Volume 2, Chapter 34 – A Pitiful Small Fry and the Tavern About to Open

The room was illuminated by candlelight and filled with decorations.

Paintings hung on the walls, vases and carpets adorned the floor, and a fireplace stood at the far end of the room. Each item alone was of fine quality, but due to the room owner’s complete lack of aesthetic taste, the overall combination created an extremely bizarre sight—at least in terms of color coordination, the garish mix was downright dreadful.

The sound of impatient footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty room.

Baron Wells was pacing back and forth.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

The hard soles of his leather boots thudded against the carpet, the noise only fueling his agitation. He unconsciously quickened his pace but ended up kicking a low cabinet.

Though the boots shielded his toes from much pain, the mere sensation of obstruction further stoked his fury. Baron Wells grabbed the vase on the cabinet and raised it high, ready to smash it down.

But he stopped at the last moment. For a nouveau riche minor noble like him, who had bought his title with money, it was impossible not to care about wealth. Every single copper coin was precious to him.

Suppressing the urge to vent his anger on the vase, Baron Wells reluctantly placed it back and muttered under his breath.

“Bastard.”

There was only one reason for his rage—a few days ago, he had been mocked by lowly commoners on the street. Nobles like him, whose sense of superiority over commoners often surpassed even that of high-ranking aristocrats, constantly sought ways to emphasize their uniqueness to mask their deep-seated inferiority complex. Being laughed at by commoners was something he could never accept.

And the root of it all was that accursed slave he had cast out—that monster who brought misfortune.

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The mere memory of being immobilized on the ground made Baron Wells’ blood boil. If his guess was correct, the reason his boots had been fixed to the ground was the work of that cleric named Yisi. Subsequent investigations confirmed this. Contrary to his initial assumption, the cleric had not executed the fallen monster but had instead taken it in and even opened a tavern.

Though the fact that a cleric would engage in secular activities was suspicious, someone like Baron Wells—who rarely donated to the temple—would never receive any attention if he tried to lodge a complaint. Moreover, according to his inquiries, the magic that could firmly fix objects to the ground was a third-tier spell, and a third-tier spellcaster was someone far beyond his station to provoke.

“Impossible… A third-tier spellcaster should at least be an old man. That Yisi looks barely of age… This must be witchcraft! Yes, witchcraft!”

If it wasn’t witchcraft, how else could one explain someone willing to take in a fallen individual and even remove their demonic markings? The progression of demonic markings was irreversible—a fact known to all on the continent. No magic or medicine could turn a fallen person back into a normal human.

That heterochromatic monster was the same. When Baron Wells had thrown her out, he had personally checked—the markings had already spread to her forehead. If he hadn’t expelled her in time, she would have gone berserk. Otherwise, a miser like him would have squeezed more use out of her. Yet when he saw her again, the markings had vanished.

Cleric Yisi must possess some unknown secret. And if he could uncover it, he wouldn’t have to remain a mere baron. Even dukes—or perhaps even the king—might personally receive him.

Baron Wells had heard rumors from other nobles about the empire. The emperor was searching for a way to cure the fallen markings, hoping to create a magical army of the fallen soldiers. Anyone who could provide leads would be rewarded with titles and land.

Though Baron Wells was currently a noble of the Hearth Kingdom, what did it matter if he defected to another country for a higher status?

At this thought, he rubbed his hands together. The path to wealth and rank might be right before him. He could already envision the emperor of the Norta Empire rising from his throne and joyfully descending the steps to greet him.

Swallowing hard, Baron Wells’ breathing grew rapid.

“No… I must stay calm. I can’t let others notice. Recently, the lord mentioned that the fallen individuals from the empire might be lurking near the city. I need to find a way to contact them… And I must verify things myself.”

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If he could obtain the “witchcraft” directly from Yisi without relying on the empire’s forces, his bargaining power would be even greater. He could then play both the kingdom and the empire against each other, siding with whoever offered the better deal.

“What a generous gift this is.”

Licking his lips, Baron Wells swiftly strode out the door and summoned his trusted aide.

