Blue Advisory! (6)

Shipments from the Viscounty of Ingrad had now become liquor and medicinal supplies.

Princess Riana was pondering how to handle them. If bandits broke in again and stole the medicines in transit as before, the trouble would be no small matter.

Just then, Agnes, newly returned to the imperial court, brought happy news, and Princess Riana could finally breathe easier.

“We learned that a minor noble from the noble faction committed the deed out of excessive zeal.”

Thinking simply, there were always people who overdid their loyalty, so Princess Riana asked:

“How was he punished?”

“His property was confiscated according to the damage; for causing loss to the state, his title was stripped; his wife and children were made slaves, and the noble himself was sent to the mines.”

“Regrettable.”

“There is nothing to regret. A crime must be punished as it deserves.”

Agnes spoke with a rather stiff expression, but Princess Riana had something that could soothe her temper.

It was the liquor called “rum” received this time. Riana took out a small bottle she had portioned and handed it to Agnes.

“You worked hard. And this is a gift.”

Agnes looked at the bottle in puzzlement; while she had been busy with external affairs, Riana cheerfully shared the story of another revolutionary item sent from the Ingrad domain. After hearing it all, Agnes relaxed her face and said she would gladly drink it, and the princess said:

“What I’m giving you is to keep; as for the taste… let us enjoy it with this. Among the liquors he sent, this is the one my lady mother chose to monopolize.”

At Princess Riana’s words as she took out two wine glasses, Agnes gave a faint laugh—but the laugh soon turned to shock.

“What… is this?”

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Impressive… is not enough. Ooh… is he truly a man favored alone by the gods?”

“Perhaps…”

Princess Riana felt as if she herself had been praised, and her heart lifted.

Meanwhile, Agnes, seeing the princess so pleased, let her tangled thoughts unwind a little—and fell into another worry.

“To make something of this caliber again… Just how many enemies do you intend to cultivate?”

The one Agnes worried about was Duke Balsen.

Holding rich imperial lands and running vast vineyards with wine as his main income, Duke Balsen would not sit idly by at this liquor.

Moreover, the phrase “among the liquors sent” made her think the others would cause no small stir as well.

The noble faction already gnashed their teeth at the name Ingrad, and now he had brought out another outrageous item—Agnes found it absurd, yet as she looked at her hand that would not stop moving, she could only wear a wry smile.

“Magnificent… To think I would taste such liquor…”

Agnes felt admiration and worry cross within her.

But to deal thoroughly with those behind it, she steeled herself. This was not the sort of clumsy group a minor noble could wield. The “Black Hand” was…

“Jjan!”

“???”

Startled by the princess’s cry as she clinked glasses, Agnes could not help it; she again pondered seriously the spreading influence of Viscount Ingrad, who had taught such odd “drinking etiquette.”

“Kya-hahaha, it’s gochujang!!!”

It had been hard—truly hard—but we finally completed it. Just as I had instructed, the Sain Tribe had done the work well. It was gochujang made with taeyangcho—sun-dried chilies ground into powder under the blazing sun. The method was simple: grind the chilies and mix several prepared ingredients—jocheong (rice syrup), rum, ground glutinous rice, and so on—to complete the gochujang.

All this had been set in motion when we first located the chilies, and the part that took the most effort was the yeotgireum (malted barley) that formed the base—we had to lavish real care on its preparation.

But because chili production seemed delayed, we had been making sikhye (sweet rice punch) using yeotgireum—and by now, it had become a fairly popular food item in the domain.

How popular?

So popular words were wasted—and with that popularity in mind, I worried and kept it back when the imperial family visited. I truly didn’t want my workload to explode.

“Work just keeps piling up… how tiresome.”

With yeotgireum, you sprouted barley and then dried it again—a labor-intensive, irritating process. If the court learned of it, they might saddle us with chores, so I kept quiet. For now, slaves handled that work— and sikhye was becoming one of our staple daily drinks.

Anyway—among the various prepared ingredients, the biggest problem was meju powder.

Unable to source it, I tried fermenting soybeans to make meju, but I had never done it; they just rotted, giving me a headache. Then I heard of a similar fermented soybean powder; I asked Riin, obtained it, and finally proceeded to make the gochujang.

So we couldn’t make it by the most traditional method—but “all roads lead to Seoul,” as they say; we completed it nonetheless.

