"I see, so she's a heavy drinker... Indeed, improving her favorability through alcohol is a solid strategy."
"Sir!"
This was back when the ostriches were devouring the town's food supplies at an unbelievable rate, and the Strategist was running around the Heed capital to finalize the alliance. Alan, the "Royal Merchant," had found himself in a pitiful position: the ostriches had memorized the delicious smell of food permanently soaked into his skin. Every time he showed his face, he was cornered by 300 birds asking, "Food? Food?" Now, he was giving his report to his true superior, the Strategist.
Looking at Alan, it was obvious he didn't look like a merchant anymore. Despite having prepared his outfit only days ago, he wore a heavily weathered apron. His hands were stained with the scent of savory sauces, and he wore a chef's hat to keep his hair out of the meals. He wasn't a merchant; he was a cook.
But he had no choice. To gather intelligence on the mercenary group known as the "Ostriches," he had to interact with them. And to get them to drop information efficiently, he had to become their friend.
(To that end, I tried to approach them with a massive hoard of ingredients...)
That was the mistake. Before he knew it, he was thrown in as an "extra hand" for the cooks he had hired himself, and he ended up preparing meals for the entire flock. Because he underestimated their stomachs, he was forced to cook until he literally fainted. If the food stopped, he'd likely be eaten. As the days passed, the ostriches grew to recognize him as the "Person who smells delicious and gives us food."
As a result, he couldn't gather much info and was pushed so hard he didn't even have time to change clothes for his regular reports. Day after day, he watched the food meant for an occupying army disappear into ostrich bellies while he slaved over a stove. The dark circles under his eyes looked like they had been painted on with ink—a grim testament to his hellish schedule and mounting stress.
"Understood. I shall provide a bottle of fine liquor from here. It is a 50-year-old vintage from the Empire, of exceptional quality. It's quite strong and not for everyone... but for a lover of alcohol, it is irresistible. I was saving it as a reward for myself, but it cannot be helped. ...I really didn't want to give it to anyone because it's so delicious..."
"...Are you sure, sir?"
"Yes... though it is deeply, deeply regrettable. I am the Strategist of Nagan; my hobbies come second. ...Man, I really wanted to drink that."
Looking incredibly pained, the Strategist arranged for his prized bottle to be delivered. In modern terms, it was a hyper-premium vintage worth as much as a brand-new luxury car. He had planned to enjoy it while moon-watching once the alliance was settled. Since it was an Imperial import, it was nearly impossible to find. Alan saw actual tears welling up in the Strategist's eyes.
"Setting that aside, Alan, are you alright? You look exhausted."
"...To be honest, sir, I haven't had a proper night's rest."
The subordinate finally confessed his plight. And it made sense. Plaque was rapidly heading toward a food crisis because of the birds. Merchants were rushing in supplies, but an ostrich's stomach is a void. Matilde had ordered the construction of a massive farm and was negotiating with other nobles, but results were a long way off. For now, Alan and the other merchants had to hold the line.
His schedule was a "Death March." He was juggling three roles: Royal Merchant, Spy, and Food Provider.
He'd wake up, order supplies from other regions as a merchant, and manage the warehouse. Then, to fulfill his mission as a spy, he had to go to the ostriches and cook delicious food. If he didn't get close, he'd get no info. Since they already knew him as the "Delicious Food Person," he had to lean into it.
His training as a Nagan spy—meant to help him blend into any environment—had backfired. While not a master chef, he was good enough that the ostriches loved his cooking. Because he looked weak and "easy to bully," he became the flock's favorite chef. Even the professional cooks saw him as a "vital combat asset" in the war against ostrich hunger. There was no escape.
He usually fainted while preparing dinner, spent the night outside the town, and woke up at sunrise, relieved he hadn't been eaten yet, before rushing back to his merchant duties. It was a miracle he hadn't collapsed for good.
"...Take a break, alright?"
"But..."
