Winter in the ancient capital is cold.
While it rarely snows, the north wind’s chill feels like it’s piercing your skin.
“On a day like this, there’s nothing better than a drink,” muttered Berthold, the company commander, as he dismissed the guard unit after training.
He might have pushed his men a bit too hard today. After leaving the castle walls, he made them run to the forest while carrying their packs. That alone is something they repeat almost every day, but today, he made them do mock battles, as if they were in a real war, two or three times.
Other units wouldn’t dream of it. Berthold’s company is known for its harsh training regime.
They run long distances.
He knew that other company commanders, who place more emphasis on weapon proficiency, secretly laughed at him.
Even so, he makes them run, which stems from Berthold’s belief as a former mercenary.
Soldiers must be able to run.
The longer they can run, the higher their chances of survival.
“…Besides, the ale tastes amazing after running,” he added to himself.
He’d heard rumors of a popular tavern among the soldiers.
But Berthold didn’t know its location.
“So, that’s why I was chosen?”
“You should be honored, Hans. You don’t get many chances to drink one-on-one with the company commander, you know?”
Hans had made a minor blunder during training, and Berthold had used the pretense of a reprimand to take him out, all so he could find out the location of the rumored tavern.
Somehow, that had turned into going out for drinks together.
“Strengthening bonds with my subordinates. Well, sometimes this kind of thing isn’t so bad,” Berthold thought.
Led by Hans, they arrived at the <Stable Hand’s Lodging> street on the outskirts of the ancient capital.
This area was lined with inns catering to the horse grooms employed by merchants, and it was crowded even in the evening.
“Well, we’re here, Commander,” Hans said.
“Tonight, we’re not standing on ceremony. Don’t use such formal titles,” Berthold replied.
“Okay, Berthold, then. Let’s get inside already.”
As they entered the tavern, Hans, familiar with the place, ordered “Toriaezu Nama” (the usual draft beer) for two.
Watching him follow the movements of the black-haired waitress as he ordered, Berthold found it rather endearing.
While savoring the delicious golden ale, Berthold looked around the tavern.
There were what appeared to be menus posted on the walls everywhere, but he couldn’t read a single one. The Otōshi appetizer, which was beans that Hans had started eating, was also quite tasty, but he felt uneasy because he couldn’t freely order what he wanted.
“Boss, surume!” (Squid)
TN: “Boss” in this case is the owner Taishou but it seemed more appropriate for this part as it can be interpreted as Taichou or “captain”.
Hans immediately started ordering something he didn’t understand.
Peering at the hands of the “Boss,” as he was called, Berthold saw him grilling something that looked familiar.
“Boss, is that…?”
“Dried squid legs. They’re good, you know?”
Squid.
The moment he heard that word, a cold chill ran down Berthold’s spine.
The old scar on his left arm suddenly began to throb.
“Ah, I think I’ll have something else.”
“Oh, what would you like then?”
“What can you make at this place? I’m sorry, but I can’t read any of these menus.”
“Oh, sorry about that. I’ve been meaning to rewrite them. Just tell me what you want. I can make most things, I think.”
The “Boss” smiled, his face showing a strong determination to take on any challenge. Fine, Berthold thought, this is a challenge.
This ale is certainly delicious.
What about making a dish that doesn’t seem to go with ale, but somehow does? That sounds interesting.
But he didn’t want something too bland either.
Berthold was hungry. He wanted something filling, and that didn’t seem to go well with ale.
“…Boss. I like chicken.”
“Yes, chicken,” the Boss replied.
“I want you to make a dish with chicken that goes perfectly with this ‘Toriaezu Nama’.”
“…I see. Understood.”
The Boss started cooking without seeming troubled at all.
But Berthold knew. This was an extremely tall order.
There are six types of meat commonly found in the ancient capital.
Pork, sheep, rabbit, beef, horse, and chicken.
The most popular and readily available was pork. Sheep and rabbit were also tasty.
The problem was beef, horse, and chicken. These were only available when livestock was culled after being deemed unfit for their original purposes. Cows and horses were transportation, farming tools, and assets. They rarely circulated.
And then, chicken.
The meat of old hens that no longer laid eggs were what you found in the market. But the meat was tough.
Both the breast and thigh meat from old chickens were notoriously tough and unappetizing. How would this tavern possibly cook it?
“Oh, while you’re waiting, please have this. It’s on the house.”
The waitress offered them sliced cucumbers.
“Cucumbers, just like that?”
“They’re well-pickled, so they’re delicious!”
Berthold wasn’t sure what “well-pickled” meant, but he decided to try it.
Salty.
No, delicious.
What is this flavor?
A crisp texture and the perfect amount of saltiness.
No, it wasn’t just salty. He couldn’t explain it well, but he couldn’t stop eating it.
Cucumber, ale, cucumber, ale, ale, cucumber, ale…
“…Excuse me, could I have another plate of the same thing?”
“Yes, one order of pickled cucumber coming up!”
This time, he ate slowly, savoring it.
It was amazing. It was just a cucumber. But why was it so delicious when eaten at this tavern?
“See, Berthold, it’s a good tavern, isn’t it?”
“Hmm? Yes. But the main event, the chicken dish, hasn’t arrived yet.”
The Boss was marinating and kneading bite-sized pieces of chicken in some kind of sauce.
What kind of dish would they serve?
“Ah, darn it.”
The Boss muttered as if he’d just remembered something, looking inside a metal box.
“Did you run out of something?” the waitress asked.
“Yeah, I’m out of pickles… Sorry, Shinobu-chan, but could you go buy some?”
“What are you going to use pickles for?”
“Oh, it’s not for the customer’s dish. But I’ll need them later.”
“I don’t understand… And do they even sell them at this hour?”
“No, pickled scallions will do. They’re tasty too. They should have some at the hundred-yen shop over there.”
T/N: “Hundred-yen shop” is the Japanese equivalent to the dollar store. Common brands include Daiso, Seria, Can Do and Watts.
Hundred-yen shop?
Berthold didn’t understand a word.
What was the Boss talking about?
Hans stopped the waitress, Shinobu, as she took off her apron to go out.
“It’s dangerous for a woman to walk alone at this time of night. I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, it’s okay, sir. Please wait and enjoy your cucumbers. It’s just right over there.”
She politely but firmly brushed off the offer and went out through the back door.
For a moment, Berthold saw the outside scenery and it seemed incredibly bright.
