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Nobles and the powerful always have their reasons for seeking something new.

To stand out more than others.

To build their territory on solid ground.

To assert influence around themselves.

To enjoy their favorite foods.

And, of course, money always flows through a noble’s interests.

What’s better than money? More money, obviously.

Merchants, keenly sensitive to the flow and scent of money, became close with nobles and the powerful to secure more wealth and the influence to protect it.

This also applied to Soporos of Torchello.

“Thank you for allowing this audience—”

“No need for such formalities. Unlike your kin, who have become shortsighted and myopic since the fall of the Palatino Empire, you, a merchant who respects the ancient customs and laws of this land—older than your short lifespan—and diligently pays your taxes, are worth my valuable time, especially if you are human.”

It’s a lengthy discourse that demands three deep breaths.

Disdain naturally seeps through the words.

With an undercurrent of archaic elitism.

What’s particularly vile is that he speaks these words with genuine admiration and camaraderie.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

“Your Grace, for a human whose lifespan is less than half of ours, one year is quite a long time indeed.”

“Oh, Donatello. I mean no malice. The connection between ‘one year’ and ‘a long time’ just doesn’t register in my mind.”

“Your Grace, it’s Soporos, not Donatello.”

At the mention from the steward beside him, Duke Galera raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Did I forget the name right in front of me?”

Clearly, he had been caught off guard by the other’s name.

However, Soporos displayed not a hint of change in expression.

After all, he was Soporos of Torchello.

A merchant who had risen from a bottom-tier merchant to the president of a nationwide merchant association.

For him, this elitism-laden sentence was less significant than negotiations at a shadowy market, where physical blades exchanged hands.

“Is there any doubt? I’ve seen and experienced the filthy side from bottom-tier merchants, and let me tell you, greed runs rampant among merchants.”

His counterpart was a high elf.

The bluest blood of Bersengzeto.

Moreover, he was Duke Galera.

Rumored to be one of the aged nobles who witnessed the fall of the Ancient Palatino Empire with his own eyes.

In other words, he’s the quintessential old-timer.

Catering to the feelings of this elitist, high elf was simple.

“However, even if our kin are like that, it’s not just the dwarves. Isn’t it primarily the dwarven merchants who are like that?”

“Oh, I completely forgot about that, it’s so obvious. If they weren’t merely shortsighted and myopic, there’d be separate problems with those who are barbaric and violent.”

And indeed.

Duke Galera’s calm, weighty expression warped into a grimace. The steward beside him shared the look.

Typically, elves and dwarves don’t get along, a well-known fact even as far as Adobice.

“If you say that, it seems those greedy, short-statured merchants have caused you some trouble again?”

“Oh, you needn’t insist that I recount this time.”

“Well, they always stir up trouble.”

“Still, isn’t it against business ethics to covet the gifts meant for Your Grace?”

Just thinking about the situation made Soporos seethe.

The rapid expansion of the Fire Witch Finger market in Iceland.

It appeared that demand was outpacing supply, causing prices to soar, and amidst that chaos, those damn bearded fools began to eye his position.

And just as corvids follow a battlefield.

Even the most trivial nuisances started to gather.

Because of that, the market he initially sought to secure barely was half-filled.

However, crises are synonymous with opportunities. Once he noticed the signs, he baited with it, allowing the subsequent improved products to be firmly in his grasp.

“Damn those short, bearded merchants daring to eye the gifts I am to receive?”

“Please accept the gifts I have prepared.”

As Soporos spoke, a secretary standing by approached the steward and politely presented several small boxes and a book.

Duke Galera received them through the steward. Casually, he began to read the title inscribed on the book cover.

“A collection of amazing recipes by the young culinary genius Karem?”

“Have you heard that the Fire Witch Finger is not a poison?”

“Oh, indeed, I’ve started to hear such things.”

“It’s said to be a recipe of Karem, a chef boy from Iceland in the Kingdom of Seophone, who proved this.”

“What?”

Duke Galera’s expression contorted in surprise.

