Surviving on the Northern Front with Gukbap

Chapter 70 : Granfen (3)

Granfen (3)

A chef and a bartender are different jobs.

A bartender and a brewer are also different occupations.

But in the Middle Ages, things are different.

The innkeeper is the chef, bartender, and brewer.

I can't believe I missed that.

Ian, are you still unable to shed your outsider habits?

'I thought it was my chance to snatch up someone else's shop, damn it.'

Liquor? A showdown with drinks?!

"Haa."

I trudged back to my shop.

Everything looked unchanged, yet for some reason, I felt as if red warning signs were plastered all over the place.

"Why the long face, boss?"

At some point, Plerine had completed her task and returned, asking the question.

I could see that Naba and Harper were just as curious.

"I heard the gist of it from Naba, but did something else happen there?"

I hid my true feelings and sat down before I spoke.

First things first—the most urgent matter.

"Legion's corpse—did you go to see it?"

With Clara absent, I saw no need to send Naba and Harper away, so I asked right away.

"Yeah. Thanks to big-jaw, I checked it without getting caught."

Plerine got Ralph's help?

I only found it surprising for a moment, before Plerine continued.

"To get straight to the point, the body type, clothes, and equipment were all exactly like what we saw at the minor Demon Realm. But...,"

"But?"

"It didn't have a head."

I let out a sigh, picturing Legion's face.

That head with bright red hair and rabbit ears.

"Then, the ears? Were they missing too?"

The Northern Army gets tattoos behind their ears instead of dogtags.

"Also missing. Big-jaw said the Special Investigators don't use those tattoos."

Makes sense, since their unit mainly takes espionage missions.

If you had a tattoo behind your ear, it's like saying 'Please arrest me'.

If that's the case—

"So you can't guarantee 100% that the body is Legion's, huh?"

Plerine nodded.

"Then why are the higher-ups so sure it's Legion's corpse?"

"I checked the Special Investigator's report, too. Apparently, the subordinates who were with Legion at the time were also killed. Since they were all dead, there's a strong opinion that the body must be Legion's."

So it wasn't an assassination.

They made quite the mess.

"Any signs of torture?"

"Other than the decapitation, nothing. No torture traces at all."

This is an unexpected development.

Does that mean we're safe?

Am I supposed to feel relieved or not?

"-At least, that's their judgment."

Plerine added.

This must be the truth.

"Did it look different to you?"

"It looked fine on the outside, but the mana hall inside the body was completely torn up. It must have suffered mana torture."

"Knew it, damn."

I recalled the torture Jeros once inflicted on Flaco.

As a result, Flaco had his mind entirely reprogrammed, but there were no physical wounds.

Even if the highest-ranking officers would have missed it, Plerine, with her 6th-circle mage eyes—able to see everything even with an eyepatch—would have caught it.

"In the end, that gives us two possibilities."

"Right. If the corpse is Legion, the culprit will come looking for us. If not, there's no reason for them to show up."

But in that case, the tortured person probably admitted they weren't Legion.

"Hmm. In that case, the culprit is still likely looking for Legion."

In all this time, the culprit hasn't appeared before us.

That does increase the odds that the corpse wasn't Legion.

But it's not conclusive—it could just mean the culprit hasn't found us yet.

'Legion operated in a cell structure for espionage, but no matter how bold the attack, it would be hard to mess up a military garrison town overtly like that.'

They already know about me, Plerine, and Ralph, but could still be waiting to see what happens.

Of course, this is the worst-case scenario and a relatively low probability.

"This honestly feels dangerous, boss."

Harper said with anxious eyes.

Naba must have felt the same, as he spoke up.

"Wouldn't it be better to lay it all out for the battalion commander and request protection? That way you'd be safer, boss."

Hmm. That does sound reasonable.

If pure survival were my sole priority, even if it was disgraceful, that would be the way.

But unfortunately, I don't want to do that.

Because—

"If we confess now, everything we've built up till now would crumble. And most importantly...,"

Even if no one cares about the buff food wrapper or outsider and the 6th-circle mage, big-jaw surely would.

"Ralph would be executed on the spot."

They'd kill him just to recover the OOPArts.

And worse problems might follow.

Trying to cover up a small issue could worsen everything.

"So turning ourselves in and requesting protection is off the table!"

At my decisive statement, Naba's lips pouted.

I could see he thought I was being soft.

Which, in part, is true.

