The taste was average.
The light from the nearly half-burned white candle shone on Olivia’s helpless face.
It was already five in the morning. Soon, the sun would rise.
The birdsong grew clearer and more pleasant, as if heralding that tomorrow would be better.
Unfortunately, Creis’s onion soup had not improved.
“Averag e?”
Creis quietly watched Isabella taste the third version of the onion soup she had made.
Her mind began to calculate meticulously and seriously why the current result had occurred.
Because the current evaluation was even lower than the first “initial version” that had taken twenty minutes.
Creis was starting to feel anxious.
All of this was a waste of time.
As a thorough pragmatist, she understood that the effort she had put in had actually caused her to regress, which was the hardest thing for her to accept.
She could have continued observing Isabella up close or kept building her relationship with her daughter.
Yet now she was wasting time on something like this.
“You’re wrong. I followed your method, relying on ‘experience,’ but I have none. The flavor I produced…”
Creis’s tone didn’t change, but her halting voice sounded like a denial of some internal error.
She felt she wasn’t at fault—it was Olivia who was wrong.
She wasn’t angry.
“There isn’t much time left, Creis~ Miss Isabella will be here soon. We need to start preparing breakfast.”
“Now?”
“Prepare the ingredients now, and both lunch and dinner will be much easier. There aren’t many hands available here.”
After a brief moment of thought, Creis said:
“There’s still a chance. This time I’ll do it myself. I don’t need your guidance.”
“Mhm~ Understood.”
Creis finished eating all the onion soup she had made.
She clearly couldn’t taste much difference and didn’t understand what was so important about obsessing over these details.
However, when it came to cooking, Olivia was an absolute expert.
At least in Creis’s understanding, there was no one in the world more skilled at this than her.
With that, she returned to the cutting board and began the initial steps once again.
This time, she handled the parts where she had failed using her own methods—such as seasoning… these seemingly insignificant details.
Even so, it was still “wasting” time. According to Olivia, the more difficult the dish, the more it could showcase her skill level.
Creis kept pondering what “putting your heart into it” really meant.
At least in cooking, she only felt the difference in experience between herself and Olivia.
Footsteps sounded from behind. It was Isabella.
“Good morning, Miss Olivia~”
Isabella looked as if she had just come out of the room.
She had changed into a new dress, and the air carried the fresh, distinctive scent of laundry detergent.
“Good morning, Captain. How was last night?”
“Lady Silver-White Sword Empress slept very soundly. Mmm, I feel quite satisfied watching her.”
“Then I’m relieved. Thanks to your care, it must have been hard on you.”
“Not at all.”
After the simple greeting, Isabella also noticed the busy maid.
She picked up the kitchen knife.
Using those eyes patterned with crosses, she carefully and meticulously calculated the curve of every cut, compensating for lack of experience with computation.
Creis didn’t dare slack off in the slightest.
She didn’t ask Isabella any questions about Gabriella.
Because the other party wouldn’t dare lay a hand on Gabriella while under her protection.
Isabella was behaving rather obediently tonight.
“Need any help?”
Isabella tilted her head with a smile, as if teasing, though there was no malice in her tone.
Creis didn’t even glance at her. She simply nodded.
Isabella began lighting the fire as well and busied herself at another spare station.
Creis glanced at her from the corner of her eye…
Isabella’s technique wasn’t particularly skilled—it was even less refined than hers.
In terms of cooking, Isabella was actually a novice too.
Yet the dishes she made could satisfy Gabriella.
Creis didn’t understand.
Two hours passed in the blink of an eye.
The candle had already gone out, and the sky was turning a pale white.
Creis expressionlessly completed the final step, sprinkling chopped parsley over the yellowish-brown broth.
It looked incredibly appetizing.
Only when she turned around did she see that the service cart behind her was already filled with several dishes.
It seemed everything had been completed except for the onion soup she had plated.
Isabella gently pushed the cart and smiled at Creis.
“Just yours left.”
“No need.” Creis shook her head, rejecting the suggestion.
She felt a failure had no place on the table.
Olivia stepped closer.
She seemed very concerned about Creis’s results.
Counting the one before midnight, this was already Creis’s fifth attempt at onion soup.
“How does it feel this time?”
“It failed.” Creis remained expressionless.
“Gabriella won’t be satisfied.
It seems even worse than the previous ones.”
Even Isabella looked over curiously at this point, though she offered no opinion and simply nodded.
Olivia simply patted Creis on the head.
“It’s okay. Just put it up there. We’re short exactly one bowl of soup anyway.”
“Mm.”
Creis didn’t refuse. Olivia personally placed the bowl of soup onto the service cart, then followed Isabella out of the kitchen.
Throughout this, she remained silent.
Inside that small head of hers, it seemed far more complex calculations and thoughts were taking place.
However, Olivia understood that Creis would never be able to figure it out.
Watching Creis’s departing figure, the corner of her mouth curved into a sly smile.
The grand temple stood upon the largest floating island in the Upper Domain.
Its magnificent doors slowly opened with a long, resonant hum.
Light filtered through the brilliant stained glass, casting dazzling, colorful patterns across the white floor like a totem recording traces of civilization spanning thousands upon thousands of years.
The silver-haired girl lifted her head, watching as the repair pod on the cubic altar slowly closed.
It was lifted by an invisible force and sank into the pool before her.
Beneath the clear spring water, preserved within magical power, the repair pod resembled a milky-white coffin.
“She died, Creis.”
The silver-haired girl said to the cyan-haired girl five meters away.
Her voice carried a faint, hidden tremble.
“Mm.”
As if in response to Creis’s anger, the girl’s clear blue eyes grew clouded.
“Is this the war you hoped for? This is already the second Heavenly Oracle Envoy to die.”
“Human resistance is stronger than I anticipated.”
“Creis, do you admit this is your fault?”
Creis merely shook her head slowly.
“No, Gabriella. No one made a mistake. Everything is within expectations.”
“This is their [Mission].”