The Banquet And Emerging Problems

“To working together, Alchemist Sir!”

I raised my own wooden mug in a hurry as a man thrust one toward me, brimming with an amber liquid.

The mugs collided with a dull thud, causing the thin layer of foam to spill over the sides. As I scrambled to level mine out, another mug slammed into it from the side.

“Nice to meet ya too, Teacher!”

Several more men thrust their mugs forward with frantic looks on their faces.

“M-me too!”

“Count me in as well, please!”

“We’re counting on you!”

Unable to withstand the force of the aggressive toasts, my mug buckled, and its contents splattered spectacularly. The men, now doused in the spray, burst into a collective roar of laughter.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Ute scolded them from behind the counter, but we just looked at each other and raised our mugs once more. Then, with a loud shout, we clashed them together again.

“A toast to the Alchemist Sir!”

“Cheers!”

Having arrived in the village that evening, Paula and I had moved to the village’s only tavern, “The Morrow’s Cask,” for a welcome party that doubled as dinner.

The floor and walls were packed earth, and the low ceiling left the beams exposed. The counter and tables were made of rough-hewn wood, and the chairs were literally just cross-sections of logs. It was a crude construction, but it was spacious enough to hold the thirty or so people crammed inside.

The main participants were the village men, led by the Chief. It seemed they were overjoyed that a star craftsman like an alchemist had come to their village; it felt like the entire village had turned out for this grand welcome.

Back in my workshop days—and in my past life—I was the type of guy who safely occupied a corner seat at drinking parties, just nodding along. But surrounded like this, there was no escape. I had braced myself, deciding that social skills would be important from now on, and to my surprise, being fussed over by a crowd didn’t feel half bad. Part of the excitement came from seeing familiar game characters speaking to me in the flesh, and I found myself enjoying the atmosphere more than I expected.

However, the problem was—

“Come on, don’t be shy! Drink up, Teacher!”

At the suggestion, I tilted my mug back and gulped down the remaining ale. A faint bitterness and a hint of carbonation spread across my palate. To call it “light and easy to drink” would be a generous way of saying it was, frankly, watered down.

When I hear the word “beer,” I instinctively think of modern beer, but in this world, “Ale” is the standard. Ale is a type of beer, but the brewing method differs from the lager commonly consumed in my past life. Ale is fermented at room temperature, while lager is fermented at low temperatures over a long period.

In this world, where technology for long-term cold storage is practically non-existent, “beer” almost always means ale. Ale can be delicious, but compared to lager, it lacks crispness and body, and the carbonation is weak. The difference is even more pronounced when it isn’t brewed properly. Furthermore, due to the lack of preservation technology, alcohol in this world spoils quickly and loses its flavor easily. To hide this, it’s almost always forcefully diluted with water.

The stuff here was particularly bad. If this were a tavern in the Royal Capital, it would undoubtedly fail an alcohol audit and have its business license revoked. In other words, a flavor that was already thin had been made even thinner.

But in a remote village like this, it couldn’t be helped. After all, there was almost no commerce. Hans the peddler is the only person handling external trade for “The Starting Village.” He buys wheat flour, dried fish, and dried fruit from here and nearby villages to sell around the Capital. In exchange, he brings back clothing, small goods, salt, and the like.

Among the most popular trade goods is alcohol, the village’s primary form of entertainment. But even though the demand is high because it’s consumed in large quantities, the market price for wheat flour itself isn’t that high. Apparently, the amount of ale they can purchase in trade is, at most, four or five barrels. And even then, it’s low-quality stuff. It was inevitable that such precious spirits would be heavily diluted with water.

“Teacher, eat up! This salted meat came from one of my pigs.”

“I brought some stewed beans. Please, help yourself!”

Since the villagers don’t have much financial leeway, it seems they are allowed to bring their own appetizers. Again, calling it “simple country cooking” is a polite euphemism; to be blunt, it wasn’t very tasty. The meat was basically packed with salt—or rather, there was so much salt you couldn’t taste anything else. This, too, was inevitable given the lack of preservation methods. However, they were so stingy with that same salt in the bean dishes that if you ate them together, it was somewhat manageable.

