After giving out instructions for the training, Grey smiled. He stretched, working the stiffness out of his shoulders, then glanced toward the manor. Garen was staring at him gloomily from behind a half-collapsed wall.
The muscular, broad-shouldered barbarian looked so aggrieved that one would think he was missing an elegant banquet surrounded by heavenly beauties rather than an ordinary training session.
Grey chuckled and completely ignored the disabled giant who, hanging his head as he resigned himself to his task, continued pulling out weeds.
He clapped his hands, picked up a small bag, and headed toward the room that housed the kitchen utensils.
Although the manor had been abandoned for several years and most of its belongings had fallen into disrepair, the massive kitchen stove, which ran solely on charcoal, was still perfectly usable. It only needed a bit of cleaning.
Grey found a strange comfort in the fact that the primitive, heavy constructions of this era were not only nearly impossible to dismantle completely, but just as difficult to destroy for good.
He took a clean basin he had prepared beforehand and poured in a generous amount of milk bought at the market. Then, one by one, he cracked a dozen eggs into it, added a little honey, and began whisking the mixture until it reached a smooth, thick consistency.
Naturally, there was nothing resembling a convenient whisk here. Such "modern" items could only be found in noble households wealthy enough to employ a trained confectioner. He had no choice but to make do with several smooth sticks he had carved in advance.
Once he finished mixing the ingredients, he rolled up his sleeves, poured in the finest white flour, the very same flour that cost half a silver coin, and began kneading the dough.
His fingers sank into the pliant mass. Grey gave himself completely to the process of cooking, temporarily forgetting all the troubles that had pursued him relentlessly since the moment of his reincarnation. The world narrowed to the simplest of things: the steady rhythm of movement, the mingling scents, and the feel of the dough beneath his palms.
The mere thought of showing these country bumpkins the wonders of modern cuisine filled him with an uncontrollable sense of excitement and faint superiority.
Grey did not consider himself particularly arrogant or vain. Even so, as a proud transmigrator, he felt deeply frustrated that all the knowledge and experience from his previous life seemed almost useless here, in a world where personal strength was the ultimate measure of a person's worth.
Everything he set out to do required time before it produced results.
The new rules in the brothel were taking root slowly. His attempts to establish the production of gunpowder and a six-shot revolver kept running into the limitations of local blacksmiths, who were incapable of following blueprints with precision. When it came to survival, he relied on Junior's knowledge and inheritance, as well as Lady Veronika's generosity.
He could not even cultivate because he had ended up in the body of a cripple.
None of his actions brought immediate benefits. How could he not feel useless?
Therefore, as he watched the dough slowly rise and expand beneath the work of the yeast, Grey sank into a state of tranquility that bordered on meditation.
"That's right. I'm doing this correctly. Small steps. One change after another. I'll accumulate them little by little and connect them in the proper sequence until they create a snowball effect. If I do everything right, the process will continue on its own, naturally increasing my authority and influence, just as yeast expands the volume of dough..."
Grey shook his head with an ironic smile, casting aside the philosophical thoughts that had washed over him.
He had not forgotten his goal. The cake was not finished yet.
Once the dough had risen, he carefully pressed it into greased baking molds before adding fresh berries and generously sprinkling them with sugar. Blueberries, blackberries, lingonberries, and several other kinds whose names he did not know.
Grey did not bother trying to tell them apart. He had simply bought everything the market had to offer after first making sure none of them were poisonous. Whatever the individual berries tasted like, a mixture of different flavors would only make the cake more interesting and delicious.
That had been his personal experience. As a seasoned gourmet who had sampled cuisines from around the world, along with desserts crafted by Michelin-starred pastry chefs, he knew what he was talking about.
After checking the temperature of this world's version of an oven with the palm of his hand, Grey carefully slid the cake preparations inside.
'I hope the oven can handle it and I don't burn everything. I don't have enough ingredients for a second attempt. Besides, this expense is already excessive...'
'Just think about it. The ingredients for this cake cost me nearly a whole silver coin. Wasn't that about how much Harmon demanded when he put me up for sale? Isn't that ironic? Heh.'
'Still, it doesn't matter. What matters is that this works out. These expenses won't hurt our finances too badly. And Veronika's goodwill will become the deciding factor in carrying out my future plans.'
'These aren't expenses. They're investments... Her good mood is the key to our happiness. I need to properly make up with Monica. Lily and Sherrill will be happy too. Everyone else can have a couple of slices.'
'I'm definitely not wasting money recklessly or indulging my own desires at all...'
Grey's thoughts were interrupted by Garen, who walked into the kitchen. Even in his injured state, he resembled a bear more than a human being.
'He's grown so much in just a few weeks since we last saw each other... How did I fail to notice such obvious changes? Is it because he spent all that time unconscious? Good heavens, how tall is he now? One hundred seventy centimeters? One eighty? He's just a teenager!!! What kind of monster is he going to become when he grows up? And this giant is in love with tiny Sherrill? He'd crush her with a casual hug...'
