HGNSP 06

Chapter 6.

 The Village Petty Criminal (1)

Creak—.

Squeeeak!

A not-insignificant noise echoed through the corridor as I pushed my head through a barely-opened window.

Even though it was broad daylight, the interior of the building was pitch-black. It felt as if I had plunged my head into a pool of black water.

‘This is going to make moving around difficult. What should I do?’

After thinking for a moment, I climbed into the cathedral and moved my gear inside—the shield was too large to transport easily, but I somehow managed it. Then I took a candle holder and a candle out of my bag.

Sssst—.

Fwoosh!

‘Using a candle during the day feels wasteful since I don’t have to worry about Sanity right now.’

The Sanity system was another reason Mirabilis had earned its reputation as an absurdly difficult hardcore trash game.

Unlike the Life and Save Point systems, neglecting Sanity wouldn’t kill you or send you back to the beginning.

However, the lower your Sanity dropped, the darker the screen became. Objects around you would start changing into bizarre forms, and jump scares would occur more frequently.

‘It doesn’t directly harm the player or restrict gameplay…’

But in practice, it made everything much harder.

Because scared people don’t control their characters very well.

‘There were roughly four major ways to lose Sanity.’

Opening the door when phantom voices called to you.

Being caught by the ghosts that wandered the cathedral at night.

Encountering certain demons.

‘And…’

Not lighting a candle at night.

Except while sleeping, you had to keep a candle lit both indoors and outdoors after dark.

Otherwise, the surroundings would grow darker, strange talisman-like objects would appear everywhere, and furniture would begin taking on grotesque forms.

Normally, candles were precious resources you’d want to conserve during the day, but…

‘I’m basically using an infinite-candle cheat.’

Well, technically it wasn’t a cheat.

‘I’m just pulling decorative candles off the walls and using them as items.’

In the original game, you couldn’t remove the decorative candles placed around maps, nor could you use them as inventory items.

But I could.

I just pulled them out, and they came loose. Maybe because the developers used the same asset for both decorative objects and item candles, they were completely interchangeable.

And every day, the missing candles respawned.

It seemed like some classic RPG Maker logic was at work.

You know how puzzle rooms reset themselves after you leave and come back?

Basically, it was a pretty sweet deal.

I got several free candles every day.

A reincarnator’s privilege, you could say.

‘…Though being reincarnated here has way more downsides than perks.’

Anyway.

Holding up the candle and illuminating the hallway, I began walking.

My military boots echoed against the cold marble floor.

The sound stood out sharply in the dark, silent corridor.

To be honest, it scared the hell out of me.

I carefully picked up items as I went.

Whenever my footsteps seemed to overlap with other sounds, I’d immediately crouch behind nearby objects.

A grown man crawling around on the floor probably wasn’t a dignified sight.

But dignity doesn’t save lives.

Eventually, after checking the area and making good time, I arrived near my destination.

Entering through a window close to the target location had paid off.

Standing before the destination I remembered from the game’s graphics, I placed my hand on an old door.

Ding!

Map #019. Cathedral Kitchen

A kitchen run by the skilled chef Poco Smith. This is where meals for everyone in the cathedral are prepared. Beware—the strict head chef may appear unexpectedly!

‘And if I remember correctly, the note should be on the tile to the right of the door… where is it… Ah, there it is.’

[Someone’s Note: Never mishandle cooking utensils in front of the chef! Otherwise, you’ll become fresh ingredi—]

(The rest of the writing is obscured by dark red stains.)

‘I know, friend. Though you’re probably already an ingredient by now…’

Offering a silent prayer for the unfortunate soul, I…

Creak—.

Opened the door and stepped inside.

Keeping my head lowered while darting my eyes around, I slowly advanced.

Then—

Squeak—.

Thump!

Squeeeak, squeak, squeak—.

My heart jumped violently at the sound.

When I cautiously looked up, I saw huge slabs of meat hanging from hooks attached to the ceiling, twitching slightly.

The vivid red cross-sections assaulted my vision.

Instinctively, I felt that this was probably what had become of the “friendly friend” who wrote that note.

I kept my mouth tightly shut.

If I opened it, I felt like I might throw up.

To someone from modern society, murder and cannibalism still didn’t feel real.

‘I was uneasy about the dried meat, but that was more like a creepy urban legend.’

And in the end, it had been needless paranoia.

But the metallic smell in the air and the dangling chunks of flesh pushed my imagination beyond its limits.

Grotesque scenes from horror movies I’d accidentally watched flashed through my mind.

A nauseating odor seemed to rise from deep inside my lungs.

Covering my mouth with a trembling hand, I looked around for water.

A massive tank caught my eye.

The water looked clean.

But suddenly I wasn’t thirsty anymore.

Not because of the water itself.

It was because I’d accidentally made eye contact with the bloated fish floating inside.

‘…I’d rather just vomit.’

I gave up on finding water.

My stomach still felt terrible, but staring at the surroundings any longer would only damage my mental health.

‘Let’s just accomplish the objective and get out.’

Clenching my fist with determination, I fixed my gaze on the kitchen counters and moved forward.

Step.

Squeeeak—.

Step.

Squeeeak—.

The wooden floor groaned beneath my feet with every step.

But I wasn’t overly nervous.

‘The kitchen is actually… pretty safe, as long as you follow the rules.’

The reason I’d come here today.

A method of restoring Life other than eating dried meat.

