The Honorable Head Chef (5)
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pouch in his pocket for a good while. Hardo was probably wrestling with tremendous inner conflict over the larger-than-expected sum.
"As I said earlier, I'll handle the actual fighting myself. Captain, you just back me up, and when Musga shows up, run like hell."
"So you're saying you'll hunt the Musga... and we'll take credit for capturing it...?"
"That's right."
So, the plan I'd boldly promised Hildeva was ridiculously simple. Disguise ourselves as merchants heading up the northern road. When the Musga that’s targeting us shows up, kill it. Then report to the guards that the mercenary guild took it down. Done.
Originally, I'd planned to go alone, pulling a cart with a donkey. That way, no annoying companions or extra expenses—just a clean finish to the job.
But simply killing the Musga felt like a waste. So I decided to bring along the city's one and only mercenary band.
My intent? It was groundwork to boost my influence in the city.
I had zero interest in personal gain from slaying the Musga. As long as the northern road opened up and my inn could run smoothly, that was enough.
The mercenaries were different. Imagine the rumors: five mercenaries bagging a massive southern Musga. Requests would flood the guild.
Captain Hardo wasn't some illiterate brute—he was a man of culture and intellect. He'd seize the opportunity, expand the guild massively.
All while owing me a debt of gratitude.
The city's key figures—Administrator Hildeva and Saintess Celereja—both owed me in the same way. That's why they always bent over backward for my requests.
One more such person or group? Nothing but upside. Rosens had heavy foot traffic, and someday I'd need mercenaries' help.
And this was all because I'd sized up Hardo's character. If he'd been a crude thug, I wouldn't have handed over the kill credit—and the gold.
Hardo's face went utterly blank at my explanation.
"A nobody like me... Anyway, thank you, but this commission seems too much... Five of us against a Musga... a southern Musga, no less..."
"Need more gold?"
"No... no. If anything, we should be paying you."
Hardo clamped his mouth shut, deep in thought. He was probably hung up on my claim(?) that I'd take it down solo.
But the upfront gold, the future profits from the rumors, and skipping the actual fight? Those outweighed his doubts.
"Understood. We'll take the job as discussed."
Hardo wasn't a fool. He accepted.
After instructing Hardo on preparations, I returned to the inn—and found pandemonium like nothing else.
Carts lined the road to the parking lot like a refugee procession. Inside, Marim dashed about, stuffing and sorting them one by one.
The courtyard teemed with guests clamoring to stay. Kali weaved madly through legs, while Idi sweated buckets, trying to form a line.
"Uh... how many in your party...? Then you'd be okay sharing a room with others...?"
Northern road returnees and fresh arrivals, all drawn by rumors of the Asenaris, had swarmed the inn.
Inside, Pele raced up and down stairs, guiding folks to rooms. In the kitchen, Della wept over a cauldron, stirring something.
"Why the tears?"
"Too busy... too many people..."
"Hand it over. You help Pele."
I took the cooking from Della. She rubbed her eyes with her wrist and fled the kitchen.
From outside came endless gasps of awe as new arrivals hit the cool air.
Late summer sun still blazed into evening, so the Asenaris chill must've been a shock. I'd spread rumors of hiring pricey cooling magic to deter curious touches—no mage needed, but who cared what commoners knew?
Summer had just begun; two months till fall when no cooling was needed. I guaranteed the inn would stay packed.
Even an idiot could see our current staff couldn't handle it. And Marim did deliveries during peak hours.
Once the northern road was clear, I had to hire a head chef. I'd planned to be picky, but that was overkill.
Grab anyone who could cook, fend off summer crowds first. Or my girls would drop dead.
"Eek! What the hell is all this?!"
Celereja, entering the packed hall, freaked and bolted to the kitchen. I shoved an apron at her and pushed her back out.
"Sorry, we're swamped—help out, Saintess. Call it community service."
"Wha—me?!"
As tear-streaked Della spotted her and beamed.
"Thank you, Saintess... I thought I was dying."
"Uh... uh..."
Thus, Celereja—aproned—ended up waitressing the hall.
