Unable to use the facility she’d lawfully rented out, Patausche was short on options.
I guess we’ll have to set up shop in the park or on the side of the road.
Neither venue seemed very promising. Recruiting soldiers out in the cold in a place where it was hard to gather a crowd would make the whole process even tougher, and they already needed to find people who were either desperate or out of their minds.
Perhaps it would be easier to just hand out flyers. Then again, that would require a printing press, ink, and paper—all things Patausche didn’t have.
…Would that really be worth all the work?
She wasn’t sure, and doubt was winning out in her mind. Logically, she should have been reaching out to nobles and merchants who could provide her with private soldiers, but unfortunately, she lacked the necessary connections. She’d abandoned her home and murdered her only sympathetic relative. The only one she had to blame was herself.
Why did this task have to fall to me?
She recalled Venetim’s frightened expression. After more thought, she realized that, in fact, she and Norgalle were the only ones who could handle this mission. Venetim could gather people, but he couldn’t choose suitable soldiers. Dotta and Tsav were simply not cut out for this kind of work, and asking Rhyno was out of the question. As for Tatsuya—Patausche sometimes found herself wondering who or what he even was. He rarely spoke, and when you questioned him, he only responded in vague grunts and groans with no discernable meaning.
Pull yourself together, Patausche. You can’t afford to fail. What would that man say to you then?
She had to do this. It always surprised her how much hostility she felt when it came to Xylo Forbartz. She couldn’t let herself lose.
There has to be a way. This task was left to me, and I must succeed, no matter what it takes!
She stared at a flyer posted in one corner of the camp. It was calling for volunteers to help at a soup kitchen supporting the large number of refugees who’d lost their homes to the Demon Blight and had evacuated to the First Capital. According the flyer, with winter’s brutal grip tightening as the new year approached, the soup kitchen would provide hot food, clothing, and temporary shelter, as well as help finding work.
A plan began to form in Patausche’s mind. If she used something like this, she wouldn’t need official permission. Who would object to her offering jobs to refugees? It was perfect cover for their recruitment.
There was one major issue, however.
I’ll need basic cooking knowledge if I want to volunteer at a soup kitchen…
That said, she didn’t have a choice. Luffe Aros was right around the corner, and she needed to complete her mission before the divine election in only two days. If she couldn’t find guards by the following day, she wouldn’t even have time to organize them or conduct drills.
Patausche slapped her cheek to fire herself up and stared at the flyer with sharp determination.
“Just watch! I’ll show you the fruits of my labors!”
✦ ✦ ✦
To make a long story short, Patausche had overestimated her own abilities.
“What is the meaning of this…?”
She peered into a small pot, utterly confused. She’d been making a porridge of barley and potatoes, with a few scraps of vegetables thrown in. Visually, it wasn’t bad. But the taste was far too rich, almost greasy. She wished she’d never even put it in her mouth. And she had no idea why.
Thankfully, she hadn’t used the larger pot. She glanced around at the various cooking implements and utensils set up in the center of the park and wondered if she was wasting even more of Venetim’s funds. Or perhaps she was overthinking matters.
Yes… If I just take a few more bites…
Patausche scooped up another spoonful of her homemade barley porridge.
It’s tasting slightly more edible. Does this count as a success?
She chewed quickly. It had an odd combination of greasiness, excessive saltiness, and burnt bits, but she was gradually getting used to it.
“…Hmm.”
However, Norgalle had a different opinion. He took a wooden spoon and tasted the porridge for himself, then said with a straight face, “We mustn’t serve this to the people. The hero unit must take responsibility and consume it instead.”
“Wh-why?” Patausche glared at him. “I even used the secret recipe Xylo gave me!”
He’d given her a manual as part of her training regimen to improve her cooking abilities while they were out in the field. As long as she followed the steps exactly, her porridge should have come out all right.
“It isn’t that bad after a few bites. I know it isn’t perfect, but I’m sure I can do better next time… I should probably use one of the smaller pots again before moving on to the bigger one.”
