“Nea, why don’t you invest too? I’ll multiply your money several times over.”
“Well, since room and board are already covered here, I don’t have much use for my wages anyway. And you seem so confident, Young Master—very well, I’ll do it.”
A faint smile curved Ian’s lips.
“Even if we take a loss, I’ll personally guarantee your returns. You’ll get every coin back.”
“Hearing that puts me at ease.”
Ian was a man of his word.
And he cared fiercely for his people—so much so that he’d discard pride and scruples to help them.
This investment offer was clearly for her sake too.
Trust built over time made her decision effortless.
‘Come to think of it, Sera and Sir Dwayne also invested with the Young Master, didn’t they?’
Sera had seemed to think, “The Young Master must need quick funds,” while Dwayne had done it purely because Ian suggested it.
Their reasons varied, but one common thread united them:
‘They believe in the Young Master.’
And she was no different.
All she had to do was trust Ian and wait.
That was all.
Over time, the crowds thinned.
Now, only occasional visitors came, and the Levior in Dariel Village and its surroundings had been harvested to near extinction.
Fortunately, other territories, hearing of this, began selling Levior too.
Thus, the warehouses continued to fill.
Then, one day—
Servants gathered in the estate’s rear courtyard, summoned by Ian.
“Why did the Young Master call us?”
“Who knows? Maybe he has special tasks for us.”
They waited with quiet anticipation. Ian always rewarded them handsomely for extra work—voluntary, never forced.
When Ian finally appeared, they spotted him alongside an administrator and butler pulling a cart. Klins and Luther. Behind them trailed Sera, though she seemed to be just observing.
“Need help?”
“Ah, no. We’re fine!”
“We’ll manage!”
Klins and Luther wanted all the help they could get but couldn’t bring themselves to ask Sera.
Not because she was a woman—but because of her status.
Officially an alchemist, she was effectively the territory’s sole mage. Mages warranted noble-like respect, making them hesitant.
Sera herself seemed oblivious to this.
Regardless, they somehow carried the massive cauldron onto the cart and, with much grunting, dragging it to the courtyard before collapsing on the spot.
A cauldron large enough to fit a person—the kind alchemists used.
In fact, it was Sera’s own. With no work today, she’d loaned it and tagged along out of curiosity.
“Hmm, everyone’s here.”
Ian surveyed the assembled servants. His reason for gathering them?
“I called you here to teach you how to cook Levior.”
To impart the miracle recipe.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
It was hard to believe the weed they’d been paid to collect could be edible.
“Um, Young Master…”
A maid timidly raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“You’re saying… we can cook Levior?”
“That’s right.”
“My father once mistook Levior for herbs and cooked with it. The whole family fell ill.”
“I got sick eating it as a child too. That plant isn’t food.”
“Same here.”
One by one, servants shared their grim experiences with Levior.
Accidentally ingested during play, mistakenly added to meals—no one had fond memories of it.
At best, its repellent smoke made summer nights slightly more bearable.
“That’s because you didn’t prepare it properly.”
Ian had gathered them to teach the correct method.
‘Even if Father stockpiles food now, it won’t last a year.’
Pre-merger Schrantz might have managed, but now feeding over ten thousand people was impossible without Levior.
Eventually, like it or not, they’d have to eat it.
And Ian intended to train these servants first, so they could spread the technique.
‘They’ll scoff now, but this will save countless lives later.’
Other territories might starve, but Schrantz would endure.
“Listen carefully!”
Ian laid out the steps:
“First, soak it in boiling water for at least ten minutes. Second, dry it for a full day. This removes the toxins.”
The biggest deterrent to eating Levior was its sickness-inducing poison. Eliminate that, and it became nutritious.
“Finally, third: Boil the dried Levior into porridge. This here is Levior dried since yesterday.”
He showed them the prepped sample.
Turning weeds into porridge sounded absurd, but—
“Still, I’ll demonstrate.”
Though skeptical, curiosity stirred.
‘If the Young Master is going this far, maybe it’s delicious?’
They secretly hoped for a culinary revelation.
Ian pointed at the cauldron.
“Water.”
“Yes, sir!”
Klins and Luther scrambled to fetch buckets from the well, filling the cauldron halfway before pausing.
“Fire.”
“Yes, yes, sir!”
There was no time to rest.
They immediately placed firewood beneath the pot and lit the fire.
