The fireworks show ended, and the crowd began to scatter.
“I can’t take it anymore, my head is full of ideas!”
Yuna shoved her half-finished box of takoyaki into Lynn’s hands. Before she could say another word to Celia, she dove into the crowd and vanished at the end of the street.
Lynn held the takoyaki, her eyelids already drooping. After a whole day of running around, this ordinary Novice Nun was physically and mentally drained.
“Lady Celia…” Lynn yawned.
“Go back to the Inn and rest first. I’ll head back after I finish some business.”
“Alright, then please stay safe with Elent.”
With their two companions gone, only Celia and Elent remained, along with a pile of empty leftover boxes.
Celia rubbed her stomach. Although she had eaten quite a bit just now, it was all snacks; that solid satisfaction from carbs was still missing.
Besides, she had real business to attend to.
“Let’s go, Hero.”
“Where to? Back to the Inn?”
“To your house.”
“Huh?” Elent paused his movements. “Now?”
“Yes, right now,” Celia said righteously. “I have an important academic question for Mrs. Martha regarding a recipe for picky eaters.”
“And while we’re at it, I’ll snag some late-night snacks.”
***
Mrs. Martha wasn’t asleep yet. When Elent pushed open the door, Mrs. Martha was knitting a sweater.
Seeing the two of them visiting late at night, Mrs. Martha didn’t show any surprise. Instead, as if she had expected it, she rose with a smile and brought two plates of warmed stew and bread from the Kitchen.
“I knew you wouldn’t be full yet.”
Celia didn’t stand on ceremony, sitting down and taking a bite of bread dipped in the meat broth.
Indeed, this homemade taste was the most comforting.
After eating a few bites to settle her stomach, Celia pulled The Recipe Book from her robe and placed it on the table.
“Mrs. Martha, lately this book hasn’t reacted no matter what ingredients I put next to it.”
Celia pointed at the cover.
“Is it broken?”
“It’s impossible for it to be broken. Elent’s father said this book has a spirit. To put it simply, it’s greedy.”
“Greedy?”
“Sometimes it needs specific pairings,” Mrs. Martha explained. “Just like how wine needs to be paired with meat.”
Specific pairings?
Celia glanced at the Happy Water and then opened it. Bubbles constantly rose and popped within the black liquid.
If she drank it alone, something was indeed missing.
Celia picked up the Happy Water and tentatively placed it next to The Recipe Book.
The moment the book touched the glass bottle containing the black liquid, it vibrated.
A soft light seeped from the gaps between the pages, and the twisted lines on the cover began to move, displaying a new Alchemical Formula.
[Golden Crispy Fried Chicken]
[Required Materials: Chicken, flour, oil, special spice powder]
Looking at that line of text, Celia swallowed her saliva.
Fried chicken.
It was actually fried chicken.
The perfect partner for Happy Water, just like pickles and tofu.
And the ingredients were simple; she just needed to go to the market tomorrow morning to buy two chickens, a bag of flour, and a tub of oil.
Happy Water and fried chicken—this was how life was meant to look.
“I told you so,” Mrs. Martha said with an ‘I told you’ expression.
The problem was solved, and the late-night snack was secured.
Just as Celia was about to put away The Recipe Book and stay the night to buy chicken the next morning, the previously silent Elent suddenly spoke.
“Mother, and Priestess.”
Elent sat across the table, his expression as serious as if he were facing the Demon King.
“I was thinking… should I leave the Church and head to the Capital?”
Celia’s hand holding the bread froze in mid-air.
“Why the sudden thought?” Mrs. Martha asked, her tone unreadable.
“Because…” Elent lowered his head, looking at his calloused and scarred hands. “I am a Hero Candidate.”
“During my time at the Church, although I’ve been happy and learned a lot, every day—besides farming, chopping wood, and cooking—I’m just being specially trained.”
Elent glanced at Celia; he certainly couldn’t say the part about being used as various tools.
“I feel like I’m getting further and further from the path of a Hero. A true Hero should hone their sword skills on the edge of life and death, not study how to cut potatoes into the exact same size in a Kitchen.”
Elent looked up, his eyes filled with confusion and a hint of reluctance.
“If I don’t go to the Capital to receive formal training, I’m afraid I’ll never pass the selection or fulfill the promise I made to my father.”
Celia looked at the serious idiot in front of her.
This was trouble.
A labor force she had finally trained to be proficient—a multi-purpose Bodyguard, human generator, and Happy Water mixer—was planning to run away?
And without Elent, who would chop the chicken tomorrow? Who would control that damn oil temperature? Who would carry the heavy spices?
Rely on herself?
She found even opening a bottle cap too much effort.
She had to keep him here.
No matter what means she used, even if she had to feed her conscience to the dogs, she had to trick him into staying!
Celia’s brain worked at maximum capacity at that moment.
“Elent.”
Celia walked up to Elent. Although the girl’s height wasn’t even at the level of his neck and she had to look up at him, her aura at that moment seemed nine feet tall.
