She felt the chill of the early morning on her nose as she stirred awake from underneath her covers. She was reluctant to leave the comforting warmth of the pile of blankets she nested atop in the corner of her room. She thought of the messy heap of blankets as her haven of bliss. Her father used to urge her to have a proper bed in the room, but he eventually gave up when faced with her stubbornness. She didn't care what he thought because it was his fault, she preferred to sleep like this.

When she was young, her father, a struggling adventurer, couldn't afford much, not even a room and bed to sleep on. Instead, he purchased the thickest and heaviest blankets available in the local market and piled them high, so she could comfortably sleep at night. Meanwhile, he would sleep on the cold wooden floor. Her father was a large man. He towered over most people. As far as she knew, only a handful of people were his equal. That's the reason why he slept on the floor. She used to feel guilty for being the reason her father could never rest comfortably after questing all day. Night after night, she would try to pull him onto the soft blankets with her. Yet, he always refused, assuring her that the floor would make him stronger as an adventurer. Of course, she knew that wasn't the case, but she wanted to believe it, so she relented night after night.

Reluctantly, she threw back the heavy blankets, feeling the rush of cold morning air creep in on her. This part of her morning ritual never failed to jolt her awake. It was as if she had been doused with a bucket of icy water. Letting out a yawn and stretching her stiff muscles, she rolled out of her nest and pushed herself onto her feet. As she stood, she saw herself in the mirror hanging above her dresser, immediately noticing the dishevelment of her hair. She needed to brush it, get dressed, wake up her father, and do a hundred other things today. If she were to write down every, she needed to do. It would stretch from the ceiling to the floor. And she knew she could be very detailed about it. She liked to think

if it were anyone else, they'd be overwhelmed and would probably run from today's to-do list. However, Melda wasn't perturbed in the slightest. In fact, she welcomed the challenge.

Today, she decided to wear her second favorite outfit, carefully chosen from her modest wardrobe. It consisted of a laced brown two-toned corset made of sturdy fabric, complemented by a simple yet elegant green and beige gown with a lettuce hem that gracefully reached down to her calves. With her long chestnut hair now brushed and neatly tied into a ponytail, Melda was ready to start her day. One she was looking forward to for many reasons.

Just yesterday, Melda had caught wind of a rumor that someone who fancied her would be visiting the tavern, hoping to capture her attention. If it turned out to be the man she had in mind, or rather, the man she secretly hoped it would be, Melda wanted to look her best. After all, at twenty-four years old, she was well past marrying age. Her neighbors often asked about her love life. Answering those questions wasn't always easy.

It's not like she wasn't trying to marry. Her work made it difficult for her to see anyone; she didn't have the time. She couldn't leave the tavern to her father, he was a lousy cook, and his only skill was pouring drinks, serving customers, and maintaining order among the rowdy drunkards. Of course, she was grateful for that. She cherished her father and would never take his help for granted. Still, Melda couldn't deny that this was her opportunity to cross the starting line of something many women her age had long since embarked upon

As Melda opened the door to her room, she took a step forward and paused. Instead of the hulking figure of her father snoring on his bed, she found a note in his place instead. She already knew what to expect as she picked it up and read the message scrawled across the paper.

"I won't be home for some time. If you have any trouble at the Inn, remember to ask Lisa or Victoria for help, don't try to handle it on your own, okay? I know you."

She wasn't upset that her father didn't say goodbye. This was a relatively normal occurrence for him. One moment, he would be here, and the next, he's gone into the wind. Her only hope was that he was safe. Safety was her concern, always her main concern. Her father didn't usually take on quests these days, but if he did, it meant that her Aunty Victoria had given him a quest. She is usually the only one that can do that because he refuses most. Melda knew that the quests her father used to take were exceedingly dangerous. He stopped going on those not long ago. He didn't answer when she asked. He just made a joke and told her she needed to hire more workers. As she had done many times before, Melda steeled her heart and got to work.

Melda's customers were almost always the same every night, except for those occasionally dragged away by their wives before they could reach the tavern. Among her patrons, there were often farmers, adventurers, merchants, and city guardsmen. However, occasionally, more affluent merchants would stumble upon her humble inn, either out of necessity when other lodgings were unavailable or as they awaited the break of dawn to move on to grander inns located further up the capital.

Unfortunately, these particular customers tended to grate on Melda's nerves, as they were pompous and treated her as nothing more than a personal attendant rather than a tavern owner.

