Chapter 109 : Peace

Chapter 109: Peace

The Last Snow Commemoration Day.

If there was the first snow, then there had to be the last snow.

It was a day to honor that final snowfall.

But it was not actually celebrated on a day when snow fell. The date was fixed on February 25.

It was when spring was almost upon them, when the four seasons had passed and the fresh new spring had yet to arrive—an exciting, expectant moment. Every household opened its doors and held parties.

The happiest day of the year.

True to its name, if snow really happened to fall that day, the whole world rejoiced.

In the Banroa Kingdom, it was tradition for families to gather on this day, regardless of age or gender, to cook and eat together.

New Year.

The Last Snow Commemoration.

We, too, had gathered after a long while to celebrate the day in Banroa’s way.

Back when I had wasted away like a hermit, the Last Snow Commemoration had simply passed in silence.

“Four years, has it been.... Does one call a tree dead simply because it stands bare? Once spring comes, does it not once again turn green like this....”

With bloodshot eyes, Burson spouted yet another proverb.

But that was that, and this was this.

“Still... shouldn’t we tell the head chef to prepare at least a little something?”

He remembered. Every year, whenever we tried to celebrate the Last Snow Commemoration, he remembered the quality of the food we ended up with.

His face showed a desperate hope—that at least there might be something edible.

“Still, this time... the members are different.”

The friends of my age who once cooked with us were all dead now....

Burson mumbled with a slightly downcast look.

“Hmm... Not long ago, I tasted the cooking of Young Duke Katrina and Young Marquis Varen....”

Ah, I had tasted it too.

It had been dreadful.

“Today will be different. I’ll be personally directing the cooking. We’ll make it and eat it ourselves. That’s in keeping with tradition, isn’t it?”

“...I see. Then today I shall claim my stomach hurts and refrain from eating much.”

Burson revealed his distrust of my cooking skills as well.

What was with him?

Still, I could make something edible.

Yes.

Today, I would prove my ability to Burson.

I gathered the younger ones.

My tactic for today was none other than: ‘Division of Labor and Specialization.’

“Alright! First, we chop the ingredients. Who wants to chop?”

“Me! Me! I’ll do it!”

“I can chop faster than anyone!”

“I’m faster than that!”

“Let me do it! Pick me!”

Starting with Katrina, then Catch, Gepetto, and Daisy—they all rushed in.

Well, what else could be expected of swordsmen....

At least when it came to handling knives in cooking, every one of them stepped forward.

But amidst them, there was one who showed no interest in chopping at all.

“Heh... Hyung. I’ll take the iron plate. Leave the grilling to me.”

“Hm? Zaltran. Why the iron plate?”

“The iron plate is kind of like a shield, right? I like it.”

Ah, what an answer—so very fitting for the son of the Count House of Juan.

I quickly distributed the roles according to everyone’s abilities.

Chopping the ingredients went to Catch, the master of Swift Swordsmanship, and Gepetto.

The iron plate went to Zaltran, a shield expert.

Controlling the fire went to Asha, the Flame Magician.

Preparing the meat went to Kalserik, the mercenary.

Skewered grilling went to Rivera, the sharpshooter.

Something along those lines.

And the most important roles were split between me and Seah.

Seah was in charge of the recipes.

“Hm...! In theory, it’s perfect! Grind the butter mushrooms finely, mix them with basil pesto and chado jam in a 3:1:1 ratio, then sauté two cloves of garlic well and add them in...!”

Seah had compiled the recipes she’d been researching for days in a notebook and kept checking it as she directed the cooking.

When I sneaked a peek, it was less a recipe book and more something covered in countless mathematical formulas and graphs.

Just how much had she researched this?

Was she trying to do alchemy instead of cooking?

It showed just how much Seah had been looking forward to this Last Snow Commemoration.

That girl—her expression was always stiff, but she was warmer than anyone else.

“Mas—Master! Katrina is asking you to check the seasoning!”

My disciple Winston ran about everywhere, handling the chores.

The way he came running, out of breath but brimming with discipline, made me understand why the younger ones had grown so fond of him lately.

Enough time had passed that he could have eased up, but he never changed.

I followed him and tasted the sauce Katrina had mixed, scooped with a small spoon.

‘Mm...! This taste is....’

Now I understood why Burson had grimaced.

Even though Seah had prepared flawless recipes, Katrina had somehow managed to ruin the sauce miraculously.

But that was precisely why I was here.

“Katrina.”

“Yes?”

“Sugar, one hundred three grains. Salt, seventy-two grains. Add them.”

“Oooh! Adding!”

I, after all, was a Swordmaster who had attained Transcendence.

My senses were far beyond those of ordinary men.

The moment I tasted with my tongue, I knew exactly what and how much was missing.

And Katrina, too, was a Peak Expert.

Her sense of taste might have been hopeless, but measuring out sugar and salt by the feel of her hands was nothing at all.

“Yes. That’s the taste.”

After tasting the sauce Katrina had mixed again, I declared it passed.

And so, through perfect division of labor and specialization, we accomplished the mission called cooking.

The result was dramatic.

“Th–this can’t be! It’s actually delicious!”

Burson trembled, the spoon in his hand rattling.

“How about it, Burson? This is what you call a ‘strategy.’”

“Ahh... Your Highness. I always believed in you! Truly, the pride of Banroa! The hope of Banroa!”

“Hmph. Yes. I am none other than His Highness Ransen Banroa, the Second Prince.”

“Your Highneeeeess!”

Burson and I played off each other as if we were beating drums and cymbals, while the younger ones looked on with weary expressions.

Like that, we followed the traditions of the Banroa Kingdom and partied until dawn.

