Chapter 3: I Am Generous.
“Coat the wide pan with oil, and then pour the batter on top.”
Seems like I’ll have to teach him step by step.
Ar wondered once again whether it was worth keeping Leon, this burdensome guest, in her home.
Perhaps noticing her inner conflict, Leon flawlessly cooked the batter without further trouble.
“All done!”
Ar was secretly surprised. Unlike her, who always managed to burn the edges or the back of her pancakes, Leon—clearly a first-timer—produced perfectly golden-brown pancakes without a single burnt spot.
When transferred to a plate, the pancakes jiggled slightly, tempting her even more.
“…!”
The first bite amazed her even further.
Up until now, pancakes had always been flat and chewy—just flour cooked in a pan.
For Ar, that was the definition of a pancake. But these were nothing like what she knew.
The fluffy texture from their thick structure delighted her tongue.
Ar had never eaten pancakes so well-cooked and evenly done, with not a single undercooked spot.
They were soft, almost melting in her mouth, as if the batter itself had been magically transformed.
Overjoyed, Ar devoured her share in no time.
She looked up to compliment the guest, only to find an expression of dissatisfaction on the chef’s face—a stark contrast to her own contentment.
“What’s wrong?”
“Thank you for enjoying it, but I think I forgot an ingredient.”
“Forgot?”
“Yes. It tastes like nothing but flour… I must have left out a sweetener.”
“Sweetener?”
Ar, who had always eaten plain, flour-flavored pancakes, found it odd that food needed sweetness.
Still, chalking it up to a cook’s ambition, she thought about what ingredients she had at home.
“There’s honey from the last hunt.”
“Honey’s good, but sugar would suit this better.”
“Sugar?”
Ar had never heard of it.
“I don’t have any at home. But I’ll look for it when I head to the village later.”
She had to go to town anyway to sell the snake she’d caught that morning.
Live snakes fetched a better price than dead ones, so she intended to sell it while it was still lively in the net.
Ar added sugar to her mental shopping list.
***
Ar quickened her pace.
On her way to the village, she had caught a few squirrels, making her hands quite full.
First, she planned to sell the snake to the brewery, then return home to skin and dry the squirrel hides.
The meat wasn’t worth selling but would make a decent dinner—perfect since she had a guest.
The brewery owner paid handsomely for the snake, saying it was ideal for snake wine.
After pocketing the coins, Ar headed to the village grocery store to look for the sugar Leon mentioned.
“Ah.”
Unfortunately, she ran into some familiar faces along the way—young men around her age from the village.
“Tsk, what bad luck.”
Their faces twisted as if they’d seen something unpleasant.
Without fail, they turned away to avoid her, as always.
Ar was rich.
As the village’s sole hunter, butcher, and executioner, it was inevitable.
Monopolies always meant wealth.
Hunting was far more efficient than farming, which took months of hard work to yield results.
Not only did hunting require less time, but the byproducts from the prey—like hides—also provided a steady income. Since Ar skinned and processed the game herself, she saved on additional costs.
But nothing was more lucrative than executions.
In a small village with little entertainment, the public execution of a criminal was a major event.
To satisfy the crowd, the executioner had to ensure a swift, clean death.
As the only person with such skill, passed down from her grandfather, Ar had always dispatched convicts with a single, precise blow. Each execution earned her more than a month of hunting.
Ar was a skilled hunter, butcher, and executioner, making her one of the wealthiest people in the village.
Yet no one associated with her.
It all started when she was still young.
***
One day, on an errand for her grandfather, Ar was returning to the forest when she saw children her age arguing.
“Let go! You’ve already played with it enough!”
“No, I barely had a turn. Give it back!”
They were fighting over a doll. Watching them tugging at it, Ar thought:
They must really like dolls.
Having never played with other children before, Ar went back to the market and bought as many dolls as she could carry—one for each child.
Confident, she approached the group.
“Here.”
“Huh?”
“Take this.”
She offered a doll to one of the children, but they hesitated, glancing at her and the doll nervously.
Finally, one of them cautiously reached out.
Smack!
“What are you doing?!”
The loudest among them slapped her hand away.
Startled, the others backed off.
“You’re the one who kills animals in the forest, aren’t you?”
Caught off guard, Ar couldn’t respond.
The child sneered, snatching a doll from her arms.