One incident, in particular, stood out in her memory—her father, outraged by a visiting merchant from Cothevia who not only hailed from a prominent family but also held connections with the nobility of Veinbor, had almost killed the man. The pompous merchant had tried to make a pass at Melda, fondling her as she delivered mead to his table. The memory of the shock and humiliation on the merchant's face never failed to bring a smile to her lips.

Of course, Melda knew that harming someone of note like the Cothevian merchant would bring consequences to her doors. Her father did just that. The only reason they weren't arrested was because of her father's status as an adventurer. This doesn't mean she can get away with breaking the law, but in that particular case, it helped. The merchant instead targeted Melda's business. She lost many potential customers and struggled to acquire goods for her tavern for a while, but she managed as time passed.

Anticipating a busy evening, she cleaned twice as many mugs for the day's evening because she knew her tavern would be packed full tonight. The influx of customers was primarily due to the presence of the Iron Road Knights, who had arrived in the capital to receive honors for their victory over the beast clans. Word had spread, and according to another tavern owner, the knights' celebratory fervor had spread to every bar and tavern in the city. Last night, Melda had more people in her tavern than ever before, and she wouldn't let this opportunity pass her up.

For quite some time, she had been struggling to acquire goods due to marauding beast clans that pillaged and killed people in the neighboring villages. Even merchants protected by adventurer escorts were not spared from their attacks. In fact, a shipment of mead Melda ordered was pillaged by one of these beast clans, which left her infuriated when the order never arrived. She diligently saved up for months, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the mead from Cothevia. It was a special brand many bar and tavern owners often boasted about. However, her hopes were shattered when she learned it had all been plundered in a single raid.

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Despite her months of disappointment, Melda's mood brightened a little when she heard the news, which does travel fast through the streets of Veinbor, that the Iron Road Knights had successfully defeated the very beast clan responsible for the string of attacks. Her happiness, perhaps a touch excessive, overflowed within her, but she didn't care. In her mind, those filthy animals got what they deserved for stealing the mead she had worked so hard to get.

The customers began to trickle in, some arriving alone or in pairs, while others came in groups, their numbers filling the tavern. It seemed that every time Melda turned away from the entrance, customers would surreptitiously slip inside, barefoot with boots in hand, almost as if they were deliberately trying to surprise her. Orders for mead flooded in, one after another, in rapid succession, keeping Melda constantly on her toes. However, things became tricky when customers started placing food orders. It was during moments like these, Melda couldn't help but wish she had workers.

As the door swung open again, revealing another batch of eager patrons, Melda maneuvered through the bustling tavern, expertly juggling trays of foaming mead and mouthwatering dishes. The atmosphere was vibrant and alive, filled with laughter, conversation, and the thuds of wooden mugs. Melda's skills were put to the test as she balanced the demands of the ever-increasing crowd.

Melda caught sight of the girl as she descended the stairs, clad in her now washed and torn grey robes, while she skillfully delivered mugs of mead to a nearby table. Did she not have a spare set of clothes? Melda thought as she finished serving a full tray of mugs to another table. A smile spread across Melda's face as the girl noticed her and made her way over. The girl's face flushed with a pinkish-purple shade as she weaved her way through the crowded tables.

"Evening, Ciel," Melda greeted her, "I'm sorry, but we'll have to talk later. Give me a moment, and if you'd like some mead or food."

Without pausing to listen to Ciel's reply, Melda couldn't spare a moment of her time. With nearly a dozen orders swirling around in her head, she aimed to avoid mixing up between food and mead orders while talking. Circling the bar, Melda gathered an armful of empty mugs for the newly arrived customers who had just seated themselves. As she began pouring mead into a mug from a barrel on the wall opposite the bar, her gaze caught sight of Ciel standing at the counter, observing her intently.

"Is something the matter, Ciel?"

Melda asked, trying not to sound impatient. Melda, who at first struggled with showing her annoyance to others when they bothered her while she worked. Though she had become experienced over time, she still slipped up occasionally.

"I'm sorry; I was wondering if you needed any help. It looks like you have your hands full, and Phen doesn't seem to be around."

Ciel said, looking around the tavern with a concerned look. Melda strained to hear Ciel's words above the clamor of voices, glasses clinking, and laughter. Distracted, Melda accidentally overfills a mug, causing mead to spill onto the floor and splatter her shoe. She sighed inwardly, admitting that today was far more challenging than expected. She believed she could handle it, but this was more than she could manage alone.