The heat was tremendous, so we would need to control portions when making bibimbap. After maturing it inside a time-acceleration magic circle, I now set out assorted medicinal herbs and vegetables and freshly cooked rice, ready to tumble everything into a big mixing bowl.

Maids, Vincent, and the kitchen staff watched with curious faces, clearly interested in the gochujang I had made, and I said:

“This is far spicier than it looks. Some of you can’t handle heat, right?”

“Still, nothing the lord does ever fails, so we can’t help being curious.”

With Vincent’s words, my favorability toward him ticked up by +1, and I said:

“Come sit here. I’ll give you a bite.”

Though his expression turned awkward at “a bite,” he accepted my point that if he could tolerate the heat, I’d give him more.

First, I added rice. I regretted the lack of sesame, but perilla was widely used on this continent; we had cold-pressed perilla oil filling a small jar, so I drizzled a little over the rice.

Then I hand-tore vegetables and herbs into rough cuts and piled them on top, dumped in Riin’s stir-fried carrot and squash, and finally scooped a hefty spoonful of the gochujang and began to mix.

A spicy fragrance spread around us.

What a glorious aroma.

As I thought that, Vincent’s face was a jumble—clearly torn.

Swish, swish—mix, mix. My mouth watered as I readied myself to shovel it in. When the grains had reddened and seemed well mixed, I set a spoonful onto Vincent’s plate and said:

“It’s so good two people might not notice if one drops dead. Please, try it.”

“I… won’t actually die, will I?”

“Such worry for nothing.”

I finished speaking, scooped a large spoonful, and pushed it into my mouth—ah, the flavor was art.

Honestly, it was lacking. Eggs were scarce, there was no traditional three-color namul, and in this world even radish didn’t grow… how unreasonable.

I assumed I had simply not found those yet and felt grateful for the happiness before me—but the heat was beyond expectations.

Of course it was spicy—this gochujang was made from dried bird’s-eye chilies. I had told them to remove the seeds first before grinding, so I thought it wouldn’t be too extreme—yet it was hot.

“Even with seeds removed, it’s this strong… Amazing, bird’s-eye chili.”

While I was busy “shoveling it in,” Vincent finally tried the food; with gochujang smeared around his mouth, he stared wide-eyed at me.

Then, as if a motor had been installed in his mouth, he devoured the bibimbap in rapid bites, gulped it down, slid his bowl toward me, and said:

“C-could I have… just one more spoonful?”

So Vincent pulled the “just one bite more,” and afterward, with the maids and kitchen staff intrigued, I told them to bring bowls and rice—and launched into an impromptu bibimbap lesson.

Explaining how to make it delicious, I waited while Riin fried an egg— and somehow it looked beautiful…

Anyway, a culinary march began. The clatter of spoons filled the kitchen, punctuated by sharp little sounds—“sseup,” “haa”—and we enjoyed a delightful meal to that soundtrack.

And for the finale, sikhye was the finishing touch.

Beyond eating our fill, the kitchen hit the limit of indulgence; everyone went limp, and that evening remained a happy memory for a long time.

From the next day, bibimbap began spreading in small amounts via the maids; before long it became the fief’s second-most-beloved dish. Eaten with sikhye, it was revered as heavenly fare by many slaves in Ingrad and was becoming “the commoner’s food.”

Meanwhile, the long-awaited work began.

“At last—glass is finished?”

“Yes, my lord. But… do you truly want plain transparent glass with no patterns?”

“I prefer simplicity. Fit the glass to this wooden frame.”

“That’s not difficult—it’s rectangular panes. We’ll cut and set them… It’s just been a while since I worked on glass that was simply ‘transparent’…”

We had begun installing glass into the windows of the inner keep. The large windows were divided into ten sections, and I had assigned them to set panes cut to size.

Nobles in this world often regarded glass as a kind of “jewel” or luxury, so they preferred ornate patterns or etched images to show it off.

But I liked simplicity more.

The inner keep, flooded with sunlight pouring through clear glass!

How magnificent would that be!

So I demanded it. The glass artisan looked clearly displeased, but since I was his master, he seemed to comply grudgingly.

“Even enslaved, he’s still an artisan, huh?”

He felt a bit fussy, but he still followed my words well enough. Watching the panes go in steadily, I thought:

“Should I ask Hare to lay a soundproofing spell…?”

Love shared under the moonlight…

“I’m getting excited for no reason… heh heh heh.”

The pervert in me was about to awaken.