The side of bread was the heavy, chewy rye variety familiar to the poor. Apparently, they sell off all the wheat that could bake fluffy white bread, leaving none for themselves. For someone raised in the Royal Capital with its many delicacies—and having experienced the gluttonous abundance of a past life—it was honestly quite tough.

But even though it was humble fare, these dishes were the sincere hospitality of the villagers. As I worked hard to stuff the food into my mouth, the men watching me muttered somberly.

“Teacher, your face is twitching. You don’t have to force yourself to eat.”

“I s’pose the poor food of us country folk don’t suit your palate.”

At those self-deprecating words, the surrounding villagers turned their heads away or looked down. Perhaps because the tavern was so dimly lit, the gloom felt even more oppressive. This, too, was unavoidable. After all, the only light source was a small, crackling fire in the fireplace in the corner. In the Royal Capital, living surrounded by various lights was a given, but in a struggling frontier settlement, not just candles, but even animal fat for lamps is a luxury. Once the sun sets, the day is over, and it’s a life where going to bed is the natural course of action.

In fact, excluding this tavern, there wasn’t a single house with a light on.

Diluted, spoiling ale and wretched food that tasted only of salt. A life without adequate lighting. This was the absolute best this village could offer right now.

If I were my old self, I probably would have brushed it off with a safe, non-committal comment. But considering a future where destruction awaits, I wanted the villagers to at least hold onto a brighter hope.

Emptying my mug in one go, I opened the item list from my command menu and quickly found the item I was looking for. I placed the object—which had appeared in my hand in an instant—onto the table and channeled my mana into it. Immediately, a brilliant light overflowed, illuminating every corner of the room.

To the people staring with wide eyes, I declared firmly:

“It’s okay, leave it to me. I’m going to work hard to change things so that you all can eat more delicious food and drink better ale.”

Immediately after the words left my mouth, I felt a wave of regret, wondering if I had acted too cool. However, it seemed my worries were unnecessary. The villagers stared intently at the White-Glow Stone lantern, looked at each other with their mouths agape in stunned silence, and after nodding deeply to one another, they suddenly erupted in cheers.

“Oooooh! It’s so bright!”

“Is this the sun?! That’s incredible!”

“What a surprise! As expected of the great Teacher. To think he has such a magnificent thing!”

It seemed that because of the lantern, no one had actually heard my impassioned speech. As I secretly slumped my shoulders at the sight of the villagers swarming the white light like moths, a loud noise erupted behind me.

I turned around to see Old Man Eugen tumbling onto the floor. Opposite him was Paula, holding a large mug. Perhaps she was slightly tipsy; her reddened cheeks looked dangerously bewitching.

But now wasn’t the time for that. An old man had suddenly collapsed at a drinking table. Just as I started to stand up, thinking it might be a dangerous sign, a sudden burst of applause broke out. At the same time, the group at Paula’s table began shouting praise.

“Incredible! She beat the old man in a drinking contest!”

“To defeat the best drinker in the village… You’re amazing, lady!”

“And she makes it look so delicious. What a sight for sore eyes, thank you!”

“Hehe, thank you for the treat.”

Apparently, without me noticing, the two had engaged in a drinking duel. Noticing my gaze, Paula smiled, shyly resting her hand against her cheek. That look, too, had an indescribable charm.

Just as I was about to reflexively swallow, a loud voice erupted from another table. I turned to see what was happening, and this time it was the monster-kids.

In front of them sat the beast-eared man, slumped over the table. The two little ones, perched on logs stacked to match the table’s height, were munching away happily, devouring the food. Beside them, empty wooden plates were piled up like a mountain. It was a mysterious amount of food—where did it all go in those tiny bodies?

“Hey, Heimo, who prides himself on his big appetite, got taken down! What a magnificent way to eat!”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen anyone eat like that in my life.”

“It’s heart-warming to watch. And they’re cute to boot!”

“Much obliged!”

“Koo!”

At some point, everyone except me had settled into the environment perfectly. Watching the now-popular Paula and the monster-kids out of the corner of my eye, I let out an exasperated sigh.

And so, my first day in the village ended amidst the clamor.