“What do you think strength is?”
Celia put her hands behind her back, trying to look like that terrifying teacher, Kosuren.
“The power to cut through steel? Or possessing Magic that can destroy cities?”
“That,” Elent was stunned, “isn’t it?”
“Shallow! Too shallow!”
Celia interrupted him directly, then pointed at the words [Golden Crispy Fried Chicken] in The Recipe Book.
“Do you really think this book your father left behind is just a book to teach people how to cook?”
“Do you think the Magic within it is merely to fill your belly?”
Elent’s gaze wavered.
“Is it not?”
“Of course not!” Celia talked nonsense with a straight face, even reaching out to poke Elent’s solid chest muscles. “Use your brain! Look at this [Golden Crispy Fried Chicken].”
Celia pointed at the Alchemical Formula, a drop of cold sweat forming on her forehead, but her voice didn’t falter.
“It requires the oil temperature to be controlled within an extremely precise range. Too high, and the outside burns while the inside stays raw; too low, and the outside gets soggy and oily. This isn’t just about controlling temperature; it’s about—”
Celia stalled for a second, her mind frantically searching for impressive-sounding terms.
“—it’s a Trial for Fire Element Microscopic Perception!”
“Microscopic Perception?” Elent’s mouth hung open, feeling like he had entered a blind spot of knowledge.
“Exactly!” Seeing that she had successfully duped him, Celia immediately pressed her advantage.
“Look at this again. Every piece of chicken must be evenly coated in flour—neither too thick nor too thin. Is this not micro-operation training for strength control?”
“Imagine, if you can’t even perfectly coat a piece of soft chicken, how will you accurately hit a weak point when facing a cunning Demon King?”
“How will you control that violent greatsword in your hand on a rapidly changing battlefield, making the heavy feel light?”
This series of rhetorical questions left Elent dazed.
He looked at his hands, then at The Recipe Book.
So chopping meat was to practice the landing point of a strike? Kneading dough was to practice the transmission of power?
“The Church is actually a battlefield for the highest Trial of life?” Elent muttered to himself.
“What else would it be?”
Celia guiltily shifted her gaze, picking up the water glass on the table to take a sip and hide her embarrassment.
“Do you think I make you work for my own sake? I am… cough, I am tempering your character!”
“When you can make a perfect fried chicken that I can’t find a single flaw in, that is when you will have truly grasped the essence of Life-style Swordsmanship and earned the qualification to walk the path of a Hero.”
Elent looked at Celia, the confusion in his eyes gradually fading.
He had always felt he was wasting time, but he hadn’t realized he was actually building a foundation.
Mrs. Martha, who hadn’t spoken, went to the cabinet, rummaged for a while, and pulled out an old notebook.
“Since the conversation has reached this point, you should have this too.”
Mrs. Martha handed the notebook to Elent.
“This is your father’s diary from back then. I couldn’t understand what he was writing, but perhaps it will be useful to you.”
Celia’s heart skipped a beat.
Crap, if the diary says cooking is annoying and he just wants to hack people, then her bluff would be totally exposed.
Elent took the diary with trembling hands and flipped to a page.
On the yellowed paper, the handwriting was scrawled and wild. Most of it was records of adventures, but in a corner, there was a small line stained with grease:
[November 7th. Facing that Flame Demon, when I swung my sword, what I was thinking about was actually how long that dough should rest tonight. The strange thing was, when I stopped thinking about how to hack it to death and instead thought about how to knead it into pieces, that strike was actually so fast even I couldn’t see it clearly.]
Elent’s pupils contracted sharply.
Kneading a Flame Demon like dough?
It matched! It all matched!
His father’s swordsmanship breakthrough back then really was related to cooking!
“Priestess! I was wrong!”
“I was too dull, too impetuous! Clearly guarding a mountain of treasure, yet I was thinking of going far away to find pebbles!”
“I won’t leave. Until I make the perfect fried chicken and grasp how to handle the Demon King like a chicken leg, I will not take a single step away from the Church!”
“…”
Celia took a peek at the diary. Although she couldn’t see the specific details, judging by Elent’s reaction, she was in the clear.
The girl quietly breathed a sigh of relief, the cold sweat on her back already dried by the wind.
“Hmm, it’s good that you understand.”
Celia tried her best to maintain her image as a grand master, waving her hand.
“Since you’ve realized it, go to bed early. Remember to wake up early tomorrow; we need to grab the freshest chicken legs.”
“Yes! I guarantee I’ll complete the mission!”
Mrs. Martha looked at her son, who had regained his fighting spirit, and then at Celia, who was secretly stuffing the remaining Happy Water into her robes.
This girl’s ability to deceive people was becoming more and more like the Archbishops of the Holy See.
However, as long as her son was happy and had a place to stay, it was better than going out to take risks.
“Alright, everyone go to sleep. We still have to get to the market early tomorrow.”
“Okay, Mrs. Martha. I’ll head back to the Inn then.”
Lynn was still waiting for her.
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She really is lucky.