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Karem was really busy after a long time.

In order to maintain the continuous flow of consumption by the gods in the form of divine beings and also to fry and mix large amounts of Wyvern Chicken for the offering at the altar.

Every time he placed the freshly fried Wyvern Chicken in front of the altar, only clean dishes remained. After repeating the frying and moving process for quite some time, it seemed the gods were somewhat satisfied.

“…Phew. They should be happy with this. I guess I have to do this more often.”

The plate stained with crumbs and seasonings, the clean empty dishes, the table devoid of any feathers. Was he supposed to offer it even during the caravan next time?

Karem decided to put off cleaning for now.

At this moment, there was something more important at hand.

Creak—

“Sniff… Haah…”

He placed a bowl filled to the brim with the last fried garlic soy sauce Wyvern Chicken on the table and sat down.

Just the rich, greasy aroma of the crispy fried food alone was enough to provoke the hunger in his already empty stomach, worn out from hard labor.

The golden pile of Wyvern Chicken reflected in the dull weather, glistening with a light brown seasoning like a chandelier.

There was no time to fetch tableware.

Pulling the bowl closer like a plate, Karem picked up a piece of Wyvern Chicken that had come within reach of his chin.

Crisp!

The texture was different from the usual thick battered chicken.

The chicken made with only water dough was lighter than the double-dipped variety.

But the crunchiness was no different.

This chicken was double-fried.

Instead, the thinner coating gave it a crisp that’s far stronger than what he usually ate.

“Ugh… This is living.”

The crunchy first bite followed by the tender, less greasy Wyvern meat. Although it wasn’t devoid of juiciness, it conveyed the distinct dry texture perfectly.

Yet the flavor of the seasoning felt revived in the crispy batter, mixed with the rich taste of soy sauce, and the faint hint of garlic, ginger barely brushing the finish.

Gulp-gulp—

“…Now, where’s the beer?”

There was indeed some moisture, but the overwhelmingly high protein density had left his mouth and tongue feeling parched. Karem hastily brought over a beer glass and barrel.

And without pouring the beer, he started eating chicken again.

Despite the Wyvern Chicken sucking all moisture away, his mouth, which had already turned into a desert, felt like the remnants of the dry food rolled around.

However, he endured and stuffed his face with it.

And at the moment when he could no longer hold back.

He poured the beer.

Glug-glug-glug—

He filled the glass with beer chilled using divine power to the brink of overflow.

Gulp- gulp- gulp—

Karem downed it in one go.

The exhilarating sensation was akin to drinking icy water in the dead of winter, even amid a desert where not a single dew could be found. The taste of beer chilled to the point it made his chest cold and made his head throb elicited involuntary admiration.

Just then, as he pondered whether to take a break.

Knock knock knock—

“Guuh- Gulp! Gulp! Cough! Cough!”

The knocking sound triggered a choking incident.

“Ugh! Cough! Cough! Ack! G-gasping… cough!”

Karem swallowed the impending cough along with the air, preventing a rainbow fountain show. However, the burning pain in his nose and chest remained.

Knock knock knock!

But someone who turned guests into intruders continued to knock again, and this time harder.

“Ahem. Who the hell is it?”

BANG BANG BANG BANG!

This was no longer a gentle knock. It felt like a fistful of punches against the door, rattling it on its hinges.

Karem, irritated, approached the door and opened it.

Death was standing on two feet.

*

*

*

In Europa, the conditions to become a knight were surprisingly lenient compared to the revered status they held.

Weapons, a full suit of armor, strength, and fame.

Not to mention, one knight to be appointed and witnesses.

Prices and people aside, anyone could become a knight as long as they met these conditions. There were even knights who made their living by getting appointed.

As a result, the first choice for second sons from noble families being knights and also non-noble wealthy individuals wanting their children to become nobles as part of personal reasons created a feeding frenzy.

It seemed that having many knights would pose problems, but surprisingly no major issues arose.