While he didn’t harbor quite as much hatred as towards dwarves, Seophone, including its high elves, was a nation he genuinely detested.

“In the accompanying box is the actual crop that boy developed.”

As Duke Galera’s expression softened, Soporos let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Thankfully, the gift seemed to have an effect.

No, more than anything, it was primarily due to the chef’s origins.

Duke Galera hated the Kingdom of Seophone and its nobility.

He held no particular feelings towards the subjects they ruled.

This sentiment was similarly shared by other nobles of Bersengzeto as well, high elves included.

The food culture representing the Kingdom of Seophone is primarily meat.

In contrast, as a nation dominated by elves, Bersengzeto primarily represented vegetables.

Of course, while vegetables were predominant, they didn’t consume only vegetables.

It was just that the proportion of vegetables was overwhelmingly high.

And even Duke Galera, one of the great nobles in a nation that values vegetables more than anyone else in the world, approached the boxes without a hint of irritation.

There were three boxes in total.

The first box’s identity could be guessed without looking.

The spicy scent belonged to none other than the Fire Witch Finger.

A fruit that has recently begun to be known as a spice rather than a poison.

Duke Galera naturally pushed aside the first box and opened the other two in order.

Pop! Pop! Thud—

“This vivid and glistening red color is…”

“In Iceland, they call them tomatoes and bell peppers.”

“Hmm? That’s an unusual name. Is there no other meaning?”

“I don’t know about that either…”

“I see.”

Duke Galera curtly dismissed that thought, shifting his focus back to the tomatoes and bell peppers.

The plump, rosy fruits, shiny and striking in red, were similar yet bore a notable distinction.

The second box contained tomatoes.

Slightly tapering, cone-shaped fruits appeared fat and were so juicy that one could feel their moisture when touched, and their skins were elastic and smooth.

In contrast, the third box held bell peppers.

With slight wrinkles and a rotund shape, the fruit felt quite firm, but surprisingly light, sounding like it was hollow when tapped.

Fresh, sweet fragrances merged with zesty and crisp scents stimulated the nose of the high elf great noble.

Gulp—

“Tomatoes and bell peppers, I see.”

“The two fruits are improvements of the Fire Witch Finger—”

“Wait, you said what was improved?”

Duke Galera couldn’t help but interrupt upon hearing the words he couldn’t ignore.

“Of course, I understand your skepticism. However, I swear by the grace you have shown me and the Duke of Iceland’s guarantee that these are indeed products improved from the fruits I mentioned earlier.”

Duke Galera cautiously opened the first box he had pushed aside earlier, eyeing it suspiciously.

The red-stained exterior.

Its grotesque appearance resembling the gnarled finger of a witch.

And a nasty odor that was an insult to compare with the scent of bell peppers.

Duke Galera tilted his head towards the steward, who also frowned.

“Do you see it similarly as a product of the same kind?”

“Aside from the color, I don’t see much difference—”

“Short and to the point.”

“Then, yes. It is indeed a product that comes from the same species.”

Upon hearing the steward’s words, Duke Galera finally relaxed his expression.

Having eaten vegetables countless times throughout life, his affinity as a high elf for plants confirmed Soporos’s statement.

Had he been alone, it could be a mere misunderstanding.

But with two high elves arriving at the same conclusion simultaneously.

Curiosity about what recipes could utilize these fruits surfaced next.

So he commanded the subordinates.

To prepare the dishes from the cookbook using the gifted fruits.

“What? What did Your Grace command to prepare?”

“Prepare a dish using the Fire Witch’s Fruit and the improved fruits based on a recipe from a newly received book—”

“What the hell!?”

“AHHHHHH! My tongue, my tongue!!!”

“Dammit, I can’t not use this, and minimal Fire Witch Finger!”

“Use primarily bell peppers and tomatoes! That wicked red powder is strictly for seasoning! Like pepper! Just like pepper!”

Amidst the sudden instructions from the Duke, the kitchen turned upside down.