'If I only cared about my survival, I'd ignore whatever happened to Ralph later.'

But if I were that kind of man, I wouldn't have given the Fragment of the Firmament to Ralph in the first place.

'And I shouldn't just run away whenever things get tough or expect others to save me.'

History is never kind to those who beg for outside help.

Silla enlisting the Tang dynasty army is a classic example.

In other words, both diplomacy and force must be based on one's own power to have meaning.

I am the king and the boss of this shop.

"Just as you are my employees and under my protection, Ralph is my Regular Customer. Everyone matters and I will protect you all, understand?"

Naba hastily closed his mouth, maybe feeling a prick of conscience at my words.

I smirked and continued.

"In any case, the culprit still hasn't shown themselves. If they were going to do something, there's been plenty of time, so there must be a reason. Of course, we don't know those reasons right now."

The three of them nodded in agreement.

"So let's not get scared or run from an enemy who might not even exist, and who might never appear at all.

If something happens, we'll figure it out and deal with it. Until anything happens, let's just do our best at our posts. Let's worry about tomorrow and focus on living—and working—hard."

Naba and Harper looked at me with respect, apparently touched by my speech.

Although, in reality, my message was more like, 'Eh, whatever. Things will work out. Let's get to work.' Well.

'Either way, whoever comes after us, I'm confident I won't freeze up and take it lying down.'

We do have a 6th-circle mage, after all.

"But boss, why did you look so gloomy when you came in earlier?"

"Oh, that?"

With the discussion about this unknown foe over,

it was time to start the meeting about the enemy right in front of us.

"It's nothing really. Our shop's in danger of being taken over, that's all."

"??"

A real king ought to bet his kingdom on the line when it comes down to the table stakes.

*

Naba and Harper's faces froze at my tale of what happened in Wyvern Tail.

All traces of admiration vanished,

and the kid, who used to be a gambling dealer, spoke up.

― You... bet the shop? You used to only dare risk 15 copper at most...

Yeah, I know.

This was entirely my fault.

Never bet unless you're certain—it's a famous line from a gambling movie, and now it stabs me like a dagger.

Anyway, a new day began.

As I instructed, the employees worked hard as usual.

In the midst of all the busy-ness, Jeros, having packed some rice balls, gave me a word of encouragement before leaving.

― This is my shop. If you lose it, you die. Kukuk.

Within a day, the rumor of the cooking showdown had spread everywhere.

And, surprisingly,

the rumors about the culinary match started to offset the somber mood in town following the Special Investigator's death.

People were reacting to this completely new form of entertainment, getting excited.

'It's like a Korea-Japan World Cup match—everyone's cheering for one side.'

In contrast, the battalion commander was too busy to care about gossip. Even when he came to eat, he didn't say anything special.

Soon, the military brass finished their dinner and left,

and my employees and I gathered at the same table as yesterday.

Thud!

I set a beer pitcher down on the table.

It's Wyvern Tail beer, specially procured through an adventurer from Derek's gang.

Next to it, I placed our shop's beer as well.

Thud!

First up, Wyvern Tail's product.

Each person began to fill their own glass from the pitcher.

With a fizz, the aroma began spreading.

Naba swallowed, clearly wanting to taste it. This kid, huh?

"Don't stare at the booze like that, kid. Do you even know what good liquor tastes like?"

"I've had plenty, you know."

Hmm.

As expected of a medieval kid who hung out with gangsters.

He probably knows more than I do.

I poured one for Naba, too.

The brat's delighted.

Sniff sniff.

Harper brought the glass to his nose and commented,

"I was expecting it to be an ale, but I'm smelling lager notes, too. Is it because of the cold climate here?"

Fortunately, Harper knew a bit about booze.

He wasn't an expert, just a hobbyist, but that still made him more reliable than I was.

Maybe I could pick up some useful tips.

"All right, everyone got a full glass?"

"Yes!"

"Yup!"

"Yep!"

"It kind of feels like an office dinner, but remember, this isn't a party—it's a taste test!"

"Cheers!"

We raised our glasses and took a sip.

Gulp.

Barley aroma and carbonation filled my mouth.

'Hmm. I can't tell properly, but I think it tastes pretty good.'

Maybe it's because my expectations for medieval food were so low?

I've read some fantasy novels that describe medieval beer as garbage,

but honestly, this is better than I expected.

