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The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land
Episode 2. The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land
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An offering was, true to its dictionary definition of an object presented to a god, a type of quest presented to the Constellations.
The moment the Gate crisis began and humanity stood at the crossroads of destruction, beings of indescribable, irregular caliber appeared on Earth.
Those beings, whom we once called "gods," introduced themselves as Constellations and granted humanity a chance.
That was the First Awakening.
Even after the First Awakened resolved the dungeons and monsters that crossed over from the Gates and saved humanity, the Constellations still remained on Earth.
And some of them approached the most outstanding among the Hunters and forged a "Contract."
— If you offer us the tribute we desire, we shall grant you greater power.
What the Constellations desired was not money or jewels—things humans considered precious.
The brave deeds and outstanding reputations of the Hunters who received their patronage were the true offerings the Constellations desired.
I had heard rumors that sometimes a Constellation's personal request could become an offering, but...
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land desires your cooking.]
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land demands you offer cooking as tribute.]
"To think there would be a Constellation asking for food as an offering..."
I muttered, dumbfounded by the Constellation's message floating before my eyes.
Not hunting monsters, not raiding a dungeon, but asking for Cockatrice Samgyetang as tribute?
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land smacks his lips.]
...Could that Constellation's True Name be the God of Gluttony, by any chance?
That was when it happened.
As I just stood there in disbelief without answering, the status window suddenly began to shake violently.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land urges you for an answer.]
[Warning. You may receive "Divine Punishment" if you enrage a Constellation.]
Divine Punishment.
It was a permanent debuff inflicted upon a Hunter when they failed to keep their promise with a contracted Constellation or offered tribute improperly.
Hunters who received Divine Punishment suffered severe ability impairments, and recovering from it required an offering of nearly impossible proportions.
Therefore, most Hunters who received Divine Punishment fell into ruin, forced to live as low-grade Hunters or retire.
Since most Hunters chosen by Constellations were high-grade, namely A-rank or higher, the majority could not endure living as D-rank or lower and ended up retiring.
...Wait, so why would they inflict that on me?
I haven't even made a contract with a Constellation.
Perhaps because my baffled expression showed, the status window refreshed.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land declares that there will be a divine reward if you offer the tribute.]
"I shall offer the tribute."
That changes things.
The rewards of a transcendent being, a Constellation, created countless stories and legends every time they appeared in the world.
Only a fool would refuse such a reward.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land is extremely satisfied.]
The Constellation seemed pleased with my quick decision as well.
So now, would the Constellation descend and take my Cockatrice Samgyetang?
...But no matter how long I waited, nothing changed.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land asks why you have not offered the tribute yet.]
Wait, I have to be the one to offer it?
I looked up toward where the Constellation was likely to be with a dumbfounded expression.
What I saw was the ceiling of the restaurant kitchen, but anyway, it was probably up there.
No, that wasn't the problem—I didn't even know how to offer it.
"...But how do I offer it?"
At my question, the status window briefly blurred and began to flicker.
For some reason, it felt like a person fumbling for words.
Ah, no doubt about it—even a Constellation could be flustered.
While I was marveling at that fact, a new status window appeared.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land recommends that you install an "Altar."]
[Notice. The "Altar" is a means bearing an ancient tradition, used by non-contracted humans and Constellations to communicate.]
Ah, I see.
Well, even in old myths and stories, an altar was essential for offering tribute to a god.
"So how do I install this altar?"
At my question, the status window blurred again.
Flustered again, I see.
After that, through the indirect medium of communication called the status window, I had to painstakingly learn how to install the altar over a very long time.
* * *
"Phew, it's done."
I stacked the bricks I had bought to build a furnace in a corner of the parking lot behind the restaurant to make an altar.
This was backbreaking labor, nothing less.
The Constellation "The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land," who had me do this sweat-dripping hard labor, would nag by popping up a status window at the slightest issue.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land scolds you, saying the angle of the bricks is subtly off.]
[Warning. An improperly installed altar may cause the offering to be lost or delivered to the wrong Constellation.]
...He must really want to eat.
I thought of the Cockatrice Samgyetang still boiling in the kitchen.
Even if it were finished, it would be inedible due to excess mana; was it different for Constellations?
For him to hurry me like this to offer tribute.
But I didn't feel too bad.
Not because my Awakened class was [Chef], but because I had been a chef from the very beginning.
For a chef, having someone seek out your cooking was always a joyous thing.
Of course, it was still a bit bewildering that the one in question was not a person but a Constellation.
Still, for the one waiting for my cooking, I finished installing the altar with a glad heart.
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land is satisfied with the perfect installation of the altar.]
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land urges you to offer the tribute quickly.]
Tsk, so impatient.
I wondered if it was okay for a great Constellation, as I had heard from my younger sibling and other Hunters, to be like this.
"Please wait a moment. You wouldn't eat straight from the pot like an uncultured person, would you?"
Just because something is cooked doesn't make it a dish.
The completion of a dish is the plating. In other words, the cooking isn't done until it's served beautifully in a bowl.
They say good-looking rice cakes taste good too.
My grandfather always taught me that eating straight from the pot because you're hungry is something only beggars do.
...Though I didn't have the courage to say that to a Constellation exactly as is.
"If you wait a moment, I will bring it to you properly served in a bowl."
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land reluctantly agrees to wait.]
I let out a deep sigh at the Constellation's still-impatient message and returned to the restaurant.
But thinking about it, didn't I just scold the Constellation for rushing his meal?
For a moment, I shuddered, wondering if I'd receive Divine Punishment, but I quickly shook my head.
"No matter how great a Constellation is, table manners are a must."
