Making soy sauce properly takes far longer than this.
But I had a Saint's—no, a plain little power for "watching over fermentation."
In a barrel, I mashed boiled soybeans, mixed in roasted wheat-like grain, and added salt water.
Then I gently held my hand over it.
With a soft stir, the inside of the barrel came warmly to life.
I could hear the microbes happily getting to work.
Every morning, I talked to the barrel.
"Good morning. Are you growing up nicely today?"
Microbes are honest.
Cheerful when it's warm, a little sleepy on cold mornings.
All my power did was listen to their voices and keep them at just the right temperature.
It wasn't flashy. But this was my power.
Three days later.
When I lifted the lid of the barrel—
A fragrant, sweet aroma that tingled at the back of my nose.
A deep amber liquid, thick and glossy.
Soy sauce.
Without a doubt, the very soy sauce I had pined for so desperately in my past life.
"Village Chief, do you have any chickens?"
"Ch-chickens? There's some out back... though they're scrawny."
"They'll do perfectly."
I cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces and massaged in soy sauce, grated herbs, and a splash of liquor.
A pinch of the salt I'd made from nigari, too, as a secret ingredient.
While I waited for the marinade to soak in, my heart was pounding.
And then, at last.
I filled a pot to the brim with oil and set it over the fire.
When I dipped the tips of my cooking chopsticks in, fine bubbles came fizzing up.
I dusted the meat with flour and gently dropped it into the oil.
Sizzzzzzle—!
A crackling, popping sound.
White steam billowing up.
The savory scent of soy sauce and the sweet smell of meat fat spread until they filled the whole square.
"Wh-what is that smell...!"
The villagers who had been keeping their distance came drifting over as if in a daze.
Children came running, tugging their mothers along by the hand.
I lifted the golden-brown chicken out of the oil.
The outside gave a crisp crackle, and clear juices welled up from inside.
"Here you go, fresh out of the oil. Careful, it's hot."
Warily, the village chief brought one to his mouth.
Crunch.
The next instant, his eyes flew wide open.
"D... delicious...! What is this? Crispy on the outside, and inside it's so—juicy!"
"Delicious!" "Give me more!" "I've never eaten anything like this!"
The villagers reached out, each trying to be first.
Faces that had been gray just moments ago lit up one after another.
And then.
Whoosh—the sound of wings.
Wolf dismounted from his dragon and came stomping over.
"What's all this racket? This smell—"
Without a word, I held out a freshly fried piece.
The fearsome lord hesitated, then put it in his mouth.
The moment he bit down, the furrow between his brows—smoothed away.
"............"
"...How is it?"
"............Another... one."
A mutter.
The grim-faced dragon knight, red to the tips of his ears, was asking for seconds.
At my feet, the baby dragon Coo hopped up and down with a "Kyui, kyui!", clinging to my leg and begging for karaage.
"Here's one for you too, Coo. It's hot, so blow on it first."
Coo hugged the karaage in its tiny front paws and crammed it in until its cheeks puffed out.
Then it clambered up onto my shoulder and gave a contented "Kyururururu" deep in its throat.
Wolf was watching all of this intently.
He started to open his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he silently bought one more and went home.
From that day on, Wolf came every day.
Rain or wind, he came.
He would go out of his way to fly over on his dragon, stand in front of the shop without a word, buy karaage, and eat it without a word.
"...Today's is good too."
That was all he'd say before heading home, ears red.
The village came back to life.
The soy sauce became a local specialty, and a line formed at the karaage shop. The name "Fiene of the Karaage" spread even to the towns nearby.
Every day I laughed amid the sizzle of oil and the rising steam.
Exiled? Lucky me.
I truly believed it—and that was exactly when it happened.
From the far end of the line, a familiar, extravagant robe was approaching.
It was High Priest Baldo.
Beside him stood Mireille, prim and aloof.
Baldo cast a glance at the villagers in line and sniffed as if looking at something filthy.
"Hmph, a swarm of filthy frontier rabble. —You there, out of the way."
With the tip of his staff, he carelessly shoved aside the old woman at the front of the line.
It was the same look he'd had when he gazed down at me from the altar and branded me "useless."
"Fiene. I have come for you. To bring you... back to the Grand Cathedral."
At that smile of his, after such a complete about-face, my pot of oil let out a low, bubbling gurgle.