We ate and drank, ate and drank again, devouring mountains of food.

As the first light of dawn crept in, Daisy quietly came to my side.

“This is really nice.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“It brought back so many childhood memories.”

“Childhood?”

“Mm. The last time I celebrated the Last Snow Commemoration, I was thirteen.”

“That’s true.”

“Remembering that... it was really wonderful.”

I gazed at Daisy’s profile in silence.

Of course, Daisy’s feelings would be different from mine.

The four years from thirteen to seventeen felt far longer, more distant, than the four years from twenty-three to twenty-seven.

Right now, Daisy must have been recalling those far-off memories of childhood.

“I wish things could stay this peaceful. In the new year. And forever.”

Yes.

After so many trials and sorrows, the years had passed like this.

And now it was a new year.

In just a few months, my birthday would arrive.

Fifteen years since fleeing the Banroa Kingdom.

I would turn twenty-eight.

We had gone through so much, but we kept moving forward and growing.

I suddenly thought:

If there was even one such peaceful day in a year...

I would be willing to fight, drenched in blood, for it.

“Huh? It’s snowing.”

Just as Daisy said.

In the dawn right after the Last Snow Commemoration, heavy snowflakes began to fall upon the world.

As if to bless the peace.

*         *         *

At the northeastern edge of the Norberju region in Roberland lay the city of Argosa.

A man passed through Argosa’s gates.

When he lowered his ashen hood upon entering, the townsfolk around him stared, spellbound, at his face.

Even the soldiers guarding the gates forgot their duties and gazed at him, entranced.

So great was the beauty of the man.

But he paid no heed to the stares and simply walked deeper into the city.

When he reached the market, he approached Mr. Pero as though he had known him beforehand.

Mr. Pero had been struck in the back during the war ten years ago, leaving both legs paralyzed.

Now he sat in a small cart, pushing himself along with his hands and selling little goods to make a living.

Because of his bright, positive nature and kind heart, he was a well-known figure in the marketplace.

“Pero.”

When the man called, Mr. Pero looked up at him.

The man was frighteningly handsome.

Pero had never seen such a beautiful man in all his life.

“Who are you?”

“I have no name. I am but a priest who seeks the Truth.”

Mr. Pero thought to himself.

This fellow must be a little touched in the head. Looks perfectly normal, though.

But how does he know my name?

Up to that moment, Mr. Pero had no particular feelings toward this man.

“Pero. Don’t you wish your legs could be healed?”

This time, heat flared up inside him.

Mr. Pero was good-natured, but this kind of joke could not simply be laughed away.

“Don’t mock me.”

“Don’t you wish they could be healed?”

Mr. Pero glared at the man, furious—

“Ahh!”

—and then froze in shock.

How could human eyes look like that?

A strange glow, a rippling light. Mr. Pero felt as stiff as a frog before a viper.

“If you wish to be healed, drink my blood. Do not resist—accept it with reverence.”

The man drew a dagger and cut the tip of his own finger, a drop of blood welling up.

At that instant, Mr. Pero felt a bizarre intuition.

If he drank that blood, something terrible would surely happen.

But terrible or not, his legs would surely be healed.

Mr. Pero hesitated, but not for long.

“I... I will drink.”

When he opened his mouth, the man let a single drop of blood fall upon his tongue.

“Ah... ahhh....”

Mr. Pero’s body trembled. And then—

“Ahhhhhh!”

With a cry of joy, he leapt to his feet.

The market was thrown into an uproar.

Mr. Pero—the kind Mr. Pero, the gentle Mr. Pero, the man beloved by all—had stood for the first time in ten years.

Before such a miracle, all were struck with awe and fear.

“An angel...!”

“It’s an angel!”

The people gazed up at the man standing before Mr. Pero.

They believed that unless he was one of the angels of ancient legend, no such miracle could be wrought.

The man spoke to the crowd.

“Follow the Truth. The Truth will protect you, and the Truth will set you free.”

The people asked,

“How can we follow the Truth?”

The man answered,

“Come to me. Kneel, and receive baptism. I will heal you, and I will make you great.”

The people knelt before the man as if bewitched. With blood dripping from his hand, he touched each head in turn, granting baptism.

“Ahh... an angel.”

“The bleeding angel....”

Across the land of Norberju, an unknown baptism of Truth began to spread.

Watching from the side, a wandering warrior scoffed.

“Healing a cripple with just a drop of blood? Not even a grand mage could do that. Isn’t this all just staged?”

At that, Mr. Pero turned his gaze on him.

The wandering warrior looked at him as if to say, What can a mere commoner do by glaring at me? But soon his face turned pale.

Mr. Pero’s bloodshot eyes were so chilling.

The warrior hastily fled the scene.

And that night—

Thud!

The wandering warrior’s neck was sliced by a farmer’s sickle.

Clutching the sickle, drenched in blood, Mr. Pero then pulled out a kitchen knife and cut out the warrior’s heart.

“You bastard. You dared—you dared doubt the angel?”

With light blazing wildly from his eyes, Mr. Pero’s ghastly face bore no resemblance to the kindness he had shown all his life.

Cradling the still-throbbing heart in both hands, Mr. Pero hurried back home.

The man who had healed him was there, waiting.

“Angel. Angel. This is my heart.”

Who in the world would express their devotion with a still-beating heart?

Yet the man calmly patted Mr. Pero’s shoulder, then took the throbbing heart and swallowed it whole in a single gulp.

“Well done. Continue to prove your faith.”

At his words, Mr. Pero bent his now-strong knees and bowed his head.

If not for the clothes soaked in blood, it might have looked like a scene of true piety.