OTRNHB 130

Chapter 130

Sweating heavily, I headed to the kitchen. The small kitchen carried four years of lived-in traces.

“Such a hassle…”

On this hot day, standing in front of fire felt like suffocating to death. But if I only served hard bread or jerky, Laila would definitely scold me. I lit the stove and dropped a little butter into the cast-iron pan. At the very least, I needed to pretend to toast some bread.

I washed vegetables, tore them roughly by hand, and tossed them into a bowl. But even the sight of fresh green leaves didn’t take away the dizzying heat.

“I’m not eating unless there’s meat.”
“Ugh, can’t we just eat simple for once…”
“No. I live to eat.”

Laila poked her head in, realizing I only planned to toast bread.
“If you eat like that, you’ll turn into a pig.”
“Maybe I want to try being one.”
“…Annoying…”

Laila smirked and disappeared. I sighed and pulled out another pan.

We took turns cooking every day. Laila’s cooking style was rather savage—just enough to fill the stomach. I, on the other hand, didn’t know much about cooking at all, nor did I really enjoy eating.

At first, her cooking nearly killed me. Soups without salt, bland and watery, potatoes with skins still clinging, and fish I couldn’t even touch. Still, I forced myself to eat them. Honestly, it was torture.

But people get better with practice. Laila’s cooking hadn’t changed much, but she had added variety. And I had learned enough to at least prepare something that resembled proper food. Most of it was just cutting and boiling ingredients, but wasn’t that what cooking was anyway? Muttering to myself in mock defense, I mashed the boiled potatoes. Suddenly my own grumbling sounded funny, and I let out a small laugh.

It was a small house.

“Has it really been four years already…?”

That day, Laila and I had left Redamas.

I hadn’t left even a single letter for Enoch or Keith. Honestly, I didn’t know what I could have written. My head had been a complete mess then. The taut thread had snapped, leaving me lost and confused. I couldn’t separate emotions from reason, couldn’t put anything into words. Even the one word I wanted to say—sorry—had been forbidden.

Laila was the same.

Maybe this was how it felt after running with everything you had toward a single goal, only to finally reach it. We were left like stray children, stranded.

We needed time.
We needed a lot of time.

Time to swallow everything that had happened to me, to chew on loss until I could endure it. Even if it meant running away.

If Laila had abandoned me, I would have had to hide alone. But thankfully, she took me with her. She often complained she should throw me away, that I was useless, that I nagged too much now as if I were spoiled. But I knew by now that those were affectionate scoldings. Laila didn’t even consider people she disliked worth her attention. And no matter what she said, she never forgot to warn me not to go out after dark.

Enoch had been like that too…

The more I lived with Laila, the more I realized how similar the two of them were. Of course, I never said it aloud—she would have hated hearing it.

Far from Redamas, in a countryside village near the Mariv River.

City people rarely came here. Sometimes nobles stayed briefly in a summer house, but the villagers kept away, wary of trouble. In this quiet and peaceful village, Laila and I lived as if we were dead.

The first year was spent turning the house into a livable home.

Raised with servants doing everything for me, I had no idea how to do anything. I realized how spoiled I had been—I had never even bought my own underclothes. Laila scolded me constantly but still taught me each thing.

Yet even she couldn’t light a lamp without spirit magic. I, who hadn’t used magic or spirits for a long time, was used to doing such things myself. I seized the chance to tease her for not being able to light a fire.

We had made an unspoken pact—not to summon spirits, not to use magic, not to call Nelson or Ted.

So we bought ingredients, cooked clumsily, did laundry, cleaned, wore simple clothes, and passed each day like that. Even that much made time fly.

After about a year, Laila began helping the villagers when wild animals or monsters appeared. I did small farm work, helped with livestock, and earned some money. Honestly, I was so grateful they hired me that it felt like I should have been the one paying them.

I was scolded often, but they still called me back, again and again. Slowly, from being shut-ins, we began to take part in village life. We even made friends.

I learned to greet people warmly, just as Enoch once had when he remembered everyone’s name and their circumstances.

I asked about aching backs, about children’s scraped knees, about daughters leaving to marry into other towns.

It wasn’t something you studied. It wasn’t something you did as a tool, hoping people would love you more.

It was just what came naturally when you cared about people.

“Not done yet?”
“Just finished. I was about to call you.”

I moved the food to the table. Laila took the dish from my hand and set it down. We sat across from each other to eat. Three meals a day—or at least two. Four years of shared meals stacked into eternity.

“Potatoes again? I’m sick of them.”
“Stop whining and eat.”
“No sausages? Or ham?”
“I grilled meat.”
“Not meat—sausages.”
“You’re asking too much. If you want more, go ask Paul yourself.”
“That guy forgets everything no matter how many times you tell him.”
“Don’t call him ‘that guy.’ He’s still ten years older than you.”
“A man in his thirties with memory loss—pitiful, isn’t it?”
“…I don’t think it’s that bad.”

But I secretly wondered the same. Paul was only in his late thirties, yet he often forgot requests. If not for his meticulous wife, his shop would’ve gone under long ago.

“Every day it’s the same food.”
“The ingredients are the same. What can we do?”

Vegetables from the garden, meat from cows, pigs, chickens, goats, potatoes from the field, and plain bread—those were our staples. I didn’t mind.

“I don’t really care what I eat…”

If I didn’t eat, I had no strength, and if I skipped meals, I got scolded. That was the only reason. Even now, if I could avoid eating, I would. The summer heat was the perfect appetite suppressant.

“There are so many delicious foods in the world.”
“I guess so…”
“Some people even pour bags of money just to taste them.”
“And that’s how Enoch made money, wasn’t it?”
“He cared about taste himself… I guess it suited him.”

Laila shook her head, looking fed up.
“He’s the only bastard I ever saw carry three kinds of salt on a camping trip.”
“Hahaha.”
“Now I actually miss that salt.”

It really had been delicious…

Back then, I didn’t understand why Enoch scolded me about dipping meat here and fish there. I thought, What difference does it make? As long as I wasn’t hungry, it was fine.

I had been a spoiled girl, demanding help without offering anything in return.

And still, he had never lost his temper with me.

“Now there’s not even alcohol.”
“I know you sometimes sneak off to Shati’s place for beer.”
“It’s just lukewarm beer. I meant real liquor.”

Keith always said beer was the best. He wouldn’t turn down expensive drinks, but his hand always reached for beer first.

I set my salad down and lowered my eyes.

The wooden table we ate on had been here before us. Old, small, full of scratches.

I liked it. But I wouldn’t mind a new one either.

This year especially, we found ourselves talking often about the two of them.

Not with heavy resolve—it just slipped out naturally. Now we could. We both knew.

It was okay.

“If you want one, just go buy it.”

We didn’t farm or raise livestock ourselves. We could leave anytime if we wanted.

Chewing her meat, Laila swallowed and said:

“You’re right.”