Within the perfectly sealed club room, a subtle odor emanated from the crack in the door.
The bizarre club, formed by students from the Magic College, Theology Department, and Knightly Arts Department, was always avoided, but during this period, the aversion intensified.
No one dared approach the club room where students, unrelated to the alchemy department, were conducting experiments emitting the scent of smoked mackerel.
The upright alchemy students, who protested the dishonor brought to their department, were all crawling like zombies in the lab. This is why people should pursue liberal arts. (Performing arts is broadly considered liberal arts. Because it’s about having fun and feasting.)
“Add more Enzobi.” (Oswald)
“But… if we add more here…” (Eugene)
“Add more! Do you want to ruin the project?” (Oswald)
“Okay! Okay, damn it!” (Eugene)
The atmosphere was like creating some philosopher’s stone or Hōgyoku, as researchers with trembling hands bravely added ingredients.
“Taste it… taste it!” (Yuri)
“I… I tried it earlier. It’s your turn this time!” (
“I’m in charge of manufacturing! Don’t pass the bomb to me!” (Yuri)
“Bomb? Are you calling our passion and memories a bomb?” (Oswald)
After briefly staging a heartwarming scene of researchers sharing their achievements, time passed, and finally.
“It’s done…” (Oswald)
“Damn it. I never thought I’d see something like this.” (Eugene)
“It’s completed, right? To me, it just looks like dissecting a monster’s corpse.” (Yuri)
“Fact pause.”
They gathered in the dim club room, resembling minions summoning an ancient god, and elegantly congratulated each other on their accomplishment.
On a white gown, red liquid splattered disorderly – except for the smell, it was indistinguishable from a slaughterhouse.
Throwing away the sweaty mask, Oswald sighed.
“It was a long and trying time…” (Eugene)
Eugene closed his eyes silently, drawing a perfect angle, typical of a theology student.
“Our Father in heaven, may your glory bring peace to this land.” (Eugene)
“Ah, stop with the blessings. This is purified, you know!” (Yuri)
Yuri playfully slapped Eugene’s back and smiled warmly.
“But everyone worked hard. I really didn’t think it would work.” (Eugene)
“I knew. Among faith, hope, and love, the greatest is faith.” (Yuri)
“Everyone, you can still relax a bit.” (Oswald)
Oswald calmly extended his hand, approaching the preservation jar.
“Now we’ve essentially buttoned the first button of the experiment. Our goal is more magnificent than this.” (Oswald)
“Yeah, soon… ‘that day’ is coming.” (Eugene)
Eugene swallowed dry saliva and whispered slyly.
“That day, at the university festival… our club will dominate all departments and all clubs. May the Lord bless us. The power of advanced culture…!!” (Eugene)
“To be honest, I don’t think anyone will buy into this.” (Yuri)
“Oh, don’t you know the patriotic spirit? Watch your words. This is a complete food that can prevent cancer, seizures, and dementia.” (Eugene)
“Did you really believe that?” (Yuri)
Vegetables soaked in salt, seasoned with red pepper powder and fermented.
Yes.
They had completed making kimchi.
Kimchi is ultimately a simple dish – pickle vegetables (cabbage), mix them with fermented fish sauce (Enzobi), and spices.
In a world with vegetables, fish sauce, and red pepper powder, there’s no reason not to make it.
Now, it may seem eerie in both form and smell, but if you’re a 21st-century Korean, you know it.
Kimchi is originally a dish that becomes generally palatable when stir-fried or boiled. This is a truth already proven by owners of cheap Chinese kimchi and frozen pork belly restaurants over many years.
Riding the flow of enormous capital by bringing in the culture of the 21st century was a ‘common sense’ for the possessors of the three bodies. Therefore, the three possessors willingly seized this opportunity.
It was a day about a week before the festival began.
“We’re going to be rich!”
They immediately submitted an application to participate in the student council’s festival food stall. In a world without Michelin, it would be called ‘Michelin Fine Dining.’
Chapter 71: Common sense of the Academy Festival
“The festival is not far off.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have anything planned for the festival day?”
Ivan smirked at Isabelle’s question.
After all, the festival is an extension of the university schedule. And from a broad perspective, it is no different from ordinary department courses.
Therefore, for Ivan, festival day and non-festival day meant little difference.
“Nothing.”
“Dear!!!”
Isabelle yelled, throwing away the sword she had been holding. Since it wasn’t a pleasant sight, he silently picked up the fallen sword and handed it back to Isabelle.
“Then let’s go together to see the festival!”
“Festival sightseeing?”
“Yes! You know, there are things like that. Maybe try shooting, and, um, yes? Also, there are things at the festival… like a magic performance?”
In a world where firearms are treated as inferior war weapons, can balloon shooting really be a popular game?
And in a world with magic, is there anything special about a magic performance? In a world where most magic techniques can be replaced with mana.
While Ivan was pondering, Isabelle’s eyes were twinkling.
