Regret wouldn't change anything. It had already been two months since I was dropped into this other world against my will. An outsider whose only assets were cooking skill and a few... perks was never going to claim a place in the city easily. The restaurant itself, which I figured had come packaged with the status window, had been built out here on its own say-so. Like it or not, I was stuck keeping house in the woods.
"Haa... guess I'll go see how the pastes are doing."
Leave me alone long enough and the only thing that improves is the talking to myself. I went to check the batches I'd started about a month ago. Doenjang, gochujang, and soy sauce were aging side by side in their jars, getting along just fine. The smell of the meju, those fermented soybean blocks, stabbed up my nose, musty enough to stop my breath.
"Mm... yeah. They need another month at least."
The aging hadn't been going on long, that was all. The fermentation itself was right on course. The chili paste was slow about it, but it was definitely bubbling as it worked, and the soybean paste and soy sauce hadn't fully separated yet, though they looked all right.
The reason making jang is fussy is that it's a fermented food. And fermented food is fussy all over again because the variables never end: temperature, humidity, the ratio of ingredients, the yeast.
But what if you've got spirits?
Beginner Spirit Arts
I cast the spirit art and peered into the jars. Lesser spirits were swimming through the chili paste and the meju.
Wheeng, wheeng— Eeeng! Eeng—!
The sounds weren't anything a person could parse, but with Beginner Spirit Arts active I could feel what they felt. Joy, fun, passion. They were aging the pastes in high spirits. The fire spirits held the temperature. The water spirits held the humidity. The wind spirits managed the ventilation, keeping the whole process running smooth.
From intermediate rank up, spirits have a firm sense of self, and getting them to do this kind of work is a lost cause. These were all beginners. Spirits can look like they follow the caster's word, but if the order isn't fun, they will never actually listen. So how were these ones faithfully carrying out an order to tend musty, gloomy fermented food all day long?
The answer was simple. Their whole lives, the only command they had ever been given was to hit something at maximum output. Delicate work that demanded real control of their strength was, to them, a genuine thrill.
Technologia.
Modern factory sterilization? A professional aging room? Sit down. Spirits are gods, and I'm untouchable. Modern technology got hard-cut at medieval fantasy's bootleg yeast, otherwise known as spirits.
What makes jang taste good is the yeast living in it, sure. But the ones helping that yeast come alive are the spirits, so in the end, aren't they basically bootleg yeast too?
Anyway, the aging looked like it was going to be easy enough. I set the lids back on the jars and thought about what came next. Last time I'd made baeksuk, a plain boiled chicken, partly for the opening and partly because I wanted some myself. What was I doing this time?
The truth was, the shop still didn't have a proper menu. My role model had been that effortlessly cool master who cooks whatever you ask for, so I hadn't set one. Even so, I was starting to think I needed at least one fixed dish.
There was a place for a pork-and-doenjang soup set. Rolled omelet, little sausages, even a rice bowl with mountain yam. For a master who made anything you requested, the one thing he kept fixed was, paradoxically, a very humble plate. And once you remembered the story was set in Japan, that pork doenjang soup set sat in the same place kimchi stew does for a Korean: soul food.
Maybe I should keep one dish like that on the board. Something you could eat any time, warm and filling, the kind of food that sits in the chest.
Clank! Clank! Bang!
Someone was knocking on the restaurant door. It rang bright and hard, as if they were hammering it with iron.
"Is Kang Jinwoo here?"
Huh. Who?
It was business hours, and I had the lights on, so a customer showing up wouldn't have been strange. And yet here I was, a restaurant owner, baffled that anyone had actually come in. Ironic, really.
"Yes, I'm coming...!"
My name wasn't some common form in this world, and there shouldn't have been many people who knew it. The thought that somebody out there might be throwing it around made me a little afraid as I opened the door.
Knights stood before me in silver armor so blinding they looked ready to bellow glory to the sun at any moment.
Uh... what was this about? I didn't have anything to do with the likes of the Ashen Noble.