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Chapter 02
The Maléhark Empire conquered the Kingdom of Xenotat one year ago.
The king of Xenotat was beheaded on the very day of the conquest, and now the remaining Xenotat royals were being hunted down. Meanwhile, the imperial palace kitchen was busy preparing meals for the Imperial Knights going on expeditions.
“Anyway, I heard something went wrong with the egg sandwiches Trudy made the day before yesterday. The entire Knight Order got food poisoning, so they came back almost as soon as they set out. Trudy bolted before their complaints came pouring in.”
“Wow… that’s a huge mess. But really, egg sandwiches with mayonnaise in this warm weather? They would’ve spoiled in less than an hour. Why would she do that?”
Riese asked, whisking egg whites so hard her arm looked like it might fall off. Marika shrugged and replied.
“How was she supposed to know? She probably just thought it’d taste better with mayo.”
“I mean, I guess she could’ve thought that, but still…”
Isn’t that basic knowledge for a cook?
Riese swallowed the rest of her sentence. Marika was lower-ranked, so she could understand it from her, but the fact that the assistant head chef of the imperial kitchen lacked even that much knowledge was baffling.
“What’s wrong with Maléhark, seriously?”
“Huh?”
“…Nothing.”
Cutting herself off, Riese stopped whisking. If she said more, she knew she’d end up saying something unnecessary. So she forced herself to focus on the whipped egg whites.
After beating vigorously until her face turned red, a lovely mound of glossy white foam—stiff like whipped cream—rose in her bowl.
Now all she had to do was gently fold in the yolks and dry ingredients to turn the meringue into batter.
Marika’s eyes widened at the fluffy, cloud-like meringue.
“Wow… what is that?”
“Pancake batter.”
“Aren’t pancakes just… flat? Like, fried flat on a pan?”
“Watch.”
Smiling, Riese melted butter on a low flame and gently ladled the batter onto the pan.
The soft, jiggly batter puffed up slightly as it cooked, filling the kitchen with the rich aroma of butter.
When bubbles began forming on the surface, Riese carefully flipped it. A pale golden, glossy, fluffy pancake revealed itself.
Marika grabbed her cheeks with both hands in awe.
“This is a pancake? I’ve never seen anything like this!”
Her excitement made Riese smile.
Riese poured the rest of the batter into the pan and placed the freshly cooked pancake onto a white plate.
Gulp.
Marika stared at the pancake so intensely she might burn a hole through it.
When it was set on the table, the pancake—fluffy like a pillow—lightly jiggled on the plate.
“Go ahead. Try it.”
“Okay!”
Marika grabbed her fork the instant she got permission.
When she poked the pancake, it sank right in.
The moment she put a small piece in her mouth, it melted so quickly she barely felt it. The buttery aroma tickled her nose as she chewed.
“It’s delicious…”
Marika, bliss spread across her face, noticed Riese watching her while preparing a third pancake.
“What?”
“Marika… I didn’t think you were that kind of person.”
“Huh?”
“You’re someone who eats pancakes without syrup? I’m disappointed.”
“I can’t disappoint you.”
At Riese’s reprimand, Marika hurriedly drizzled maple syrup on her pancake.
Golden syrup glistened as it seeped into the fluffy cake. When she cut a bite-sized piece and ate it, a gentle sweetness soaked through the moist pancake and filled her mouth.
“Mmm…”
A soft moan slipped out as Marika closed her eyes. Riese smiled as she poured more batter into the pan.
“Eat that and then bring these downstairs. Everyone’s waiting.”
“If you knew they were waiting, why didn’t you make them faster?”
“Greta!”
Riese and Marika both turned at the loud voice. A middle-aged woman with blazing red hair and a sturdy build stood behind them.
Greta Kling—the head chef who oversaw the entire Maléhark imperial kitchen.
She glanced at the pancake Marika was eating and asked Riese,
“This is supposed to be a pancake?”
“Yes, it’s a soufflé pancake.”
“Where’d you learn to make something like this?”
“Well…”
“Did you learn it in Xenotat?”
“…Ah.”
Riese’s green eyes trembled faintly at Greta’s casual question. Greta crossed her thick arms and jutted out her chin.
“No need to get tense. We don’t discriminate against Xenotat people here. As long as you’re not lazy.”
Greta’s sharp gaze shifted to Marika. She flicked Marika lightly on the forehead—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to scold her.
“You brat. I sent you here to help Riese. What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ow.”
“Greta, Marika’s still recovering from her cold.”
“If she’s sick, she should be resting. Why is she here?”
“But how could I leave these pancakes behind? Right, Riese?”