Even late evening, no one headed to rooms. Staff drooped with exhaustion; my meet with Hardo loomed, so drastic measures.
I snuck the wall-mounted Asenaris house behind the bar. Lid off: the two were grappling, collars clutched.
Released to the floor, they tumbled wildly.
"Blonde hair is prettier!"
"Black hair suits her body better!"
Pummeling each other, they shed glowing white powder. The chill evoked Apenzel's blizzards—I backed off fast.
The bone-deep cold spread; relaxed drinkers soon huddled, arms crossed.
Sudden drop brought Della hunting me; spotting the rolling brawl, her blue eyes bulged. I shushed her, finger to lips.
She nodded, eyes still saucer-wide.
"Kinda chilly, huh? Night air?"
"Yeah. Head up?"
Chilled guests shivered off to rooms one by one. Peeking over the bar, once half the tables cleared, I boxed the Asenaris and sealed it.
"Nearly froze my ass off."
My breath fogged—surprisingly.
By the time I rehung the house under the troll skull, the hall emptied. I ordered windows flung open for temp control.
"Gold's pouring in, but pockets too small," Pele said meaningfully.
I caught her drift and smirked.
"Yeah. Gotta hire that chef fast. Be back soon."
"Where to now?" Celereja glared sharply.
Her personal issue needed fixing, but north road first.
"Hunting the bastard who killed 'that guy.'"
Realizing who, Celereja blocked me in horror.
"You're going after that? You saw it, Bertrand! That's no human work!"
"I know. That's why I must go. Guards can't handle it."
Marim and Della—having seen the gutted corpse—begged too. Only Idi and Pele watched silently.
"Idi! Stop him! Heatstroke?"
Della shook Idi's shoulders; her chest jiggled wildly.
"Uh... well... Bertrand'll be fine..."
"Argh! Pele! Pele!"
Frustrated Della reached for Pele's horns; Pele retreated.
"Dunno. If Boss insists, he's got an ace. Let him go."
"You demon bitch! Pouring oil on the fire!"
Celereja glared murderously, holy beam imminent. Pele met it coldly.
"Then you stop him. Don't take it out on innocents."
"Eek...!"
Pele... demons were candles to holy power. Gutsy.
"No fighting! Boss's side could split any sec!"
Marim bounced between them. Della bawling, Idi scratching head, Pele and Celereja glaring, Marim mediating.
Aigoo, chaos. Add a chef? Spectacle.
"Clean up, rest. Don't worry about me."
Buckling on the Holy Sword, Della wailed angrily.
"North trip was just back—how?!"
"Della's right! Why can't the innkeeper stay put?!" Celereja piled on.
I sighed.
"This city was one step from ruin. All because of the Golruk monsters nesting on the northern road. Informed folks know."
Staff hushed, listening.
"Rosens sits on the sole narrow pass through the Vurn Mountains. Road blocks? Ghost town in a month. Inn too."
"But still..."
"Della goes back to Bue dives. Idi to the ruined castle basement. Marim steals for siblings again. Pele loses steady work. City falls, Saintess leaves too."
Blunt to cruelty, they fell silent. I pressed.
"To prevent that, I step up. While you work for me, I take responsibility. Saintess isn't staff, but tied to me."
"Boss...!"
Della, mid-sob-rant, now teary-eyed, hands clasped, gazing up adoringly.
Celereja went demure, twisting coyly. Marim toed floor, coughing. Idi giggled "Bertrand, yeah..." Pele stared blankly—but faintly blushed.
Thus soothed, I slipped out.
Hardo and mercs waited at the northern road checkpoint. Smoking by a cart piled with unidentifiable cargo, they stubbed out at my approach.
"Welcome, Boss. Right on time."
"Good evening, all."
I replied casually; they weren't so relaxed. Per my orders: plain clothes. Short sword only—no armor, no shields. Half-armed for a Musga hunt? Heavy hearts.
Still, gold pulled them here.
"Let's move."
Mercs to cart; Hardo and I to horses. Perfect long-haul trader disguise.
Checkpoint guards? My connections and a bit of coin smoothed it.
We entered the damp, shadowed northern road.