Surviving on the Northern Front with Gukbap

Chapter 28 : 028. Chef

028. Chef

*

At the blind woman's voice, the bard's hallucination faded away.

"Where is this...?"

Only the crackling of the campfire echoed in her ears.

Crackle. Snap.

The woman was alive.

She had come to her senses.

A mix of emptiness and satisfaction crossed me.

Silently, I looked at the blind woman.

Her upper body, painted in the red and yellow campfire light, gradually straightened.

Then,

she looked directly at me.

'?'

Even though her eyes were covered with a blindfold.

Gulp.

I swallowed dryly.

Anyway, I had brought this woman back to life, but

she was a high-circle mage who could sweep away monsters in a single blow.

'Better be cautious.'

A moment of silence followed,

then the blind woman spoke first.

"Who are you?"

Her tone was unexpectedly gentle and feminine,

but I decided to repeat the same lie I told the bard, not letting my guard down.

"Ian. I'm an adventurer."

But the woman replied with a strange smile.

"That's a lie."

Her firm tone unsettled me, but the certainty in her voice made me ask:

"Why? Do I not look like an adventurer?"

As I said it, I realized my robe was draped over her,

but just the gambeson I wore should have been enough to look the part—

No, wait.

'She can't even see, right?'

So on what basis did the blind woman conclude I wasn't an adventurer?

As I grew curious, she asked:

"What about you? Do you think you look like an adventurer?"

"......"

I couldn't say anything.

It seemed that lowering my voice and changing my tone to pretend to be an adventurer didn't work on a high-circle mage.

So I thought:

'Should I just be honest?'

Even though I saved this blind woman,

she was a mage far stronger than me.

Whether I was an adventurer or an innkeeper would hardly matter to her.

With this logic, I decided to confess.

"How did you know? That I wasn't an adventurer."

"The smell. Mercenaries and adventurers have a unique scent. Like blood or metal, something like that."

"I've lived with my share of metal, though."

"No. It's different. Also, your voice is different, and—how should I put it—it's more... pure."

Pure, huh.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant word,

but in a sense, I couldn't deny it. Tch.

"Maybe that purity is why I saved a complete stranger like you. So at the very least, shouldn't you say thank you now?"

But,

the answer I got from the blind woman was astonishing.

"You saved me?"

Her voice was genuinely puzzled, with a hint of tremble at the end.

Could it be amnesia?

"Do you mean, I almost died? Now that you mention it... I have no memory from before I regained my senses. Goodness."

She did seem to be that way.

Such a cliché situation.

Shaking my head, I explained:

"Before you came here, you were lying in the middle of the road like it was your own home. Then you suddenly woke up and blew away a swarm of monsters in one go."

Despite my best efforts to explain, the woman remained expressionless.

"Still remember nothing?"

"I blew away a swarm of monsters? How?"

"With fire magic."

"?"

She remembers what adventurers and mercenaries smell like,

but she can't remember the fire magic she used?

–As I was thinking that,

Fwoosh.

A small blue flame, about the size of her fingertip, burst forth from her index finger.

"How am I able to do this?"

The blind woman murmured,

"......"

I was both stunned and speechless.

As far as I knew, chantless magic could only be used from the 5th-circle or above,

yet she did it so easily, and now wondered how.

'Did I get involved with the wrong person?'

For a moment, I thought this,

but, recalling that she was my savior, I mustered my patience and asked,

since I owed her my life.

"Try to recall, anything, step by step. So, what's your name?"

"Name. A name... Did I ever have a name?"

Damn. Hearing her say it like a poem with such a clear voice was even more irritating.

She was no longer a threat to me,

but my frustration only grew.

She kept playing with the tiny flame on her finger,

then finally said:

"I remember now."

Opening her mouth,

"My name is Plerine. My name is Plerine."

Tears for some unknown reason slipped beneath her blindfold.

*

Unlike the inside of the cave, the wide rock slab was open to the outdoors.

Normally it would be cold.

But it wasn't,

thanks to the blind woman—Plerine—maintaining several campfires with her magic.

Not only could she conjure blue flames, but also red fire,

which made it warm.

If not for her magic, I might've spent the whole night gnawing on garlic.

In addition, we posted no guard.

Plerine said there was nothing nearby, and if anything happened, she would notice.

She told me to just trust her and sleep well.

Naturally, I was instinctively uneasy.

I had too many memories of game overs during camping runs in games.

But I soon admitted this was a pointless worry.

Ambushes in the night happened when your opponent was weaker, or about as strong as you.

No mage overwhelmingly stronger than me would wait until I was asleep to kill me.

'If she wanted to kill me, she could do it any time she wanted.'

That logic calmed me, and,

if I was honest, part of me just wanted to trust her.

Unlike the bard, who was full of crude jokes,

her tone was gentle and the atmosphere warm.

That's right.

It was a double standard, and entirely gut feeling.

Yet, maybe because my trust wasn't misplaced,

I survived to see the early morning sun after a restful sleep.

The problem was—

'The person who told me to trust only her is now sleeping without a care in the world.'

The blind woman, Plerine, was sleeping, drooling between her lips.