“Who wants a doll that stinks of corpses?!”
With that, he threw the doll back at her.
Already holding an armful of dolls, Ar couldn’t catch it. The doll fell to the ground, rolling in the dirt.
“Don’t spread your stink to us. Get lost!”
“Yeah, get lost!”
“Go away! You’re filthy!”
One child shouted, and the rest joined in.
Stunned, Ar turned and ran, dodging their shouts and the small stones they threw at her back.1Oh My God! That’s horrible (༎ຶ ෴ ༎ຶ)
Time passed, and as Ar grew up, she came to understand certain truths about the villagers.
While they loved meat, they despised the act of butchering that provided it.
They gathered eagerly to watch executions, yet they considered the executioner unclean.
Ar was the wealthiest person in the village. No one her age could boast the same fortune.
She owned her own house, a hearth, and even goats in her yard.
Baking bread at home was a rare luxury, and she had recently built a chicken coop, which allowed her to enjoy eggs with her bread.
One morning, she even found a double-yolked egg, an event she wanted to share with someone. But when she looked up, her home was empty.
She was alone.
“Ah, sugar.”
Lost in thought, she remembered her errand and hurried to the grocer.
“Sugar? Why would you need that?”
The shopkeeper’s skeptical eyes lingered on her, as if it were odd for a hunter to request an ingredient more suited to a lord’s kitchen.
“Is it expensive?”
“Of course! It’s not like everyone grows sugar beets, and turning them into sugar takes specialized artisans. Supplies are limited.”
The shopkeeper pulled a small jar from a cupboard and cautiously removed the lid, revealing a fine white powder that shimmered like snow under the light.
As Ar stared at the jar, its brilliance reminded her of someone back at home, someone with hair that sparkled like it held its own light.
While the shopkeeper rambled on about sugar’s rarity and price, Ar’s attention drifted until she heard the cost.
“That much?”
“I told you, it’s expensive!”
She hesitated.
The price wasn’t beyond her means, but it was several times higher than other spices.
Buying it would wipe out the earnings from selling the snake earlier.
“Still, this is nothing compared to cane sugar. The stuff nobles in the capital eat is—”
“I’ll take it.”
“What?”
The shopkeeper’s disbelief was evident.
This morning’s meal had been delightful. The memory of thick, melt-in-your-mouth pancakes made her feel it was worth the splurge.
The shopkeeper, thrilled to have sold such a rare item, wrapped it carefully.
Though the purchase lightened her purse significantly, Ar didn’t mind.
She hurried home, arriving before sunset.
She couldn’t explain why she had rushed, but there she was, clutching the bag with the sugar jar as she opened the door.
“Welcome back,” said Leon.
The smell of soup filled the house, warm and inviting. Leon stood by the pot, steam rising behind him.
“Not knowing when you’d return, I made something that wouldn’t spoil easily. I used the ingredients you showed me yesterday.”
Ar handed him the jar.
“This is sugar.”
“You already got it? Thank you.”
Leon accepted the jar with a simple smile.
His casual gratitude stood out to Ar, unaccustomed as she was to such warmth.
Feeling unexpectedly buoyant, she stepped inside with a faint smile.
***
Her stomach growled, a reminder of how long the day had been.
“I’m hungry.”
Returning from the village often left her feeling empty, and she usually made hearty meals to compensate.
She clutched her abdomen as her stomach growled loudly again.
Leon, considerate as ever, pretended not to hear and guided her to the table.
“I’ve prepared a snack since it’ll be dinner soon.”
The table was tidier than it had been in the morning. Alongside the steaming soup, there was a dish of neatly sliced tomatoes.
“I wanted to cut bread to go with it, but I couldn’t find any. Do you store it elsewhere?”
Ar thought, she kept preserved foods like jerky in the outdoor shed.
“I don’t keep bread. I make it fresh when I need it.”
“You… make it?”
To Leon, bread was something pre-made, bought from a shop. The idea of making it from scratch was as foreign as crafting fruit by hand.
His perplexed expression amused her.
“…”
Once again, Ar was reminded of how little Leon knew about cooking.
She guided him through the process of making dough and baking bread in the hearth, just as she had taught him to make pancakes.
Though teaching him required effort, and hosting him had increased her workload, she didn’t mind.
‘It’s fine. I can teach him.’
Once more, Ar decided she was a generous host.
