As one drunkard famously put it: "If you leave something sweet alone, it naturally turns into sake. In other words, it is God's will that he receive a drink."
Upon hearing that, a dwarf had replied, "Keep your mouth shut and just drink."
I wondered if that dwarf had been Donovan.
"No, no," Donovan said as we walked. "I don't mind a bit of a ruckus while I’m drinking."
Donovan and I had come to the experimental area located in a corner of the residential district. Just as that drunkard had said, sweetness left to its own devices naturally becomes alcohol. It was the simple science of sugar fermenting into sake.
That was the theory, at least, but in practice, fermentation was usually a matter of luck. More often than not, the batch simply rotted. However, a few tricks could ensure success—namely temperature control and adding yeast at the start to jumpstart the process. Apparently, yeast was typically harvested from things like fermenting grapes, but I had bypassed all those hurdles with my Universal Farming Tool.
Thank you, God.
At the experimental area, we were testing whether we could produce sake from the various fruits harvested in the village. My role in coming here was to decide which successful experiments should be moved into full-scale production. Of course, Donovan and his crew had already narrowed down the candidates; I was just there for the final approval.
"From the right, we have pomegranate, tomato, and watermelon," Donovan explained.
These were the varieties they recommended. I took a small cup and tasted each one, bit by bit. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't an expert on sake. All I could really judge was whether something tasted good or bad, and whether it suited my personal preferences. Since Donovan’s team had already vetted them, every sample was delicious.
My favorite was the pomegranate. The watermelon felt a bit... unusual. The tomato was decent, but perhaps not suited for our regular lineup. Since there was no point in flattery, I gave him my honest feedback. Once that was done, I gave the official okay for production to proceed.
Donovan nodded with a look of satisfaction and held up three fingers.
"We'll start with three large barrels of each. I'll need you to secure the fruit for us."
"I understand. However, we can't increase the pomegranate harvest immediately. We’ll have to aim for more tomatoes and watermelons starting with the next planting."
"Umu."
"I'll adjust the production volume based on how the market reacts, too."
"With this flavor, we'll be fine. The real issue will be the price."
"We’ll have to consult with Michael-san once he arrives."
"Umu. And... there is one more reason I asked you to come here today."
"Oh?"
Donovan held out a tiny cup with a wide, beaming smile. It was even smaller than the one I had used for the tasting.
"You certainly look confident."
I brought the liquid to my lips and took a sip.
"This is incredible."
"Isn't it?"
"Is this... honey wine?"
"Aye. Brewed it using the village's own honey."
"Didn't Michael-san beg us not to do that?"
Honey wine—mead—is the quintessential "natural" alcohol. After all, if you just leave harvested honey alone, it eventually turns into wine. However, while the method is simple, the raw materials are expensive. Even among high-end honey, the stuff from our village was apparently a top-tier luxury good. Michael-san had practically been on his knees, pleading with us to sell it as a raw ingredient rather than fermenting it. Usually, the mead we drank in the village was stuff we bought back from Michael-san's stock.
"It shouldn't be a problem as long as we don't put it on the market, right?"
"I think the moment people taste this, they're going to demand we sell it."
"True enough, but the production volume is the real bottleneck. Honey is used in cooking, too, so we're currently in a constant tug-of-war with the maid girls over the supply."
"That's true. If we wanted to wholesale this as wine, we definitely wouldn't have enough honey to go around."
Aside from Michael-san, we also sold our honey to Beezel, Draim, Dos, and Progenitor-san.
"Umu. This particular batch was made using honey I exchanged for my own Reward Medals."
So it was a self-funded personal project that he was now letting me sample. Which meant...
"What's your request?"
"I want permission to brew this for village consumption."
"How much?"
"One large barrel a year."
Hmm, that was a significant amount. However, the taste was exquisite. It had a depth of flavor that didn't even seem like sake.
"Alright. I'll prepare the honey. But for now, this stays a strict secret."
"I understand. The women are quite fierce when it comes to their sweets, after all."
There was definitely a faction that would argue that if we had enough honey for sake, we had enough for more desserts. We had to proceed quietly for a while.
"I'll silence them with the taste eventually," Donovan added.
I nodded in agreement. "By the way, is there any more left?"
"Hahaha! Do you really think we would leave any of a sake this good behind?"
"Fair point. I'm surprised my portion even survived."
"I told the others it was a necessary sacrifice to convince the Village Head. Honestly, there was about one more large cup's worth, but..."
"Did you drink it?"
"...G-God must have desired it."
I laughed. "Well, that can't be helped then."