Frankly speaking, knights were merely nobility who fought.

Dueling, hunting, subjugating, and feudal wars were among the various ways they met their end.

Moreover, a well-off noble from the territories would usually recruit filtered knights through various threats of civilization and barbarism to form knight orders.

Iceland, with not a single knight order and all knights bound under the Grand Knight Commander, was an anomaly, but even though it costs a lot, a group of human weapons who trained solely to kill contributed to the peace of the territory simply by existing.

There were regions where knight orders did not only act as individuals but as a cohesive unit.

Regardless, when skilled individuals gathered and became known, countless gossipers outside and inside taverns naturally began ranking the power dynamics.

Of course, objectively determining such status was immensely difficult and would eventually lead to fistfights.

Yet in Kingsland, there was only one knight order and knight that the gossipers unanimously agreed on as the strongest candidate.

The order of knights solely dedicated to guarding the king and the royal family.

And its leader, the “Bloodstained” Sir Michael Jackson.

However, ironically, despite the immense respect and awe associated with the knight order, its leader, Michael, was famously known among the nobles as an object of fear, contempt, and disgust.

The reasons were numerous.

For starters, the very name created fits of seizures among intellectuals across Europa, and with his common birth background sitting at the helm of the knight order, it was only natural that he would be envied.

Certainly, while Michael was one of the few sword masters in the kingdom befitting his high position, there were many nobles who felt uncomfortable that commoners stood above them in rank, at least outside of Iceland.

Had he even slightly bowed his head, the situation might have been different.

But Michael was known for his unyielding nature.

He responded to any provocation and political maneuvering with a duel. The result was always the same: life-or-death stakes.

To add irony, if he had an unattractive appearance, it wouldn’t have mattered.

A middle-aged man maintaining a rugged yet still youthful appearance mixed with bad boy charm had ignited the hearts of many women.

Balance in beauty and ugliness, they say.

He was the talk of the town, thanks to the Crystal Jubilee, and now, Michael was the focus of Kingsland’s utmost celebrity.

“Status Window.”

Beep—

He was, in fact, a reincarnate.

To be more precise, a reincarnate possessing a growth cheat often referred to as a game system by light novel and web novel readers.

Walking down an empty corridor, his eyes skimmed over the translucent sky-blue UI, yet his mind was a jumbled mess.

‘…That has to be soy sauce.’

It was so complicated that the confusion debuff icon that he had hardly seen since becoming a Swordmaster was visible at the top of his field of vision.

It all began when summer rolled around, bringing various ingredients from Iceland and newly developed recipes.

Ranging from fried chicken, a snack favored by most Koreans, to mayonnaise, pudding, ice cream, and crepe cakes.

Half a century after his reincarnation, the memories of past meals that seemed impossible to recover flowed back with the various sauces, dishes, and recipes.

Having lived nearly a hundred years, including this life, he thought he had forgotten it all, but eating the dishes that he had been unable to partake in for so long resurrected memories from the dead.

Although they weren’t perfect, he felt as though faith—something he had never had in a world where gods existed—was beginning to blossom.

This was no joke.

Michael was serious.

Above all, it was the red pepper.

‘Wait, was it called the Fire Witch Finger?’

Michael had no idea that this poison he had only heard of would turn out to be such a thing. And there were tomatoes, bell peppers he hadn’t seen before either.

Of course, it might merely be dishes from this world or recipes developed by geniuses of alchemy. Michael initially thought so too.

Yet no matter how much of a genius, it was impossible to release so many recipes like a flood. It was a task impossible for anyone who wasn’t an expert in that field.

Though he remained unsure about the tomatoes and bell peppers.

“Ahem, Grandmaster. Good day.”

“Yeah.”

Someone clad in armor whose affiliation he couldn’t deduce had met him, displaying a clear atmosphere of reluctance in their greeting, but Michael paid no mind. Such reactions were passive traits of knights from noble backgrounds.

Nonetheless, what mattered most right now wasn’t such a escort knight.

