121 Part 1
Running Away from the Hero Chapter 121
To the World of Farming! (3)
We went straight home after buying chicken without looking at anything else. The simple double-story house was made of wood and located on the outskirts of the village. The house’s strength and weakness was that the old man next door was our only neighbor since the nearby area was used for farming except for a small cabin. Of course, I was thankful for that since I was being chased.
“We’re home!”
“It’s home!”
I followed the two running kids to the house and opened the door.
“Oh, welcome back. I have been waiting for you.”
“It’s you again, old man?”
I saw an old man sitting like it was his home right after I opened the door. I had been astonished to learn that this man lived next door.
“Grandpa!”
“h.e.l.lo, Alice!”
Alice ran to him and threw herself in his arms, and he also hugged her like he was in a good mood.
-He’s a nice person…
-His body is not, right?
-A lot.
While his face had a kind expression, his body spoke otherwise. I had to ask him what his job was because his physique was so perfect. He was different from ordinary knights, who maintained their muscles through magic. His body was trained like mine was, but he was thirty years older than me, and I was nearing fifty. That meant he was maintaining that perfect body in his seventies!
-I thought he was a trap set by the princess at first.
-That girl would easily find someone like that.
-Yes, I thought she must have sent a swordmaster or the previous Holy Swordsman.
-She brought in a master of swordsmanship and the current Holy Swordsman to set you up. You might have hit the nail.
-Yes.
I had thought I needed to run, but it was now a thing of the past. While the old man seemed like a hidden swordmaster, but the only time I saw him hold a sword was when he cooked. That kind of a swordsman would need to use his sword. I trained every early morning despite thinking myself not a swordsman, and someone who seemed to have hidden secrets like him would not let his sword rust.
“Buying four chickens was the right choice.”
“That’s right. I was scared of you glaring at me every time I had a bite, Alice.”
“Yes, but it’s Grandpa’s fault since stealing chicken pieces is a bad thing!”
“Yes, Grandpa’s sorry.”
The old man did not lose his kind smile while listening to Alice’s complaints.
“I brought a few beers as a gift.”
“Oh!”
Chicken and beer! Since people mostly drank ale here, I felt nostalgic at this old man’s rare lager brew.
“Is it lager?”
“I only have one bottle of lager.”
“There are only four chickens.”
“…Half is mine.”
“I’ll give you a whole chicken.”
“Agreed.”
I reached an agreement with the old man, and now it was my turn.
“a.s.sistant!”
“Yes!”
Alice was already attired in a battle uniform as she rushed to me from the old man’s arms. She was wearing an ap.r.o.n and a bandana that would prevent her hair from getting in the food.
“We begin the battle.”
“Yes!”
Alice saluted and quickly washed her hands at my serious voice. She was a skilled farmer by day and an experienced a.s.sistant by night! How perfect my daughter was!
“I’ll trim the chicken, and you grind the bread.”
“Yes!”
Alice began to grind the bread leftover from breakfast with practiced movements.
“Let’s see.”
There are four chickens, and all were suitable for frying.
“Hmm…”
While their feathers and intestines had already been taken care of, I needed to trim them a bit more to make fried chicken. I removed the unnecessary parts and cut them to appropriate pieces. I rubbed flour on the chicken morsels I had cut by wings, legs, and b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
“I finished, leader!”
“Nice job.”
My daughter finished her battle with perfect timing and brought the well ground bread crumbs.
“They are perfect.”
The bread crumbs were amazing to the extent I would have stroked her hair if I was not cooking. Her talent was amazing to make such well ground breadcrumbs without a mixer in this short period.
“All right, let’s get the batter on them.”
“It’s beautiful…”
The chicken pieces wearing white skin were now dunked in eggs. I stared at my daughter’s entranced gaze at the wet golden chicken pieces and covered them with bread crumbs again.
“How is the oil?”
“It’s ready!”
Fried chicken makes even a metal bat work. Was fried chicken that amazing a dish, or was the bat extraordinary to know the magic of fried chicken?
“The temperature seems good.”
I threw in a bit of the batter to check the oil’s temperature.
“Let’s begin.”
The chicken pieces were dropped in oil, and I worried at my daughter shaking in ecstasy at the moment the chicken met oil. However, I turned my gaze to the chicken being fried with loud, seething noises.
Temperature and timing decided the quality of fried foods. The insides might be raw, or the bread crumbs may burn just by the timing being a bit off. While I had not been able to make soy sauce and other sauces and failed in making kimchi, I had to succeed in making fried chicken as a last shred of pride as a Korean.