Chapter 17

The village of blacksmiths was already bustling as the sky began to brighten, with fires in all the forges and the sound of the smiths hammering away echoing through the air. Some of the blacksmiths had been working through the night, and one, covered in soot from head to toe, was running around the village in the morning sun.

"Good morning, Flora. It must have been noisy last night, didn't it? Did you manage to sleep well?"

"Good morning, Barbara. Strangely enough, I slept soundly!"

"That's good to hear."

Dorf and the others had been working late into the night, creating design plans, making lists of necessary items, and even doing some prototyping. While some people find it difficult to sleep with the sounds of people talking and working, I found these sounds to be like a lullaby, and I slept soundly.

Even now, the sounds of hammers striking iron, saws cutting wood, and the satisfying clinks of hammers driving nails, along with the shouts of people moving heavy objects and laughter, fill the air outside the window. The village is brimming with sound, but it doesn't feel unpleasant; rather, it sounds like pleasant music.

I will wash my face and then immediately start preparing breakfast for everyone. I will make a hearty barley porridge with a base of corn soup, which I will prepare by sautéing corn and onions in butter, pureeing them, and straining them. I will add potatoes, vegetables, and barley, and finish it off with a sprinkle of cheese. I will also prepare a generous amount of chicken, which I will bake with herbs, and some egg dishes.

"I'm so hungry... I can't take it anymore... I'm going to die of hunger..."

"Hey, don't die yet! Lumberjack, hang in there!"

"Lumberjack, breakfast is just a little bit away! Keep going!"

Gilbert, for some reason, was being supported by the village children as he returned.

"By the way, listen up, I've told you this many times, I'm not a lumberjack...! I'm just helping out today...! That old man Dorf, he spread the lie that I'm a lumberjack out of spite..."

Surrounded by the children, Gilbert slumped his shoulders in defeat. Behind him, Dorf stood with a broad smile.

"What are you talking about? If you work as a lumberjack for a day, it won't be a lie anymore."

Dorf laughed heartily, and Gilbert dramatically pretended to cry, being comforted by the children.

It seems that Gilbert had been dispatched to cut wood early in the morning. Normally, green wood needs to be dried, but with the village's secret technique, it can be naturally dried in just a few hours.

"Oh... This is delicious, I feel like I'm coming back to life... Flora's cooking is so good..."

Sitting at the table with the children, Gilbert said with a satisfied sigh and began to devour his breakfast. Seeing him eat happily makes me feel happy too.

"Sorry, am I eating too much? Will there be none left for everyone else?"

"Don't worry, the magic pot is in a good mood this morning, and if it runs out, I can make more. It's fun to cook when people enjoy it."

"Miss Soup's food is really delicious!"

As we chatted, I handed Gilbert his third bowl of corn soup porridge, and he looked incredibly happy.

Gilbert, who is usually stern and surprisingly handsome, reminds me of a large dog when he eats. I keep this to myself, of course.

After clearing up after breakfast, I started making the bag for the travel gear as Barbara had asked me to.

Using a foot-operated sewing machine made by Dorf, I began stitching together the tanned leather. I added a quilted lining of fabric stuffed with cotton to the inside to create a double-layer structure, ensuring it was strong enough to hold heavy iron pots and tools.

When I finished, I tried putting the pots and tools into the bag...

"...? Barbara, is this magic?"

Strangely, the bag, which looked big enough to hold only one pot, already contained three pots and a kettle, with plenty of space left. Yet, it felt light when I lifted it.

Barbara had a mischievous, triumphant smile on her face.

"Correct! But the magic is in the sewing machine, and also in the needle and thread."

Barbara came over to me and carefully examined the bag, which held the pots and kettle snugly, gently touching the seams.

"Yes, it's a wonderful job. Even with the magic, not just anyone can do this. ...I made the right choice by asking you, Flora."

Barbara stroked the leather bag I had made, as if cherishing it. Perhaps my experience with needlework helped. I felt a warm, joyful flutter in my heart from the praise.