‘Soy sauce. And the cook who developed it.’

Perhaps they were another reincarnate just like him, possibly from Korea.

The only person from his previous life he had met who was born in the Kingdom of Seophone and had lived on the island for decades was one.

‘Jajangmyeon? That’s got to be referring to Jajangmyeon. Gao Li Bang Zi, huh.’

That guy he killed with his own two hands.

He had hated Chinese people from the very beginning.

Of course, he had suffered a bit because of that.

The name of the late pop emperor he had publicly wielded to draw others in was now reduced to that of a noble murderer with the name of the demon king’s Four Heavenly Kings, who had died long ago.

No, how could a fourth angel be a Four Heavenly King of the Demon Lord? Even this bloodstained Michael couldn’t decipher it. But reincarnate Kim Jeong-hoon, current Michael Jackson, had no regrets. Even if he returned to the status quo, he would have to kill that guy even more miserably.

Jajangmyeon, seasoned fried chicken, corn cheese, and potato hot dogs are excellent Korean dishes.

This was proven by the President of the United States.

And for the first time in decades, Michael Jackson, long buried in memories and feelings, awakened like an undead summoned by a necromancer.

‘Sniff sniff. Wait. What is that smell?’

“Indeed, it must be Sir Jackson. The chef from Iceland brought you a gift in the form of sauces. Soy sauce—”

“Wait, did you say 강장? You mean soy sauce?”

“Yes, yes. Would you like to give it a taste?”

And now Michael was heading towards the private room that Lumiere had indicated, ready to meet the creator of countless recipes and sauces that awakened the essence of his soul.

His aura was so overwhelming that people instinctively began to take the long way around whenever they approached him in the corridor or stairs.

Even the baby prince Henry, who had somehow become friends with Alicia and was skipping around, instinctively changed direction. Michael was fully aware of why people were avoiding him. What was causing these shifts? Why was the baby prince returning inexplicably?

As he passed by, Michael, blinded by the allure of soy sauce, was the only one oblivious to the chaos he was causing.

Finally.

Michael arrived at his destination.

All that remained was to knock on this door…

“Huf… I’ve never been this tense even when fighting a manticore.”

Holding his fist, just before he knocked, he paused and wiggled his clenched hand in midair.

‘…That smell.’

The faint but distinct heavenly aroma of fried food seeping out from beneath the door.

The sweet-salty scent of a soy sauce base tickling his nostrils.

Despite being steeped in the batter of seasoned fried chicken, the seductive sound and crunch caused Michael to tilt his head in memory.

The smell was similar to the last supper he had shared before his previous life had reached this state.

Gulp— gulp— gulp— gulp—

The final sound of a crispy beer going down his throat.

Michael’s instincts disregarded reason and he knocked on the door.

Knock knock knock—

“Guh- cough! Gulp! Cough! Cough! Guh! Gasping… cough!”

Hmm, looks like someone choked while drinking.

Michael decided to be magnanimous about it.

He knocked again.

Knock knock knock—

“Ahem. Who the hell is it?”

He could hear the voice from the inside, but Michael’s anxiety only grew greater. Bang bang bang! He pounded on the door as though seeking to break it down.

Creek—

Finally.

The door swung open.

Standing there was a young man of exotic appearance, slightly different from the typical looks of Seophone people, reminiscent of a Western heritage.

But what mattered most was not that.

Michael’s pale eyes landed over the fried chicken placed on the table behind the young man’s shoulder, from where an even stronger aroma emanated.

Soy sauce.

Red pepper powder.

The richness of his previous life.

Michael, drained of strength, collapsed to the floor on his knees.

And clutching the hem of Karem’s attire, he wailed pathetically like a lost child searching for their parents.

“Dear God!”

Reincarnated Kim Jeong-hoon, captain of the royal guard.

Swordmaster Michael Jackson.

For the first time since his rebirth, he called out to the gods.

And now the god stood right before his eyes.

 

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