"Boss, we're done with everything. Cleared out the trash and pulled up all the weeds around the manor," the giant said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "I feel like I've completely recovered already. Can I join the others for training? This housework..." He grimaced. "I'm just not made for it."
Grey looked at the hulking youth with a smile that wasn't really a smile.
"Recovered? Are you sure about that?"
He stepped closer and, without the slightest hesitation, lifted Garen's shirt, exposing the wound that had only scabbed over yesterday and clearly hadn't had enough time to heal.
"B-Boss, what are you doing...? I'm not some girl showing off my chest..." Garen shifted awkwardly, masking his unease with a joke.
"You're not a girl. You're an idiot with sawdust for brains!" Grey barked, unsure whether he should laugh or cry. "Do you have any idea how intense the others' training is? Did you even stop to think about what would happen if you jumped in with wounds that haven't healed yet?!"
He jabbed a finger directly into the wound, as if testing just how "recovered" it truly was.
Garen doubled over in pain.
"M-Mercy... Mercy!" he pleaded. "I was wrong. I... I'll follow your instructions."
"I'm forbidding you from training not because you're inferior, but because treating a relapse of your injuries would take far longer than allowing you to recover properly right now."
Grey decided to explain everything in the simplest terms possible. Otherwise, this stubborn fool might really start training behind everyone's backs, which would only create problems for both himself and Garen.
It seemed yesterday's speech had affected them even more deeply than Grey had expected.
Everyone in the manor was overflowing with motivation. All they talked about was becoming stronger and ceasing to be a burden. In such an atmosphere, the injured felt isolated from the rest, as though they had already failed the trial and now had to make up for it by taking on the household's most menial chores.
Especially Garen, who had always been the strongest among them. Leo's death weighed heavily on his shoulders. With his personality, there was simply no way he could sit still while everyone else trained and grew stronger.
"Be patient..." Grey advised, patting him on the shoulder. "Learn to control your impulsiveness. You can think of this as another form of training..."
"I understand," Garen said, looking away as he lowered his head slightly. "Boss... what are you making? It smells so good that the others insisted I ask you."
"Weren't you actually sent here as their spy? And you just confessed everything so easily..." Grey chuckled.
"W-Well..." Garen scratched the back of his head in embarrassment.
"It's a pie," Grey explained, not wanting to put him in an awkward position. "I don't know if you've ever heard of such a thing. It's a sweet dessert that nobles eat after the main course. I think I'll let you all have a taste if you finish your work..."
"Alright, I'll let them know..."
The broad-shouldered youth, who looked more like a barbarian than anything else, broke into a slightly foolish yet utterly sincere smile before turning toward the exit.
However, when he reached the doorway, he slowed to a hesitant stop.
"Something else?" Grey asked, amused by this sudden change in Garen's behavior, so unlike the way he'd acted when they first met.
"No. I mean... yes!" The giant shifted awkwardly, as though embarrassed to bring up the subject. "Boss, are you sure this manor doesn't belong to anyone? I... No... The girls said they heard a strange humming sound at night, like ghosts were calling to them... I'm worried we might have disturbed something by settling here without permission..."
"Did anyone attack you?" Grey asked calmly.
Garen shook his head. "No."
"Did anyone see anything unusual? Tracks, droppings, signs of damage?"
"Nothing. The guys got up early on purpose and checked everything..."
"If nobody was harmed, then relax," Grey concluded. "Most likely it's just a draft. The wind blows through an empty house and people's imaginations do the rest. Why do you think I ordered you to repair the manor? Once you've settled in and gotten used to the place, little things like that won't bother you anymore."
It wasn't that Grey was overly careless.
In a world filled with magic and unknown oddities, he was probably the most paranoid person present. Saying that every little sound made him wary would not have been an exaggeration.
However, he had personally inspected the entire manor.
There had been no signs of living creatures, nor any traces of anything dangerous. Even during the night, while treating the wounded, he had noticed nothing suspicious. Under such circumstances, the complaints of a group of teenagers who had only recently escaped the clutches of cultists could easily be attributed to lingering stress.
"Alright..." Garen nodded, not looking particularly worried since he had been thinking much the same thing himself. Then he gave a soldier's salute and quickly returned to work.
Glancing out the window, Grey noticed that the leaders of the run were already making their way back. Their faces were flushed red and their breathing ragged, yet the smiles on their lips clearly showed how pleased they were with their performance.
He shook his head and checked the oven once again to make sure the cake had not burned.
He had no intention of greeting the victors with applause.
Nor did he intend to congratulate them.
They were his subordinates. He alone decided when and how they would be rewarded.
So Grey chose to wait for the others while also making sure the cake had baked properly.
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