Deciding that God deserved a proper share, Donovan and I offered samples of the three new production-ready sakes at the Shrine of the Great Tree. Donovan muttered an apology, feeling guilty for using God as an excuse for his own drinking.
Naturally, the Sake Slime promptly gulped down the offerings.
"Village Head, I move for the Sake Slime's immediate execution."
"Now, now. Just look at it as him providing a quality guarantee for the brew."
When it came to delicious sake, dwarves and Sake Slimes were much the same in their lack of self-control. I did give the slime a warning not to drink the next batch since it was for God, but whether he actually listened was anyone's guess.
We conducted a trial run for this year's festival. The event was "Tower." It was a competition where participants would pile up cut logs in a designated area to see who could build the tallest structure. Apparently, it was a traditional sport in villages where forestry was the primary industry. It had been selected by lottery again this year.
"This isn't going to work."
I didn't usually notice it because I used the Universal Farming Tool, but cutting down trees in the Forest of Death was grueling labor. It took a team of High Elves half a day just to fell a single tree about as thick as a man's waist. The Civil Official Girls couldn't even leave a notch in the bark.
"These trees are so flame-resistant that even burning them down with fire magic is a chore... Is this competition even feasible?"
In the end, we decided we would have to provide pre-cut logs from the start. The game would focus entirely on the stacking aspect. However, that raised a new issue: if we just provided a pile of logs, the teams that grabbed the largest ones first would have an unfair advantage.
"Unless we provide a literal mountain of wood, they're going to start fighting over the best pieces, aren't they?"
"Large logs are harder to carry, which is a disadvantage, but... wouldn't the Minotaurs just carry them like they're nothing?"
"We're allowed to interlock the wood to build the tower, right? If that's the case, won't it just become a one-sided victory for the High Elves?"
The conclusion was that the racial disparities were simply too great. Furthermore, the Harpy Race—whose hands were wings—couldn't participate in a stacking game at all.
After much trial, error, and brainstorming, we reached a compromise.
It would become a balance game.
It would be a team-based competition. The staff would stack several logs and place a symbol on the very top. Teams would take turns removing one log at a time, and the team that caused the symbol to fall would be the loser. Essentially, it was a giant version of Yamakuzushi played with logs.
There was only one lingering concern.
"Will people actually find this exciting?"
That was the big question. It was just a slow-paced game of balance, after all.
"Should we add one more event to the lineup?"
"How about that one idea we rejected during the early discussions?" I suggested.
"Understood. We'll use that as the opening act, and then move on to the main event, the 'Tower'... though it's hardly a tower anymore. We'll need a new name for it."
"Let's just be honest and call it 'Yamakuzushi.'"
"Understood. Then all that's left is... deciding the shapes of the logs and the initial stacking patterns."
"There's so much to think about."
"Indeed there is."
The Festival Executive Committee continued their busy preparations.
Walnuts are famously hard. There is a certain trick to cracking them.
...I couldn't do it.
I was certain these were exceptionally stubborn walnuts. One of the High Elves showed me a technique where you grip two nuts in one hand and squeeze them together. I see. You use the hard shells against each other. If I did that...
Still impossible.
When I thought about it, the issue was simply my lack of raw grip strength. However, humans are creatures of wisdom. I could make a nutcracker. Whether it was a plier-type, a vice-type, or a device that dropped a heavy iron ball, I could imagine plenty of designs with just a little thought. It was likely a testament to humanity's long history of battling walnuts. We had even made ornamental Nutcracker Dolls, though I had never actually used one.
Regardless, I decided to ask Gatto to forge a nutcracker for me.
When I brought it up to him, he simply handed me a hammer.
Well, I suppose that made sense. Rather than making a highly specialized tool just for walnuts, it was more practical to use something that already existed. As long as the goal of eating the walnut was achieved, the process didn't really matter. I shouldn't sweat the small stuff.
Still, a plier-type sounded fun to make later. Or maybe a vice-type? Gatto mentioned that a small vice might be difficult because of the precision needed for the screw threads. I see.
Incidentally, everyone else in the village was cracking walnuts with their bare hands and snacking on them casually. The Mountain Elves and Dwarves were particularly efficient.
"Being able to crack these was a matter of survival for us," one mentioned.
"They make the perfect snack to go with sake," another added.
Watching them crush the walnuts I had struggled with as easily as if they were mashing tofu made me feel a bit sad about my own lack of strength.
A few days later, the nutcrackers Gatto made became a big hit—in Village One.
"We feel your pain, Comrade," one of the humans there said to me.
"Eh? No, I'm the Village Head, so... I'm not exactly... never mind."
It was a little lonely.