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The intensity of the apologies and the contributions over time was almost enough to break one’s back.

Thanks to this, Karem was able to have his sins forgiven.

However, Karem had no time to relax.

The boy rushed to the kitchen to relay the plans and recipes.

There was no time for a leisurely stroll.

Just around the corner was the banquet that combined the awards ceremony and the inauguration ceremony.

He had to deliver this as quickly as possible.

Cursing the enormous scale of Winterhome, which usually left him in awe, Karem dashed through the kitchen like a starving ogre discovering prey, arriving at a place that was practically a battlefield.

Naturally, the chefs did not welcome him.

Even Zigmeser, who usually fussed over everything Karem did, was no exception.

The menu selection had already been completed, and they were in the thick of preparations.

And now they wanted to add more to the menu?

That meant more work stacked on top of the already overwhelming tasks.

No one liked an increase in their workload.

Well, except for a few exceptions like House Fairies.

But when Karem properly conveyed the words exchanged between the Felwinter Duke and Duchess in the office, they had no choice but to comply.

They were chefs after all.

And cooking should bring joy to those who eat it.

Who do you think cooked Godwin’s bland diet imposed by Elizabeth?

Seeing Godwin writhing in pain due to the imposed limits of his diet under the pretense of dieting was never something they were fond of.

They would never have done it if it weren’t for an order from above.

After all, how could a chef find joy or fulfillment in preparing dishes that brought no happiness to the diners?

Especially not Zigmeser, who had to prepare them personally.

The chefs, led by the head kitchen staff’s will and their own pride, grumbled but accepted Karem’s modest recipe, soon letting out gasps of disbelief.

“No way, I’m already dying from being busy!”

“What? Tomatoes? New ingredients? Enhance the Fire Witch Finger?”

“What’s this soy sauce!? It’s not some sort of spicy concoction, is it? If so—no, even so!”

“Seriously, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

New ingredients! New ingredients!

But the solemn order from their lord was given, and they had to make it happen.

At least there was one comforting thing.

Karem’s recipe wasn’t too complicated compared to the dishes already under prep, which provided a small consolation.

However, it still required a considerable amount of repetitive tasks and had some unheard-of recipes mixed in, making it hard to feel enthusiastic.

Meanwhile, Karem moved tomatoes, tomato paste, and finished soy sauce to the kitchen via Mary.

“Crazy! Don’t lie to me, you slime-brain! How the heck is this a Fire Witch Finger!? What? Tomatoes? What nonsense is that?”

“Karem! What madness are you spewing that beans can taste like this?”

“Fermentation! Yes, this rank taste is the taste of fermentation!”

Naturally, the kitchen was in chaos.

Zigmeser and his subordinates shouted that Karem had messed things up again.

As cheers and cries alternated, the chefs felt both agony and ecstasy as the day slipped away, but the fire in the kitchen did not die.

*

*

*

If you asked any influential person in Iceland to sum up this year in a short sentence, they would all reply with the same answer: “A year of gourmet food.”

Trends originally rise from the bottom up.

But they also descend from the top down.

However, the latter was quicker.

From last winter through to this summer, waves of new dishes poured forth like dwarves dumping failed beer out, flooding the culinary scene, tossing the influential into a sea of gourmet they hadn’t anticipated.

Thanks to this, even those with some fortune found their food costs inflating by an extra zero.

But they couldn’t give it up.

People can never go back to the past.

Especially the nobles, merchants, and rich who brought in chefs to enjoy fine dining.

Anyone with a tiny bit of power would know who stood at the center of this change.

Iceland, a place where social mobility was relatively free.

Naturally, it was common to find serfs making a sudden leap upward compared to other countries.

But when you add the criteria of chefs, Grand Wizards, and minors?

That narrowed it down to just one person in all of Iceland.

The Sage

The Great Spirit of the Cold

Grand Wizard

Current Chief Magic Consultant of the Felwinter family.

Catherine Marigold Atanitas

Her personal chef, Karem.

At first, if someone looked down on him for his youth, continuing to do so now would show a lack of insight typical of a noble.

“Hmm, have I failed to make contact again this time?”

“At this point, it’s likely the Chief Magic Consultant is blocking it, isn’t it?”

“That does appear to be the case.”

“Tsk, if only he would wander outside a bit at such a young age, he could at least make some connections.”

Guests invited to the awards and inauguration ceremony arrived early at Winterhome, chatting casually.

Initially, they merely attempted to make light contact with the powerful, but every ensuing message requesting different connections was repeatedly blocked.

“This is getting ridiculous. I know he’s a dearly treasured chef, but isn’t he being too stingy?”

“Well, perhaps he’s concerned about spoiling habits at such a young age?”

“No one would even think to steal away the Chief Magic Consultant’s subordinate, though.”

“The answer seems pretty clear.”

“What? That he might spoil his habits?”

“Someone is surely trying to bring in a foster daughter to the family, right? Or is that just me?”

At that remark, some guests clicked their tongues inwardly.

Sure, there were still those who looked down on him because he was just a serf-born chef.

But they knew, as nobles, that developing ‘delicious’ new dishes was no easy feat.

Let alone leading a trend was even harder.

However, as Karem continuously presented new recipes from Winterhome, the views of those who initially looked down began to shift little by little. After all, it’s only natural to hop onto a trend when the tongue finds pleasure in it.

But there was a decisive blow yet to come.

“Isn’t his skill such that even that arrogant dark elf from Adobice and the sand people would beg for it?”

The Kingdom of Seophone was already an island, isolated from the mainland.

It was at the farthest end of the Europa continent.