In Duke Galera’s kitchen, the recent buzz about the Fire Witch Finger not being a poison but more of a spice like pepper had already begun to circulate.

However, no elf cared about it.

Elves, by nature, tend to be a long-lived race.

And long-lived races prefer stability over change.

Though they do not blindly trust their own experiences.

The noble kitchen is a fierce battleground.

Chefs unable to adapt to change naturally get washed away.

But this sudden request?

Sadly, they had no room to resist.

After all, they were merely lowly employees.

The one lucky aspect was that the human merchant who gifted the fruits had brought an amount filling several carts.

Of course, the cookbook boasted a variety of meat typical to the Kingdom of Seophone, leaving the chefs scratching their heads in desperation over how to localize it in the Bersengzeto style.

Just then, as Duke Galera was wondering why it was taking so long, the serving of dishes began sequentially in line.

Fried tomatoes, eggplant lasagna, bell pepper quiche, various mushroom steaks, galettes, pizza with cheese and tomatoes, stuffed roasted bell peppers, various pasta using recipe sauces, vegetable terrines, caprese salad, and many more dishes featuring the Fire Witch Finger, tomatoes, and bell peppers.

The culmination of effort, combining the recipes from the cookbook and the chefs’ desperate arrangements, unveiled itself.

“So, Soporos. How does it look to a human who thinks meat is the best?”

“Ahh, Your Grace.”

Soporos genuinely marveled.

“Is all of this truly vegetable?”

Of course, what astonished Soporos was not merely that.

‘How could they possibly prepare all this in such a short period?’

He was not surprised by the number of dishes.

After all, this was Duke Galera, a great noble of Bersengzeto.

Being the owner of one of the largest ports in Bersengzeto makes preparing this amount of cuisine a simple task.

“Has anyone else gifted you fruits and books besides me?”

“Hm? You are the first, actually.”

“Oh.”

Soporos was surprised yet again, this time for an entirely different reason.

Duke Galera interpreted his reaction in favor of himself and took delight in it.

“The dishes are all ready.”

“Finally!”

Duke Galera exclaimed as if he had been waiting for this very moment.

In truth, he had been waiting.

For in Bersengzeto, disputes break out over the notion that ‘your vegetables taste bad,’ ranging from petty squabbles among villagers to territorial wars.

Duke Galera, being a high elf, surely did not escape such sentiments.

Upon hearing that preparations were complete, the Duke wrapped a napkin around his neck.

He could no longer resist the fresh, rich, flavorful aroma swelling around the dining table.

In the midst of managing to maintain his composure, he noticed the elven servants, who were similarly struggling hard to repress their excitement, bringing the dishes forward.

The Fire Witch Finger was red.

The improved varieties, tomatoes and bell peppers, were also red.

To be honest, despite the aromas wafting, the closer the plates drew, the more their appetite seemed to wane a bit. No, they appeared a tad too red up close.

Click—

“Hmm.”

Duke Galera hesitated for just a moment.

No matter how much he loved vegetables, it was still too red.

Each dish, one and all, bore some shade of red.

The steward shared the same concern as Duke Galera.

This too was just a fleeting moment.

“Shall we gauge the aroma then?”

“Oh, then let’s do so quickly.”

In contrast to his inner thoughts, the steward wasted no time and began to taste each dish using dedicated tableware.

Duke Galera and Soporos observed the steward.

As time passed, it appeared they were having no success gauging the aromas.

The wide plate filled to nearly half with the plethora of dishes began to empty progressively.

Yet, it was clear that the steward appeared deeply engaged in sampling the food.

After all, they had lingering evidence of red sauce and oil around their mouths.

And once the steward cleared their plate, they set it down in a flowing motion as if water had spilled.

“The dishes tasted free of poison.”

“Oh, in that case.”

“Then let’s see about the aromas of the remaining dishes.”

“Wha—what?”

Undaunted by the dumbfounded gazes of Duke Galera and Soporos, the high elf steward resolutely commanded the servants to fill new plates.

 

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