Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Spring Hasn't Come Yet
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Seruk.
A clean slicing sound echoed. The elf commander's head, freed from gravity, arced through the air in a parabola.
Thud,
The severed head rolled across the floor a couple of times before coming to a stop at my feet. His eyes remained wide open, as if he still couldn't believe it.
Kyahahaak! Blood! Bloooood! Delish! Master! This is elf blood? So sweet! More! More!
The demon sword in my hand vibrated wildly, as if trying to make up for 500 years of starvation in one go. Its blade glowed red-hot as it slurped up the blood greedily.
"Shut up. You'll choke, you pig."
I casually swung the sword to shake off the blood. Crimson droplets splattered across the floor in a diagonal spray. Staring down at the carnage, I pulled a crumpled cigar from my pocket and stuck it between my lips.
I lit it, and acrid smoke filled my lungs.
Hoo—
Through the white haze, a faint memory shimmered like a mirage.
It was right before the assault on the Demon King's castle. While everyone sharpened their blades and checked their spells, a woman crouched alone amid the ruins of a burned forest.
[Kasian.]
She—Titanian, the previous Elf Queen—didn't care that her dress hem was caked in dirt as she planted a tiny sapling.
In the ash-covered ruins, she alone gleamed pure white.
[Just as spring follows winter, peace will bloom where hatred fades. When that day comes, that fearsome sword of yours will gather dust in a museum, right, Kasian?]
[At the very least, we have to let our descendants live in a world where flowers are offered before swords.]
Such dreamy words. Pure idealism from someone with no grasp of reality, lost in fields of flowers.
But back then, the hero had awakened, and all we needed was to defeat the Demon King. Hope burned bright for everyone.
Including me.
"Sorry, Titania."
I flicked ash from my cigar, locking eyes with the dead elf commander's empty gaze.
"But you were wrong. A museum? Please..."
The peace she believed in so fiercely rotted away in less than 500 years. The descendants she staked her life to protect turned their blades on the Empire out of conquest.
"This sword hasn't rusted a bit, and instead of flowers of peace, it's bloodflowers blooming everywhere."
Master! You not gonna eat this? It's super nutritious!
The tactless demon sword whined.
"Yeah, yeah, chow down."
I tossed the sword carelessly onto the corpse.
"Spring my ass..."
Her voice, soft as wildflowers, vanished completely beneath the cold ring of steel.
"What's the point of spring coming? The seasons have turned full circle, and winter's back again."
The battle was over. The elite elf archers known as the Silver Arrow Unit had evaporated—literally. Cheers of clumsy victory mingled with the soldiers' ragged breaths atop the walls.
The soldiers gazed at me with awe, but backed away in terror too. They were glad we'd won, but my methods were more brutal than the Demon King's army. Fair enough.
But I had no time for victory's thrill or the troops' reactions.
Grrrowl...
My stomach was flat against my spine. That chicken from the modern world was long digested. Squeezing out mana and casting black magic had burned through my calories.
"Food. Now."
I brushed blood from my coat and said it.
"Call the imperial chef. And prepare my favorite dish."
"Your favorite...?"
"Meat. Don't skimp on the spices—load 'em up."
"Right away, sir! We'll prepare it immediately! I'll inform His Majesty too!"
Princess Elicia dashed off. Watching her go, I headed to the imperial banquet hall, stomach rumbling in anticipation.
500 years ago, the place I'd always hit after battles ended. Where the continent's finest chefs piled on delicacies. Golden candelabras and silverware gleaming, aromas of gourmet feasts filling the air.
'Even the greatest mountains are best after a meal. Gotta eat before work.'
My steps were light down the corridor. Sure, the masterpieces on the walls were gone, replaced by scorch marks, but if the food was good, I'd forgive it.
But when I pushed open the banquet hall doors...
Creeeak—
The rusty hinges revealed a sight that left me speechless.
"......"
Golden candelabras? Sold off, apparently—cheap candles teetered on chipped plates.
Finest silk tablecloths? Patchwork stitches everywhere, yellowed stains from lack of washing. The grand chandelier was gone; a few flickering candles swayed precariously.
"Ha..."
A hollow laugh escaped me. The decor? Country's falling apart, so they pawned anything valuable. Fine, I get it.
The food's what matters. I dragged out a creaky chair and sat. Across from me, Emperor Friedrich sat rigid with tension, already waiting.
"You've arrived, Kasian. We've prepared a feast for the Empire's hero."
A retainer spoke in a crawl. Before me sat a lidded silver tray—the last one left, its plating peeled to reveal copper beneath.
This didn't look like a feast.
"Open it."
The servant tremblingly lifted the lid.
Ta-da.
"......"