After a while, the water began to boil vigorously.
“See? The water’s boiling now, right?”
Ian tossed the dried Levior into the bubbling water.
“Now, we just have to simmer this Levior for an hour, and it’s done.”
And so, the so-called miracle dish—”Levior Porridge”—was completed.
A simple recipe with no real difficulty.
Yet, the expressions of the household members, who had initially been curious about its taste, gradually darkened.
And for good reason.
‘The smell is awful…’
The distinct grassy stench and foul odor of Levior had begun to spread.
It was so bad that it felt even worse than the smells wafting from the alchemy lab where Sera worked.
Sera herself, perhaps accustomed to such foul odors, showed no change in expression—but the others weren’t so lucky.
After boiling for an hour, the Levior Porridge was finally ready.
“Alright, everyone gets a bowl. Try it.”
Ian scooped a bowlful onto each plate and handed them out.
“……”
“……”
None of them dared to lift their spoons.
Not only did it look unappetizing, but the stench invading their nostrils made it impossible to believe it could taste good.
As they all hesitated, waiting to see who would take the first bite, Ian sighed in resignation.
Fine. If no one would volunteer, he’d just have to pick someone.
“Klins. Luther.”
“Yes, young master?”
“You two try it first.”
“U-Us?!”
And so, Klins and Luther became the first test subjects.
They hesitated, staring at the Levior Porridge.
The foul, greenish steam rising from it made it seem utterly inedible.
‘Well… just because it looks and smells terrible doesn’t mean it tastes bad, right?!’
Remembering their mother’s old saying—“Try it before you complain!”—they steeled themselves.
‘Ah, screw it!’
‘The young master wouldn’t feed us something he wouldn’t eat himself, would he?’
Shutting their eyes tightly, they shoved a spoonful into their mouths.
“Guh—!”
“Bleh—!”
Immediately, they gagged.
That was their reaction after just one bite.
‘What the hell is this?!’
‘It’s even worse than I imagined!’
The moment it touched their tongues, the overpowering grassy stench and revolting foulness flooded their mouths.
And since it was none other than Ian who had cooked this, they couldn’t even bring themselves to spit it out.
Instead, they chewed miserably and forced it down.
“I-It’s… very unique. Y-Yes…”
“Maybe if the seasoning were adjusted… it might be… tolerable…”
Watching them struggle to avoid outright calling it disgusting, the rest of the household’s expressions darkened further.
So it really was as terrible as it looked and smelled.
‘Adjust the seasoning? If that worked, I’d have done it already.’
Of course, Ian had tried. Hell, every player in Meta Pangaea had probably tried.
But the raw stench of Levior was so overpowering that no amount of spices or seasonings could overpower it.
And in the middle of a famine, where even basic food was scarce, who had the luxury of worrying about seasonings?
Noble or not, when starvation loomed, everyone was equal at the dinner table.
Well, actually, commoners had it slightly better—while they didn’t have Levior, they did have tree bark and roots, which were almost as disgusting.
And Ian was no exception.
He had intended to get them accustomed to the taste early, but he also knew this was an unavoidable fate—for himself as well.
“Alright, everyone, take a plate.”
Ian scooped up a spoonful of Levior Porridge and ate it himself.
‘Ugh. Even though I made it, this is disgusting.’
As expected, it tasted awful. But he had to get used to it.
The sooner he did, the less he’d suffer later.
Like it or not, they might have to survive on this for months—maybe even over a year.
Seeing even Ian forcing it down, the others had no choice but to follow suit.
Their faces twisted in agony.
Exactly the reaction he’d expected.
Some were probably cursing him inwardly for feeding them this slop.
But.
‘I’m just doing my best to keep you all alive.’
They might hate him now, but they’d thank him later.
“Once you’re done today, spread the word about this dish to as many people as possible.”
His plan was to ensure no one starved during the famine by making sure everyone knew this recipe.
Right now, only about a dozen people knew how to make Levior Porridge.
But soon, hundreds—thousands—would learn it, and within this territory, at least, no one would die of hunger.
‘If I have to suffer, so do you.’
People’s thoughts tended to run along the same lines.
In fact, some of the household members were already thinking about feeding this to their absent coworkers later.
Whether for good or ill, this recipe would spread among the people.
And so, that day, rumors spread among the territory’s citizens—not only that Lord Ian had a taste for bizarre food, but also the recipe for that very abomination.
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