The situation was somewhat similar yesterday, but she had time between the various groups of people as they arrived. Today, however, the influx seemed to happen all at once. Melda's gaze shifted to Ciel, the dark elf girl who arrived in the capital a little over a day ago. Melda's impression of Ciel was like a younger sister. Of course, Melda knew Ciel was actually much older than her, possibly even old enough to be her great-great-grandmother, or was it three greats?

"Thank you, Ciel, but I can handle it; managing a tavern is much more challenging than it looks. You have to be firm with rowdy drunkards like these."

Melda responded, appreciative. As she spoke, she filled her fourth mug. Despite the short time they had known each other, Melda noticed Ciel knew much about the world in great detail from their last night's conversation. However, there were still moments when Ciel could be ignorant of some things. How did she not know about the years of conflict between the beast clans and Veinbor? Ciel explained that she hadn't been in the human territories for a long time, so it made sense that she wouldn't know everything. That's why Melda thought of Ciel as a younger sister, someone to guide in the world, as ridiculous as that sounded. As Melda filled her last mug, a customer called from somewhere in the tavern ordering a few house specials adding to Melda's ever-growing list.

"You're right, and it certainly doesn't look easy. I can, however, help with cooking if you like. I have some experience."

Ciel offered, a hint of confidence in her voice.

"You know how to cook, Ciel?" Melda asked, curiosity piqued.

"Yeah, it was a life skill; I mean past time of mine as I traveled around the world."

Ciel responded. Melda raised an eyebrow skeptically. Although Ciel's offer touched her, she would be upset if Ciel were lying. Melda did, after all, have a business to run and couldn't afford to waste time. Then again, Ciel didn't seem like someone who lied about things like that. In the end Melda relented. She beckoned Ciel to join her behind the bar, lead her into the kitchen.

"Alright, Ciel, let's see what you can do."

Melda said, her voice a mixture of curiosity. Melda had already prepped all the necessary ingredients for the evening's menu. All Ciel had to do was season, cook, and pass the finished dishes to Melda. Tonight's special was breaded fish and boiled potatoes. After instructing Ciel on the ingredients and which seasonings to use, Melda hurried off to serve more mead.

When Melda returned to the kitchen, she stared dumbfounded at two plates of food sitting on the counter. She felt confused and angry because the food wasn't prepared how she wanted. Then her initial confusion changed into curiosity as she shifted her gaze to Ciel, who had only just noticed Melda. Engrossed in her task of tending to the kindling stove, Ciel finally turned toward Melda.

"I hope you don't mind, but I decided to change the presentation of the food. Considering the size of the group, I thought this would be easier and quicker to prepare. They can eat the food with their hands, so there's no need to wash the cutlery later."

Ciel quickly offered after seeing the expression on Melda's face. She briefly turned away to hand Melda the two plates. Then swiftly returned, careful not to let the food burn. Melda glanced at the plates, still slightly puzzled by the appearance of the dishes. She could tell Ciel seasoned the food how she wanted, but she changed how it looked. Was this what Ciel meant by altering the presentation?

Melda mainly cooked with freshwater fish because of its affordability in Veinbor, unlike meats that were far too expensive. Filleting and breading the fish, then adding a side of potatoes, had become her go-to choice. It was very cost-effective for her, and so far, she hasn't received any complaints. Granted, the drunkards outside preferred mead of good food, but those who ate her food told her it was great.

Ciel, on the other hand, cut the fish into long, thin rectangular cubes, breaded them, and fried them in oil. It was the same for the potatoes, except she didn't bread them. Ideally, they were meant to be chopped in half and boiled to soften them up. However, Ciel cut them into thin, long rectangular shapes. Melda wondered if Ciel had also fried these in oil because they had a golden sheen. Curious, she tried one.

Immediately after biting the oddly shaped potato, there was a crunch followed by the salty taste of potato that quickly melted on her tongue as she swallowed. It was undeniably delicious. Certainly far better than her recipe. She had never thought to add salt to the potatoes before. She was a little jealous, but that thought was quickly thrown away as her mouth watered as she considered eating more of the rectangle potatoes.

Ciel served up two additional plates for Melda to take, helped to snap her out of her trance. She was slacking off. That won't do. She had a job to do, thought Medla as she took the other two plates in hand. Then turned on her heel and swiftly served the food fast as she could. Determined to keep Ciel on her toes as well. While at the same time marveling at Ciel's cooking skills.