A heavy silence blanketed the dining room as I stared at the plate.
A charred, rock-hard lump. A bowl of mystery green slop. And some indeterminate roast.
I slowly looked up at the sweating emperor.
"Friedrich."
"Y-yes...?"
"What is this shit?"
"The imperial dinner... Roast pheasant from the northern mountains, organic whole-grain bread, seasonal vegetables..."
"Pheasant?"
I stabbed the roast with a fork.
Pok.
Not meat yielding, but dry wood splintering. The juices had evaporated; the skin was shriveled leather.
'Ah...'
Yesterday's golden chicken haunted me. That crispy batter exploding in my mouth—heaven. This? Hell's kindling.
I gave up on the bird and grabbed the bread. Brick-shaped, dark brown whole-grain loaf.
"This?"
"Black bread... Ground whole wheat with the husk for maximum nutrition..."
"Nutrition? Did you say nutrition?"
I hefted it. Heavy. No joke—brick heavy. How the hell...?
Clang, clang.
I tapped it on the plate edge. Metallic ring.
"Hey."
"Yes?"
"This ain't bread. Dwarf smelting scrap, right? Be honest."
"N-no! Real bread! Just... dehydrated for long storage...!"
"Dehydrated? You sucked out its soul. This is siege ammo, not food! Load it in a catapult, and you'd breach walls!"
I held it up.
"Blunt someone's skull with this? Instant death. Assassin's tool?"
"F-flour shortages lately..."
"Then what's this slop? Why's it that color? Vomit? Alchemy dump?"
"Spinach and turnip stew... Traditional imperial tonic..."
"Traditional my ass! I lived in that era!"
I stirred the soup. Barely solids, just thin broth sloshing. Sniffed it—fishy grass stench.
This, dinner? After chicken, kimchi stew, and rice yesterday?
Pent-up rage erupted.
BAM—!
I slammed the table. The black bread launched like catapult shot.
Thwack!
"Gah!"
It nailed the emperor's forehead. He yelped and toppled backward.
"You assholes! The field rations I chewed 500 years ago in the trenches were softer than this! This is supposed to be an emperor's banquet?!"
I jabbed a finger at the fallen emperor.
"And you! How do you keep that gut on this slop?! Photosynthesis? Sneaking gourmet at night?"
No way that belly came from just veggie mush. Nutritionally impossible.
"Get the head chef."
"Y-yes?!"
"Drag him here now. Three minutes. If he doesn't bounce in, I'll smash all your skulls with this bread."
Moments later, a trembling old chef in ragged whites was hauled in.
"F-forgive us! But the pantry's empty..."
He kowtowed. I sighed, rubbing my forehead.
Fair enough... Cooking without ingredients is alchemy, not cuisine. The real issue was the incompetent imperial admins failing to procure supplies.
Rebels blocking supply lines didn't help.
But I wasn't eating this mush. I'm no foodie, but bad food pisses me off—like any normal Korean.
"No ingredients? Go get some."
"But the rebels have the supply routes locked."
"Who said anything about supply routes?"
I pointed out the window. Elf corpses and their war beasts littered below the walls.
"Meat's right there."
"You don't mean the elves...?"
The princess and chef blanched. Cannibalism?
"No, you idiots! Your imaginations are filthy. Who eats elf? Their boars!"
The massive boars the elf cavalry rode. War-bred beasts, muscled behemoths. Black magic got 'em, but the meat should be fine.
"Haul 'em all in. Carve the hindquarters for roasting. Ribs for steaming."
"But... Magical beast meat reeks and is tough—not fit for eating."
"That's 'cause you can't cook."
I cut him off firmly.
"Drain the blood proper, slather spices, sear hot—tastier than beef. I guarantee it."
Twenty years of field chow wasn't for nothing. When supplies cut off, I'd survived on every monster imaginable with the crew.
Dragon tail soup to orc jerky, wyvern wing fry—done it all.
"And Emperor."
"Y-yeah?"
"You got hidden booze, right? Strong stuff."
His eyes flickered.
"N-none...?"
Shing...
My half-drawn demon sword gleamed ominous red.
Kieeek! Blood! Bloooood! Gimme the liar's blood!
He blanched at the sword's hallucinated screech.
"None?"
"I-it's there!! Top-shelf brandy, one bottle!!"
"About time. Bring it—for the gamey smell."
"For cooking? That expensive stuff?!"
"Cheapskate?"
"Nooo!! Coming right up!!"
The fat emperor waddled off in a panic. I turned back to the chef.
"What're you waiting for? Go fetch those boars. Want me to teleport you?"
"No need! On it now!"
The retainers scattered like ants.
Damn, eating one meal's a real hassle...