Mochi was served for lunch and as a snack at the Village of the Great Tree.
It wasn’t because we’d recently had a mochi-pounding event. This was actually from last year’s stock. While we were getting ready for winter, several large planks of mochi turned up in the back of the food storehouse. We seemed to have forgotten they were even there.
Fortunately, no mold had grown on them. We decided it was best to finish them off before any could start.
The villagers prepared them in every way imaginable—toasted, simmered, boiled, and fried. Everyone ate their fill, seasoning them however they liked. For lunch, I added mochi to my miso soup, and for my snack, I enjoyed some toasted pieces with sugar soy sauce.
"Now listen, children," I cautioned. "When the mochi gets soft from toasting or boiling, make sure you cut it into small pieces before you eat it. I know it’s fun to see how far it stretches, but if you stuff too much in your mouth at once, it’ll get stuck in your throat."
Mochi is delicious, but it can be dangerous. I might have sounded like I was nagging, but this was the kind of thing they would eventually have to teach their own children one day. I wanted to make sure they remembered it well.
Libic, the cook from the human kingdom, had become quite skilled with his chopsticks. He had reached the point where he used them even for dote-ni instead of a fork or spoon. Ramen, katsudon, oden—so many of the dishes derived from my old world were meant to be eaten with chopsticks, so I suppose his progress was inevitable.
He had actually become quite a celebrity in Village Five. This wasn't just because of his work as a Five-kun's Backup Dancer, but because he’d choreographed a new dance for Five-kun himself. Honestly, seeing Five-kun perform a head spin was a masterpiece. Even with support from those nearby, I hadn't expected him to spin so gracefully.
Wait... I wondered if the person inside the costume was actually upside down?
"There is no one inside!" a passing resident snapped, having overheard my idle mumbling. I was properly scolded for the remark. I really had to be careful with what I said; Five-kun had a lot of dedicated fans in Village Five.
Then there was the Western Confectionery Shop Fairy Fairi. Because of its location, it had mostly functioned as a production base for the cakes sold by our mobile sales units, but for one reason or another, customers had started flocking to the shop itself. Part of it was due to the recent development in the area, but apparently, dining at Fairy Fairi had become a status symbol for some of the residents.
The shop was lively and busy from noon until evening. Sales were up, much to the delight of Rorone, the Acting Shop Manager, and the members of the Angel Race who were assisting her. The shop hadn't been losing money, but that was largely because it relied so heavily on its chocolate sales. Now, the variety of cakes and teas was steadily growing, and the shop’s reputation was excellent.
The only issue was the second-floor seating. We’d set it up for nobles and other high-ranking officials, and it was being used quite frequently. Naturally, the clientele consisted of aristocrats and people of similar standing. Members of the Angel Race handled the service, but they reported that the conversations happening up there were "dangerous."
When they said "dangerous," I assumed they meant things I shouldn't be hearing. It wasn't just gossip about affairs and infidelities; there was talk of who was committing fraud and who was someone’s secret child. I see.
"Well... let’s make it a rule that discussing a customer's private life outside the shop is strictly forbidden," I decided. "And no recording those conversations either."
"What about the customers on the second floor holding forbidden book exchanges with each other?" I was asked.
Forbidden books? Oh, right—Versa's hobby books.
Hmm. If they were buying and selling them, I could step in, but there was no real way to stop a private exchange. It wasn't as if they were doing it on a massive scale, right? For now, I’d just pretend I didn't see it.
"However," I added, "if their behavior becomes excessive, don't hesitate to ban them from the shop."
Rorone asked what constituted "excessive." I suggested things like forcing the books on people who didn't know what they were or making people listen to readings when they didn't want to. I sat down with Rorone and we hammered out some specific standards.
"If it’s hard to give a verbal warning, just put up a sign," I told her. "If they're capable of reading those books, they’re certainly capable of reading a sign. If you need to, we can have the Demon King... actually, let's have Versa sign the poster. People will probably be more likely to behave if her name is on it than mine."