And given the harsher environment compared to the mainland, those living there naturally developed complex feelings of inferiority, which became even more pronounced in the outskirts like Iceland.

For those in Iceland, Adobice was an object of envy, jealousy, and reverence.

Most of the influential people, being a bit older, had experienced the unending famine in Iceland during their childhood.

Having tasted the abundance that Adobice could bring, it was only natural that a shadow would loom over some part of their minds.

People from Adobice projected an air of arrogance wherever they went in Iceland.

It was irritating, but there was little anyone could say in response.

Objectively or gratefully, they had the right to be arrogant.

As for the incredibly arrogant chefs from Adobice.

Wasn’t it indeed said that even the king’s chamberlain, having tasted every delicacy, hugged the legs of a mere chef, begging for satisfaction?

That was truly music to the ears of the nobles in Iceland.

They say it’s called “pung” in the world.

“The issue is with the foster daughter. She’s not even a biological daughter.”

“Damn it, why is it that all my children are nothing but scatterbrained?!”

“…Are you seriously saying that as a woman?”

“Even so, I can’t just bring in a scatterbrain, can I?”

For the nobility in Iceland, ability triumphed over bloodline or gender.

They preferred capable women over incapable men.

However, they still held a preference for male heirs, as the physical limitations of women posed various constraints.

Of course, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t consider a capable daughter as fine either.

Thus it was preferable, but not mandatory.

Consequently, those of a certain status would send letters without hesitation requesting meetings, even for their daughters.

Even if it weren’t the duke, nobles or clan leaders of lower tiers would send such letters even if they had to adopt a foster daughter.

Of course, such letters wouldn’t reach Karem.

Catherine was blocking all the black hands of chefs who bid on her, and the ever-compliant Mary began her day by burning numerous lavish letters each morning.

Unless there was a drastic change, all their attempts would be thwarted.

*

*

*

As the fateful hour approached, Godwin swallowed hard, looking at the bustling Great Hall filled with guests.

Today had finally arrived.

Godwin slightly lowered his gaze to glance at Karem, who had joined him while wandering to calm his anxious heart, now looking a bit tired while yawning.

“Karem. You’ve handled everything properly, right?”

“Of course, Your Highness Godwin.”

Karem twisted his body as if trying to shake off fatigue that wouldn’t go away even with time.

“At least you shouldn’t have to eat unseasoned vegetables and boiled chunks of meat, right?”

“But couldn’t we have eaten a bit earlier?”

“Are you referring to the changing menu?”

“Yes. Eating unfamiliar plain dishes just sounds…”

Godwin grimaced at the thought.

He could already smell the blandness just imagining it.

“Indeed, the Duchess has gone a bit overboard.”

Karem empathized with Godwin as he recalled the hardcore diet that Godwin had to endure in his past life, probably made by hardcore trainers.

Bread baked without butter or sugar, just a little fruit.

Dressing-less salads and plenty of boiled meat.

Sure, it was edible enough, but utterly devoid of any fun or stimulation.

Karem shuddered at the horrible result, which the Duchess had personally selected.

“The food for tonight’s banquet that you, Prince Godwin, will eat will—”

“Yes, yes. How many times have I said this? I must eat only the dishes in front of me, and absolutely no overindulging!”

“You forgot one. Desserts are strictly forbidden.”

“But Karem. Let me ask just one question.”

“Feel free to ask as many as you like.”

“Are you really saying that not even one dessert is allowed?”

Godwin asked desperately.

Karem met Godwin’s gaze directly and reiterated once more.

“It’s not allowed. If you take even one, your appetite will grow to two or three, and that’s plain as day. Can you resist that temptation?”

“No, if they come out during dinner, I don’t think I could resist that.”

Let alone the fact that he hadn’t tasted dessert for ages—how was he supposed to hold back? But disappointment was unavoidable, and Godwin’s shoulders slumped.

But Godwin couldn’t stay like this forever.

As he got closer to the Great Hall, more and more guests began to greet him.

As the heir of the duke who invited guests for the awards and inauguration ceremony, Godwin began to respond to them without appearing gloomy any longer.

Quickly, Karem slipped away from Godwin’s side and arrived at the Great Hall ahead.

The Great Hall was more populated than usual due to guests, with more tables than usual.

The walls and ceiling were lavishly decorated to evoke memories of last winter’s Wintersend.

As Karem lost himself wondering how to find Catherine amid the splendid sights and clamor, he spotted someone waving at him from the side of his vision.

In the royal seats, Catherine was seated with Mary, waving him over.

Avoiding the deluge of people, Karem maneuvered along the walls before finally reaching the royal seats, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“A servant arriving after the master, eh?”

“My apologies. I was helping out in the kitchen until the last minute. Plus, there are too many people.”

“Tsk, that’s why I’m not saying more.”

“By the way, where’s the main character of tonight’s banquet?”

“Well, she is the main character tonight. She’s likely being caught up and hassled by the crowd.”

“Oh.”

Upon thinking, it made perfect sense.

The presence of the Swordmaster, which seemed to just pop out of thin air, was like a radar that focused attention on him.

It was clear she was undergoing quite the ordeal, albeit not as bad as the duke’s heir.

“People say that ogres come when called.”

“What? Ogres?”

“Look over there.”

Catherine pointed towards the entrance of the Great Hall.

“Let’s make way for the protagonist of tonight’s banquet to enter.”

“Ah, thank you, Your Grace. The crowd is overwhelming.”

“Once you receive your title and start getting invited everywhere, you’ll soon get used to it, Gordon. No, Sir Stark.”

Alfred was leading Gordon into the hall, amidst the crowd.

 

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