That method was…

“…This.”

<Chef Poco’s Pot>

Description: The personal cooking pot of Poco Smith, a chef employed by the cathedral. It can make incredibly healthy and delicious meals!

Poco Smith’s Note: This is my most treasured pot. Anyone who mistreats it may become very, very fresh ingredients!

I found it sitting atop a stove.

After confirming there were no signs of movement in the corridor, I carefully picked it up.

Then—

Ding!

▶ Cook something delicious!

▷ Leave it alone and walk away!

▷ Don’t like it. Kick it!

The choice menu appeared.

The answer was obvious.

▶ Cook something delicious!

Chef Poco’s Pot belonged to Poco Smith, the monster who served as the cathedral’s head chef.

And the alternative method of restoring Life was connected to this item.

‘Food cooked in this pot restores lost lives.’

Wouldn’t the owner come chasing after me?

No.

The cathedral’s chef was actually surprisingly kind.

Whenever you met him, he’d say:

[The kitchen belongs to everyone!]

Then freely share pots, stoves, and even ingredients.

The only time he became angry was if someone kicked his beloved pot or committed an equivalent act of violence.

‘And in that case, he’d turn them into ingredients and hang them from the ceiling.’

Personally, I didn’t have the courage to kick someone else’s pot.

If I had that kind of nerve, I wouldn’t be living like this.

Glancing around, I searched through the cupboards.

Then I looked out the window.

The sun, which had risen in the east, was already drifting toward the west.

There was still time before evening, but not enough to waste.

‘I got here faster than expected… but I should still make something simple.’

A brief concern surfaced.

‘I’m a disaster in the kitchen. Is this really okay?’

But it would be fine.

Sure, I was terrible at cooking.

But I also had the palate of a garbage disposal.

I could eat things like:

• “Anchovy-topped whipped cream pumpkin pie,” created by a friend as a joke.
• “Kimchi-chip macarons,” invented by an acquaintance preparing to launch a business.

Foods that most people would passionately love or hate.

A slightly failed dish shouldn’t be beyond me.

‘The menu is… curry.’

Just throw everything in, add powder, and boil it.

Simple.

And all the ingredients were available.

There was bread to eat with it, too.

‘Though I’d better skip the meat. Knowing my luck, it’d turn out to be something I shouldn’t eat.’

I could always get meat in the forest later.

For now…

Having decided that, I opened the cupboard and began taking things out.

‘Carrots, onions, potatoes… Is this parsley? Celery? Whatever, vegetables are healthy. This is shall… shall… shallot? Sure, let’s go with that. Pickled cucumbers. Vegetables too, so they must be good. And finally… turmeric. Right, that’s what curry uses.’

Perfect.

The recipe was simple.

After washing everything thoroughly in a basin, I cut the ingredients into quarters.

Then I placed the pot over the fire, added a little oil, seasoned the ingredients with one spoonful of pepper and half a pinch of salt, and tossed them in.

Shallots first.

Then pickles.

Then celery.

Then onions.

Potatoes.

Carrots.

I stir-fried them for five minutes.

The scent of vegetables cooking in oil gradually settled my upset stomach.

The aroma was so appetizing that it felt capable of instantly restoring a lost appetite.

A small sense of pride quietly settled in my chest.

People had always banned me from entering kitchens.

I’d never had many opportunities to feel this way.

And honestly?

It felt pretty nice.

It was the first genuine sense of accomplishment I’d experienced since being thrown into this brutal world.

“The smell alone is amazing…”

When the vegetables began sticking slightly to the pot, I poured in purified water and added five generous shakes of turmeric powder.

A little later…

Something very close to the smell of curry filled my lungs.

Grrrrowl—.

My stomach, empty all day, roared violently.

My mouth watered.

My nose twitched as if I’d just smelled instant noodles at two in the morning.

Suddenly, a familiar resentment resurfaced.

‘It doesn’t seem that bad. Why does everyone always complain about my cooking?’

Sure, it wasn’t perfect.

But it was edible.

What made them all such refined gourmets anyway?

After another two minutes, bubbles began rising through the liquid.

I immediately moved the pot to the table and fanned it with my hand.

‘I hope this works properly… just like the dried meat did.’

The dried meat had been a drop item, so I’d never worried about it.

But this pot might operate under different rules.

This world was the same Mirabilis I knew.

Yet it wasn’t exactly the same.

The infinite-candle trick and the hidden hole in the wall were proof enough.

‘Next time I lose a Life, I’ll test it immediately.’

The thought of planning around my own future death was horrifying.

But what choice did I have?

‘If I want to go home, I have to deal with it.’

Honestly, I really, truly, absolutely hated it.

But still.

The curry had cooled enough.

All that remained was to spoon it onto the bread in the corner and store it in my bag.

The bag functioned as an inventory.

Anything placed inside remained uncontaminated.

Food never spoiled.

‘I left a cracked egg in there for three days once. It didn’t rot, and it didn’t even leave a mess.’

An incredibly convenient system.

Thinking that, I picked up the bread.

And then—

Creak—.

Without warning, the door opened.

My body instantly tensed.

I raised my head reflexively while crouching as low as possible.

Clutching the bread in my frozen hand, I turned only my eyes toward the source of the sound.

And then—

The owner of the kitchen looked at me.

Then looked at the meal I’d made using his pot.

And then…

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

He screamed.

…Wait.

He screamed?