A letter arrived from Alfred. Lu translated it for me, and it seemed he’d had a run-in with an Adventurer Guild in a certain town.
In that particular guild, ranks were represented by minerals. They started at Clay and went up through Iron, Bronze, Silver, and Gold, followed by the names of various magical ores. Because of this ranking system, many adventurers loved to flaunt their status by carrying equipment made of those materials. A Gold Rank adventurer would have weapons decorated with gold, and so on.
I didn't think there was anything wrong with that, but apparently, if a Silver Rank adventurer carried gold-decorated equipment, it could lead to trouble for being "unsuited to their station." That was exactly what happened to Alfred. When he went to register at the human guild, the Adventurer Guild officials pointed out that his equipment didn't match his rank.
The specific item they took issue with was his sword. Gatto had forged the blade. Gatto didn't care much for flashy decorations, and since he’d made it for family use, the scabbard and hilt were quite plain. However, as a small accent—or perhaps more as an amulet—crushed pieces of Dos's scales had been embedded into the hilt.
The Adventurer Guild officials had been sharp-eyed enough to spot them, and they were not pleased. In their system, the absolute highest rank was Dragon Rank. They didn't actually have a mineral called "Dragon"; the rank was meant to represent the scales of an Ancient Dragon.
If they had just given him a warning, there wouldn't have been a problem. Alfred isn't the type to start a fight over nothing. However, the officials had started making up excuses to try and confiscate the sword. Alfred resisted, and then his companions took over.
The Three Princes of the Progenitor-san's Kingdom got into a massive brawl with the guild officials and the adventurers who took their side. As a result, the Adventurer Guild building actually collapsed. Alfred didn't participate in the fight; if anything, he was the one trying to stop the three princes. He just wasn't very successful.
Fortunately, evidence of the guild's many fraudulent activities was discovered in the rubble of the collapsed building. Instead of being blamed for the destruction, Alfred and his group were actually praised as heroes. However, Alfred wrote that he was reflecting on his actions, realizing that a good result doesn't justify a poor process.
I wondered if Alfred really had anything to reflect on. Maybe just keeping the sword out of sight?
But as I listened to Lu's translation, it turned out Alfred only had one regret. He felt he should have found the evidence of the fraud before the building was destroyed.
I see. Still, I thought that looking for an opponent’s flaws just so you could justify a rampage was also a bit questionable.
I then read the letter from Fouche that had come with Alfred's. I could read this one on my own. It was a message of gratitude and an apology, stating that thanks to Alfred, they had been able to dismantle a corrupt Adventurer Guild.
Apparently, that guild had been plagued by bad rumors for a long time. They knew they were up to no good and were already in the process of gathering evidence. She was grateful that the incident provided the necessary excuse to shut them down. However, she apologized for failing to keep Alfred away from such a dangerous place, saying her efforts had fallen short.
I didn't think she needed to apologize. Everything worked out in the end.
"Like Alfred said in his letter, a good result doesn't mean you can do whatever you want," Lu pointed out.
I nodded, agreeing with her.
"Also... this is just a hunch, but I suspect that 'evidence' appearing after the building collapsed was actually Fouche's doing," Lu added.
"What?"
"Isn't it a bit too convenient?"
Now that she mentioned it, she was right. I didn't know what the evidence actually looked like, but what kind of proof just survives a building collapse? Was it all neatly written out on paper? It definitely felt unnatural.
"But since she didn't mention anything like that in her letter, we can't really bring it up ourselves," Lu said.
"True. What should we do, then?"
"Well, if Fouche really did pull some strings, we probably caused her quite a bit of trouble. Why don't we offer to pay for the repairs? Even if the old guild is gone, they’ll still need a new building for the successor organization."
That made sense. I decided we would do just that. We would send a generous donation under the guise of reconstruction costs. Alfred was receiving a lot of help from her, after all.