◇

After nearly half a month of preparations, the Margaret Tavern was finally on the verge of opening. All the ordered furniture had been delivered, and various utensils were ready. Yisi also planned to introduce chopsticks to the tavern—eating with bare hands was unhygienic, and cutlery risked being stolen by customers. Though chopsticks might be troublesome at first, adding a rule that customers who used them would receive a complimentary side dish would eventually encourage adoption.

The special side dish was inspired by Earth—pickles. Yisi first placed what tasted like ginger, garlic, and chili into a cleaned ceramic jar, then crushed large salt blocks and dissolved them in boiling water. After the water cooled, she poured it into the jar with the seasonings, sealed it, and waited ten days to create the essential “mother brine” for pickling.

From there, all she had to do was add vegetables like radishes, cabbage, and beans to the jar, and within a few days, something resembling pickles would emerge.

Of course, Yisi had encountered challenges—chief among them being the temperature required for the mother brine.

Celtic City was located in the northern part of the continent, where winter snow could pile knee-deep on the streets. If the temperature was too low, the lactic acid bacteria in the brine would struggle to grow, so Yisi had to find a way to raise the room temperature.

She had two options:

First, use multiple “Eye of Dusk” (a magical heat source that burns without oxygen) to keep the basement warm day and night.

Second, modify the kitchen chimney to loop it through the room for extra heat. Though she initially preferred the second option, practical difficulties arose.

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For one, this world lacked concrete, so chimneys had to be built with bricks and mud, drastically reducing strength and construction speed. When Yisi considered using an iron chimney, manufacturing limitations became an issue—no blacksmith could hammer out large, straight iron pipes. Even if they made iron sheets and joined them into pipes, reliable welding techniques didn’t exist.

In the end, Yisi had no choice but to resort to the first, cruder method.

But these were all in the past. Regardless, the Margaret Tavern was now ready to open. Though only Darc was waiting outside, the interior was a flurry of activity.

“Shinku, move the table a bit to the left.”

“Understood, Miss Yisi.”

“Master, should I hang the magic lamp on this pillar?”

“It’s too low—customers might steal it. I suggest hanging it from the ceiling.”

Fran, a flaxen-haired girl busy wiping the counter, chimed in.

“Wait, why is there even a magic lamp in a tavern? One of those costs at least ten gold coins, not to mention the magic cores needed as fuel!”

“That’s not our concern. Miss Yisi doesn’t mind the expense.”

“O-oh, right…”

Two of the fallen girls (whose names Yisi hadn’t memorized) resumed arranging tables and chairs with Shinku.

“Camilla, where’s Sera?”

“Sera is in the kitchen taking stock of seasonings and ingredients.”

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“Tell her not to worry. We won’t have many customers on the first day.”

“But Mr. Darc said he’d bring us countless patrons.”

“That’ll be in the evening.”

Since it was opening day, Yisi was enthusiastically involved in the tavern’s setup. Notably, she hadn’t aimed to replicate Earth’s luxurious restaurants but instead opted for a simple, commonplace tavern—a place for ordinary people. Overly lavish decor would only intimidate them.

“Onee-sama, I’ve listed all the ingredients and alcohol we procured, just as you taught me. Would you like to review it now?”

“Not right now. But you’ve learned quickly, Camilla. It’s only been three days.”

When Camilla first showed Yisi the inventory list, the cluttered, cramped handwriting nearly made her despair. Camilla explained that this was the conventional method—saving precious paper.

Naturally, Yisi didn’t care about the cost of paper, so she taught Camilla to categorize items in neat, columned tables. Though initially challenging for someone unfamiliar with systematic organization, Camilla quickly adapted after Yisi provided a template.

It might seem trivial, but it would prove invaluable later. Organized lists made future reference easier, allowing for clear comparisons between monthly expenditures—such as which dishes or drinks were popular, helping adjust future purchases.

But this was only the first step in Yisi’ lessons. Earlier, she had observed Camilla struggling with calculations. This world lacked not only multiplication and division but even basic arithmetic rules for addition and subtraction. When dealing with numbers requiring carrying over, even someone as sharp as Camilla would frown and take forever, often making mistakes.

So Yisi planned to introduce Arabic numerals, mathematical symbols, and fundamental arithmetic to this world.

Praise from Yisi made Camilla beam, edging closer.

“It’s all thanks to you, Onee-sama.”