Greta pressed a finger to Marika’s forehead again.
“‘Right, Riese?’ my foot. Riese, I told you not to spoil her.”
“Sorry. But these should be eaten warm…”
“Enough. Just keep cooking.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Riese pressed her lips together and resumed cooking diligently.
Greta watched her carefully control the heat, then added,
“We need to serve lunch to the knights too. Bring some pancakes to the training grounds. And tell them the kitchen will take responsibility for the food poisoning incident.”
“Yes. But… Greta?”
“What now?”
“If their stomachs are upset, wouldn’t soup be better than pancakes?”
“Soup?”
“They probably can’t handle proper food yet. I made cabbage soup this morning… it might be better to give them that.”
“That’s another Xenotat dish?”
“Yes.”
Riese gave a tiny nod.
Since the Maléhark Emperor’s doctrine was merit-based, skill was prioritized in hiring as well.
They had slaughtered the Xenotat royals mercilessly, yet they still hired Xenotat-born servants for the palace—because their skills were valuable.
Greta too had treated Riese without prejudice when Marika introduced her during the hiring process.
“If it’s Xenotat-style, then it’ll taste good. Do it.”
Maléhark cuisine was often called “an assault on the tongue”, whereas Xenotat was a nation of gastronomy.
When Xenotat fell, its royal palace cooks scattered to the wind. That, in Greta’s view, was the greatest tragedy.
If Riese—once a lowly kitchen maid in Xenotat—had skills surpassing Maléhark’s assistant head chef, then how excellent must the former head chef have been?
But he was dead now.
Executed for the “crime” of contributing too greatly to the debauched king’s pleasures.
Maléhark was merit-based, yes, but it was far from merciful.
And this was why Riese was now living her fourth life.
Riese—Alina Jacinder—had died twice.
Once at the hands of the Xenotat king.
The second time at the hands of the Maléhark imperial prince.
Both times, she tried to run. Both times, she failed miserably.
Which death was more agonizing was impossible to say—being pushed to death by her father, or being killed by the royal who killed her father. Both were horrific.
Alina had been one of the many children of the now-dead Xenotat king, Ranshel Jacinder.
Ranshel likely didn’t even know how many children he had.
But Alina, the youngest, knew exactly how many siblings she had.
Seventeen.
Four princes, thirteen princesses.
Alina was the last in line among them.
Not once in nineteen years had the royal family treated her kindly. She was merely a line on the family register, nothing more.
The cold palace assigned to Alina was a crumbling wreck.
She didn’t even have attendants. So, to survive, she disguised herself as a maid and worked in the royal kitchen.
She learned cooking by watching the palace’s finest chefs work. She did errands and was given food instead of wages.
If she peeled a mountain of onions, she could earn a bowl of watery stew.
Cooking was simply a tool to survive.
Her life wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t unbearable either. It was simply… manageable.
But it didn’t last long. In her first life, the Maléhark Empire invaded.
In the moment of crisis, Ranshel grabbed Alina and held a blade to her neck, trying to escape by using his youngest daughter as a hostage.
It failed.
The emperor, intending to wipe out the royal bloodline anyway, killed Alina.
The emperor’s sword struck her, but in truth, it was her father who had pushed her to death.
In her second life, she escaped before Ranshel could grab her.
But six years into her escape, she was discovered by the Empire’s Second Prince, commander of the Blue Lion Knights.
He claimed that thanks to her, he would gain the credit needed to surpass the Crown Prince.
The moment his sword pierced Alina’s chest, she woke up in the palace gardens.
Her chest ached fiercely. As she gasped for breath, new memories flooded her mind.
Memories of a woman working in a restaurant in a world with advanced civilization.
A strange nation with buildings unlike those of Xenotat or Maléhark. Black-haired people passing by.
Alina was not just Alina—she had once lived as a Korean chef in her previous life.
She had worked more than ten years in a restaurant, finally preparing to open her own place.
But the day before the grand opening—
A truck hit her while she was crossing the street carrying heavy boxes of new dishes.
As her body lifted and the sky filled her vision—
She thought:
I don’t want to die like this.
I want to feed more people my food. There are so many dishes I haven’t tasted, so many I still want to create.
Not like this…
And then she died.
That was Alina’s previous life.
When she regained those memories, Alina curled up in the garden and cried.
What she experienced wasn’t simple regression.
Someone was giving her a message—
This time, survive. Live.
Fulfill the dreams you couldn’t in your past life.
To do that, Alina decided she would fight to survive.
But survival as a fugitive was just as precarious in this life as the last.