Before the dining table, everyone acts like a king.
That was one of the family mottos of our restaurant, which had been running for three generations.
In fact, our restaurant's tradition was to throw out ill-mannered problem customers, regardless of who they were or what rumors might spread, and make sure they never came back.
Star ratings? Bad reviews? Our restaurant wasn't one to crumble from obsessing over such things.
Imagining kicking the Constellation out by the rear, I smirked and took out a ttukbaegi from the cupboard.
"Samgyetang really should be eaten from a ttukbaegi, after all."
...As I muttered this, I had to freeze mid-movement.
"Ah, there's no way the cockatrice would fit in here."
The cockatrice's body was about 60 centimeters long.
There was no way it would fit into a personal-sized ttukbaegi with a diameter of 30 centimeters at most.
It was my mistake—since it was a dish that would kill a person if eaten, I had cooked it without intending to serve it to anyone, so I hadn't prepared an appropriate vessel.
"What am I going to do..."
After having scolded the Constellation just now, I couldn't exactly tell him to eat straight from the pot.
After pondering for a moment, I soon thought of an alternative.
"We have a cauldron in the restaurant."
I had said one shouldn't eat straight from the pot, but if I considered the cauldron not as a cooking vessel but as a bowl for serving the dish, it wouldn't be so bad.
After all, a ttukbaegi was originally a cooking vessel too, but it's also used as tableware to keep food hot.
Let's think of the cauldron as a slightly larger ttukbaegi.
I transferred the Cockatrice Samgyetang into the cauldron I found in the kitchen.
"Gck."
Of course, moving a cauldron full of hot samgyetang was even harder than building the altar.
I was an Awakened, but since I wasn't a combat class, my physical body was no different from an ordinary person's.
"Uraaah!"
I mustered every ounce of my strength to lift the cauldron and place it atop the altar.
Judging by the strange sound my back made at the end, I would suffer from muscle pain for a while.
Anyway, I was finally able to place the completed Cockatrice Samgyetang on the altar.
"There, it's done."
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land is satisfied with your sincerity.]
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land instructs you to offer a prayer.]
[Notice. To offer tribute, a sincere prayer directed toward the respective Constellation is required.]
I have to pray too?
I grumbled about being told to do everything, but I clasped my hands together.
I had no religion I believed in, but this posture was universal for prayer, after all.
I closed my eyes and muttered quietly.
"To the Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land, I offer the Cockatrice Samgyetang you ordered. Please enjoy."
It was closer to the greeting used when serving food than a prayer, but the meaning wasn't too different, so it should be fine.
Then, surprisingly, golden flames flared up from the altar with a whoosh.
Fwoosh!
And the flames slowly enveloped the Cockatrice Samgyetang, cauldron and all, and began to consume it.
Watching the golden flames that exuded a sacred aura merely from looking at them, I burst into admiration.
"So this is a Constellation's flame."
These flames were a phenomenon that appeared when Constellations communicated with their contracted Hunters.
I had heard that the color of the flames varied according to the Constellation's rank.
Was gold the color of a Legendary Constellation? He must be quite a high-ranking one?
Judging from his behavior so far, he didn't look like it at all.
As I smirked, recalling the Constellation whining and fussing for food like a child—
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land takes a bite of your cooking.]
[The Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land exclaims at the outstanding taste and invites you to his domain.]
"...What?"
Along with the sudden message, the golden flames that had been burning the cauldron exploded violently and surged toward me.
"Uwaaaah!"
Opening my eyes, which I had squeezed shut thinking they would be burned by the blinding flames, I was standing not in the restaurant parking lot but on a desolate wasteland.
"Welcome to my domain, human chef."
And before my eyes, a handsome man with slightly dark skin and golden eyes was sitting at a dining table.
He was a man with a statue-like appearance, but the eerie air flowing in his gaze somehow made my spine chill.
"A-are you the Constellation, the Farmer Who Cannot Till the Land?"
When I asked with a trembling voice, the Constellation who had called me here slightly raised the corner of his mouth and nodded.
"Yes. The food was so delicious, I simply had to call the one who made it."
Following his words with my gaze, I saw, to my astonishment, the Cockatrice Samgyetang I had just offered as tribute sitting atop the table.
"My true name is Cain. I am also known by the epithet 'The First Murderer.'"
Wait, Cain? The elder brother of Abel from the Bible?
And what the hell was that terrifying epithet, "The First Murderer"?
In this absurd situation where I had been invited into a Constellation's domain and was seeing the Constellation directly, I couldn't open my mouth and was frozen stiff, but "Cain" was eating my samgyetang with an enraptured expression.
"This is to die for. The taste of mana steeped into the meat is toying with my tongue. And this faint medicinal aroma wafting from it isn't bad either."
His spoon never stopped moving even as he spoke.
Hearing the First Murderer say something is to die for sent shivers down my spine.
Perhaps annoyed by eating spoonful by spoonful, at some point Cain threw down his spoon and grabbed the chicken leg—no, the cockatrice leg—with both hands and tore into it.
"Do you know why birds have two legs?"
"Huh?"
"It's to make you realize that the happiness of tearing into a chicken leg is not a dream. It means God wants you to feel this happiness once more."
"..."
To think a Constellation would pick the bones clean, suck his fingers dry, and then down the samgyetang broth in one go straight from the cauldron.
"Kuaarh!"
After emptying it down to the last drop like a ttukbaegi and slamming it down on the table with a bang!, the expression that rose on Cain's face was happiness itself.
"Human chef. It was a perfect dish."
[You have created a dish that satisfies a Constellation.]
[A great achievement evolves your class.]
[Your class becomes "Constellation's Chef."]