I don't know how to describe the flavor since I have no sense for booze,

but even I think it's clean and pleasant.

Bang!

That sound was Harper slamming his empty glass onto the table.

He looked surprised and spoke for me, describing the taste.

"It's cold ale! The rich body of an ale, but a clean, crisp finish... like a lager..."

He kept going for ages.

The bottom line was,

"It's insanely delicious! I never imagined a medieval brewery could make beer this good!"

It's really that good?

No wonder even third-rate minstrels knew about Wyvern Tail, the best local food according to Granfen.

You couldn't earn that kind of reputation just from tomato soup.

Sure enough, following Harper, Plerine also quietly expressed her admiration.

"It's delicious. Even better than I expected."

Of course, hearing those reviews was torment for me,

and I vented on poor Naba, who was grimacing.

"If you lie again, you're not getting away with it."

"... Why does anyone drink this bitter stuff, anyway?"

But he kept sipping.

Gulp.

Harper and Plerine kept draining their glasses, enjoying every drop,

and Wyvern Tail's pitcher was emptied in no time.

"I know you're disappointed, but that's it. Now for...."

It was time for our shop's beer.

Glug-glug.

Sniff sniff.

Harper sniffed the aroma, and his expression darkened.

"Yeah... as expected..."

Harper brought it to his lips.

He barely even took half a sip before putting it down.

Taking a deep breath, he declared,

"May I be honest?"

Facing Gardoc was less scary than this, probably.

I clenched my eyes shut and nodded.

"Our shop's beer is..."

Harper unleashed concentrated fire.

His review was long, but if you boiled it down,

it was flat, bitter, musty, lacking carbonation—

"It's a painful beer."

Today, I learned for sure:

Fact-based criticism can hurt a lot more than blind insults.

Just then,

"Not bad."

Plerine's voice came to my rescue like a faint lifeline.

"R-Really?"

"Yeah. Feels like it'd be good for strengthening your guts."

Ding, ding, ding. It was like being a boxer who just heard the bell while knocked down in the ring. Sob.

I guess my face looked pitiful, because Harper rushed to add,

"It's n-not really your fault, boss—more because the brewing method we were given was flawed!"

"Haaa. That's true, but I don't want any half-hearted comfort."

"Yes, ha... ha..."

"So, what now?"

More precisely, 'what will I do,' but

calling it a group problem encourages more active opinions.

"I don't think we can win with beer."

My loyal Employee No. 3 bravely stated the obvious.

"It's not 'I don't think we can win'—we can't."

Plerine finished it off.

Harper quickly tagged on,

"The gap's just too large to compete head-to-head with beer. Let's make a different kind of alcohol."

I clutched my aching chest and asked,

"A different kind? Like mead or fruit wine? But Wyvern Tail sells those too."

"No, of course I mean not any liquor from this world. You should make something you're familiar with—something you actually know."

Right, of course.

Harper really is a food service pro.

"If soup rice is the greatest food from your world, what's the perfect drink that goes with it?"

This question had a set answer, like a mathematical formula.

Rice soup needs soju.

But,

"The drink that goes best with soup rice is a distilled spirit—I can't make that. I don't have the technique or the distilling equipment."

"Then how about fermented drinks, not distilled? The greatest fermented beverage from your world that we can make with our conditions?"

Fermented drinks, huh.

With what we have now, fermented drinks...

"Oh?!"

Couldn't I make makgeolli?

When you think of makgeolli, this is the only thing that comes to mind.

'Oh, makgeolli!'

I used to love that song because of its simple, catchy melody.

Unfortunately, my current situation is closer to Chef Baek Hyuk than to a singing audition program.

'... Even Chef Baek Hyuk didn't make alcohol, damn it.'

But it's too late to turn back now.

I'll have to put my head together with Harper, who really knows his alcohol, and get through this well.

"It's okay if the boss doesn't know the taste of makgeolli. Actually, it might be for the best."

Harper, chasing originality, pointed out that people here might dislike it because of cultural differences.

"So, let's make a fermented drink from rice and sugar that suits the taste of people here. Just bring over the name makgeolli."

Now that I thought of it, he was right.

Whether I knew the exact taste of makgeolli or not, it wasn't important.

Just as I had always done, I only needed to make something 'delicious', and I had top-quality modern rice and white sugar—truly cheat items.

Oh. With this positive mindset, it suddenly seemed doable.

"Alright. Let's just do it!"