“Patausche Kivia, your perseverance is commendable, but that trait is exactly what is hindering your culinary progress.” Norgalle lowered the heat on the sacred seal–engraved cooker and put a lid on Patausche’s pot, as if to hide the porridge from sight. “Taste testing isn’t supposed to be an endurance challenge.”
“I-it isn’t that bad… Don’t worry about me. This stuff actually has a lot of flavor…”
“It is not you that I am worried about. And there is such a thing as too much flavor. Allow me to examine the issue point by point.” Norgalle pointed at the pot with his wooden spoon, as though it were a teacher’s pointer, and began patiently explaining Patausche’s mistakes. “First, why is this porridge so oily? Did you put oil in it?”
“Yes, I wanted to make sure the food didn’t stick to the pot. Xylo told me that adding oil makes the food more nutritious as well. I know it wasn’t written in the directions, but isn’t using oil common sense when it comes to cooking?”
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. Porridge doesn’t need oil, and you’ve put in far too much. Next, let’s discuss the flavor. Did you make sure to use the correct amount of salt?”
“Of course! I used this teaspoon to—”
“That is a tablespoon.”
Patausche wanted to be angry with Norgalle’s cold criticism, but her personality wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she began to make absurd excuses.
“Th-they’re essentially the same size… That’s right. Are you familiar with the specifications for military shovels? The so-called micro-point shovel is defined as one with a diameter of thirty—”
“Judging a recipe by the standards of military shovel sizes was a strategic failure on your part. You should have asked for help if you were unsure.”
Patausche decided to say nothing. There wasn’t much she could say.
“That said, you are not responsible for burning the food. That is due to the incomplete instructions you were given. You should have been directed on how to adjust the heat, since you are not accustomed to using this equipment.” Norgalle shut the thin booklet titled Emergency Meal Prep Guide. “That is all. For now, I want you to learn the names of the relevant cooking implements and stop forcing yourself to taste test things that aren’t edible.”
“L-let me try it again…”
“There is no time. More importantly, you are skilled with a blade, yes? Start peeling the potatoes.”
The most humiliating aspect of Norgalle’s criticism was that it was entirely justified. Since joining the penal hero unit, Patausche had become somewhat proficient in handling small cooking knives and no longer wasted potatoes by taking big chunks out of them.
“Now, then… It appears I must do the cooking myself.” Norgalle wrapped a white cloth around his head, taking Patausche by surprise.
“Can you handle it?” she asked.
“With the right tools and instructions, there is nothing I cannot do. Besides, these people evacuated to the First Capital seek my protection.” Norgalle began walking, his boots crunching through the crisp snow. “Therefore, it is my duty to live up to their expectations. I shall only do this once, though. Consider it a special treat.”
The penal hero unit’s cooking station was tucked away in a tiny corner of the park. They even had a massive cauldron that barely fit under the tent. Norgalle approached it, ingredients in hand, his features full of unwavering determination.
“All right, then…”
Patausche looked out at the long line of people, stretching right out of the park and into the distance. Their faces were weary and malnourished. So many people had fled the Demon Blight. The regions around the Tujin Tuga Hills had fared particularly badly.
“But will we really find any soldiers to recruit here?” she wondered aloud.
“Fear not. Volunteers will surely gather once I make the announcement. Stop being negative, Patausche, and start peeling those potatoes.”
“Mmm…”
Patausche picked up a knife as she watched Norgalle. He took to cooking with surprising skill. But even if they succeeded here, she doubted many of the refugees would be interested in their cause.
He realizes we need fifty guards, right?
One or two eccentric individuals wasn’t going to cut it. Patausche was pessimistic, but no matter what she thought, failure wasn’t an option.
“We don’t have time to twiddle our thumbs, Patausche Kivia!” Norgalle said, full of vigor. “Once you finish peeling those potatoes, go out and reassure my people, and let them know we are seeking an elite team of soldiers!”
Patausche sighed and focused on the potatoes. She had a feeling she knew how this would end.