Just what about this woman made me trust her enough for a deep sleep?

'Well, I did rest well, so I guess it was worth it... hmm.'

Despite the good result, it still felt somewhat awkward.

If it were up to me, I'd have shaken her awake right away,

but I, too, was afflicted with the medieval people's passive skill—'good anger management.'

I decided to wake her not with brute force, but with the aroma of food.

'After nearly dying last night, she probably hasn't recovered.'

Not to mention, didn't even her mana get drained?

With that in mind, I understood her deep sleep.

I washed my hands with white snow hanging on the pine branches,

packed snow into an empty water bottle,

melted it in a pot, added rice balls, and mashed them with a spoon.

Bubble bubble.

The starch from the rice came out and thickened the white rice porridge.

As the savory smell spread, the blind woman woke, sniffing.

"Mmmm."

She wiped her drool and sat beside me.

"Good morning."

Then she stared at the pot—or rather, she was blindfolded, but did that count as staring?

'She's been weird since yesterday.'

Anyway, she stared intensely and said:

"Is this stew?"

"No, it's not."

"Then what is it?"

If I called it porridge, she'd probably make another weird comment, so I decided to be vague.

"Something like stew. But, can you see this?"

I pointed to the porridge in the pot.

Bubble bubble.

"Yes, I can see."

"How? Even though your eyes are covered?"

"I just can."

"Just?"

"Yes. Just."

I expected some answer about magic or mana manipulation, but it was just deflating.

I took the pot from the fire and handed a spoon to Plerine.

"Eat."

"Thank you!"

"It's hot, so be c—"

—Even before I finished, the blind woman took a huge spoonful into her mouth.

Gasp. Munch munch. Gulp.

It was strange.

She took a big mouthful of the hot porridge, but seemed completely fine.

And it was strange again.

Even though her eyes were covered, I felt a gaze full of respect and admiration pouring over me.

"My goodness. This is so delicious—oh my."

Plerine wiped away a teardrop and said,

"L-let's eat together!"

But in contrast to her words, Plerine's right hand,

the one holding the spoon, was gripping it tightly.

"Just eat, really."

"... Th-then, I won't hesitate!"

Is there anything happier than having someone enjoy the food you cooked?

She was eating with such appetite.

The pot was empty in no time.

"This is the most delicious dish I've ever eaten."

Since she only remembered yesterday and today, it wasn't all that flattering.

"Now I know. Who you are."

"?"

"If you can cook something so delicious, and have such a warm scent and voice, you must be a chef."

With confident conviction, Plerine went on:

"You're a chef. You must be a chef, right?"

But I—

I couldn't say yes or no so easily.

Because a question was rising inside me.

'Who am I?'

Could I really call myself a chef?

What am I in this world?

In Granfen,

I was an outsider, an innkeeper who had killed the previous owner.

And now,

Should I just run away from Granfen,

or return after finishing my business as originally planned?

In other words, my place and identity were still uncertain.

'What am I?'

Unable to answer her question, I sat in silence,

when suddenly a memory echoed from deep inside.

― Son, do you really have to inherit the shop?

I don't remember exactly when,

but my mother had once asked, upon hearing my dream.

― Of course.

There were only two things I found fun in life:

Cooking, and games.

But I had no real talent for games except perseverance,

and I was recognized both inside and out for cooking, so I was confident.

― I'll make our restaurant the most famous eatery in Korea.

Then my father, with an unprecedentedly stern look, said:

― Becoming a chef isn't an easy path. It's hard, tiring. Do you really want to do it?

Without hesitation, I answered:

― Yes, of course.

My father frowned in silence for a long time, then spoke:

― If so, how about Japanese cuisine? That seems more promising. You're good with a knife, after all.

He was the kind who tried to convince me for over a week to do Japanese food if I was going to cook anyway.

A faint laugh escaped before I knew it.

'Back then, all I wanted was to be a chef. And ever since, always.'

That's why—

Even though I was running an inn under unfair circumstances, I was still happy.

Because my dream was to run a shop as a chef.

Because the joy of cooking couldn't be replaced by anything else.

In that case,

what if I became a fugitive and chose the path of an adventurer?

'Would I be happier than before?'

The answer was immediate.

Even after falling into this damned world, there was only one thing I wanted to do.

Even if I was an outlander.

Even if most of my earnings were taken by Jeros.

My happiness and the driving force in my life was always,

'Cooking.'

What made me most happy was when someone enjoyed a meal I'd prepared.

Whether I was a nobody outlander in this world or not didn't matter so much.

Finally, my mind, which had felt blocked for so long, cleared completely,

and I could decide what to do.

'I'll go to Grey Fortress, sell salt to get money, sign a contract with the stonemason guild, and return with a craftsman.'

If I repair the inn thoroughly and start up business again,

building up shop points and clearing system quests,

'Someday, I might become stronger than Jeros, stronger than anyone in Granfen!'

Because strength means freedom in this world,

at last, I could smile and say to Plerine:

"That's right. I'm a chef and the innkeeper."

To decide your own path—

it was even more refreshing than I expected.