“Whatever it is! It’s a festival! Let’s watch it together, and, um, escort. Yes. Because there could be an emergency!” (Isabelle)
“Yeah.” (Ivan)
It wasn’t a wrong statement. And that was remarkable. In this primitive pre-modern medieval fantasy world, the fact that the inhabitants expressed a sensible opinion was surprising.
Generally, when a festival happens at the academy, one of the following disasters is sure to occur:
Attack by hostile forces, the death of a professor, bombing, the disturbance caused by a dragon or an equivalent colossal monster, a rebel’s declaration of war.
As recalled earlier, the academy receives more invasions than the front line. At this point in May, there have already been three major incidents at the academy.
Ivan nodded with a serious look at Isabelle.
“Do it like that.” (Ivan)
“Wow!! Amazing!! Really!? Really, did this gentleman hear me…?! Quickly pinch my cheek. I can’t believe if this is real.”
“Stop chatting and finish your training.”
“True.”
Ivan swung down the sword toward the muttering Isabelle.
***
There is no need to use the expression arrogant and autocratic when describing elves. It’s merely a repetition of words.
However, even for such elves, or rather precisely because they are such elves, there existed a clear class distinction among them.
This is not much different from the cultural systems built by England and Japan over the years, such as the British ‘gentlemen (who commit piracy)’ and the Japanese ‘harmony (和) people (who commit piracy).’
It could be considered a commonality transcending the world possessed by island nations. In a country where there is nowhere to escape but the sea, it is a culture that forces manners unless one wants mutual destruction.
Therefore, elves, like many island nations, are peaceful, amiable, respectful of each other, and culturally adaptable citizens, adhering to class distinctions.
“Um… Miss Grykenkos?”
“Yes?”
“Something has been… um. Is there something unpleasant going on since earlier?”
“Oh, unpleasant things? What could you mean?”
“No! Nothing! I apologize!!”
A trembling elf departed. Elpheira sighed as she watched the retreating figure of the nervous elf.
Whether it’s this guy or that guy, they are all pathetic. Women are sinister, and men are feeble.
Ah, where is a sturdy and robust man when you need one?
That’s why it’s inevitable to import manliness from ‘humans.’ The future of elves seems so dark in this way.
“Why do you keep scaring the kids?”
“What?”
The girl who dragged her chair right up to her and sat down is one of those guys she can’t force out through strength.
Evelyn Rustpits, the daughter of Countess Rustpits, the master of subterfuge. She forms the largest faction among female elves at the university. She might have responded with a smile under normal circumstances, but the timing isn’t right now.
“Let’s talk later, Miss Rustpits. I have a headache right now.”
“Oh, should I call a priest?”
“Mind your own business.”
Leaving the bewildered Evelyn, Elpheira coolly replied and stood up. She hadn’t met Ivan for a good ten days.
It was an extreme low-pressure situation, and it was even challenging to blame others for the reason. There were plenty of opportunities to meet, she had even gone to see him, and she had prepared gifts. The problem was that if there was an issue, she couldn’t approach within the range of recognizable facial features.
“Ugh…”
Elpheira clenched her sleeve tightly and gritted her teeth.
Being a magical genius is a good thing. Not only good but also entirely natural! Who could refute that the daughter of Veolgreen is a magical genius?
However, the problem was that the effect was too extraordinary.
Creating magic, a unique spell, at the mere age of twenties, was something to be admired even among elves. Although the spell was solely limited to affecting her own mental realm, it twisted the perception of the world, a powerful spell without any side effects.
The problem was simply that it was too remarkable if there was an issue.
“I can’t… see his face properly…!!”
She looked down from the window, where Ivan was casually chatting with a insignificant human girl in the correctional facility, and gritted her teeth.
That girl was actively clinging to Ivan, playfully brushing against his arms with her useless chest fat.
Well, that guy might be an insane lunatic without any charm… but still, how could she allow a stray dog daring to mark its territory on her possession?
But… but!
“I can’t… approach… him!!”
With the use of an illusion spell, she could see Ivan’s actual face.
However, if she sees Ivan’s real face, she can’t approach him…!!
What kind of paradox is this? On the first day she completed the spell, confidently went to see Ivan, but ended up turning around and running away.
A husky voice that seemed to scratch from deep within, deep and serious eyes, occasionally a smooth smile that revealed dimples… and even memories between her and him that others wouldn’t know.
It was such a devastating combination.
Especially since he precisely matched her taste.
And, he seemed much. Much more difficult than she had thought. So much so that familiarity could even be felt. That’s why… that’s why.
“This can’t go on like this…!”
Between the foolish human girl who wants to shave off his beard and the vulgar human girl who even likes his beard, she needed a bigger strategy to create an advantage.
Fortunately, she knows something that other foolish humans (repetition error) don’t.
The illusion of happiness shown by the ancient spirits. Ivan’s preferences discovered within that illusion. Other humans were meticulously grasping Ivan’s secret preferences, which they could not even imagine.
A comb and dog treats.
With those two, they could stand out even among the lower beings who only knew how to foolishly launch a ground offensive.
Elpheira stood up firmly after making a determined decision.