"Alan, you are important to the Kingdom of Nagan. Dying of overwork is not a joke. Here... I will instruct our spies in other cities to gather food for you. Leave Plaque under the guise of a 'buying trip' and get some refreshment. Resting is part of the job."
"S-Sir...!"
Tears actually came to his eyes. He had been trying so hard. To him, the "Ostriches" were the monsters that had trampled his country's soldiers right in front of him. His legs shook just standing near them. He held it together through sheer willpower. But the ostriches didn't care about his trauma. They just knew: "Beg the person who smells good, and you get food."
To Alan, they looked at him with eyes that said: "Feed us, or we'll eat you instead." (They were just hungry, but the threat was real.)
Receiving such kindness from his respected boss after all that stress... well, you can imagine his relief.
Ten days later...
"...A gift?"
"Yes! I managed to acquire a very fine item from the Empire..."
I opened the package Alan handed me. Inside was a bottle that screamed "I am insanely expensive." Even without drinking it, the packaging and the label made the quality obvious. Even I, who knew nothing of this world's luxury goods, could tell this was a tier above the rest. ...Are you sure? Giving me something this nice?
"Of course! You've been a great help to us!"
"I feel like we're the ones being helped, though?"
I'll take it, though. I was suspicious of Alan at first, but my opinion has done a total 180. Matilde trusts him, and more importantly, he's been a hero providing food for my kids. They exercise a lot, so they need a ton of calories. Their digestion is efficient, but they still need to eat a lot to feel full.
Compared to humans, they are gluttons. Ordinarily, we would have eaten the town out of house and home, but he's the one preventing that. He doesn't just provide ingredients; he cooks for them. He says he's not as good as the pros, but I couldn't care less. His food is "seconds-worthy."
"So really, I should be the one thanking you..."
"No, no, please don't mention it. Seeing my creations enjoyed so thoroughly is quite a wonderful feeling. It has helped me understand the hearts of chefs. Please, enjoy it without a second thought."
"Really? Then I won't hold back."
"Oh, by the way—the kids have been missing you. I know you just got back from a trip, but could you at least show your face? ...I mean, they don't actually miss people, but you seem to like them, asking about them all the time. I guess their cuteness got to you. A white lie won't hurt."
Otherwise, why would he bring all these ornaments and jewelry "for the ladies"?
(Though I had to stop the kids from immediately swallowing them.)
Apparently, rumors spread in town after Dere tried to eat a grandmother's accessory. It evolved into: "Ostrich-chans love sparkly things!" So Alan brought some. They do like sparkly things, but like human babies, their first instinct is to put it in their mouth and swallow...
I felt bad giving them back, so I consulted with Amelia—who has basically become Dere's full-time nanny—and we hid them in my tent. Once the kids' intelligence develops a bit more, I'll let them dress up... please forgive me! ♡
Anyway, Alan cares about us. And he's tired from a long journey. I figured, what better way to heal than with the sight of these adorable ostrich eyes?
"Hey, everyone! Alan is back! Do you recognize him?"
"Alan?"
"Don't know!"
"...Smells good!"
"Food?"
"Food!"
"""Food! Food!"""
"A-Ahaha... Well, it is about time for a snack. I'll whip something up with the ingredients I brought back."
Laughing nervously, he led the food-crazed ostriches toward the outdoor kitchen. My kids didn't even remember why they were there or who he was. But because everyone was shouting "Food!", they ran toward the kitchen with its familiar, delicious smell.
"Alright, it's a bit early, but all that's left is to eat and sleep. Maybe I'll have a taste?"
I felt bad just being a freeloader, so we usually help with monster subjugation or clearing forests for farmland. Since ostriches struggle with "complex" tasks, we're treated like uncontrollable heavy machinery. But the day's work was done. It was still light out, but no one would scold me for a drink.
(Now then...)
I knew it was expensive, but rather than hesitating, I figured it's better to drink it and give my feedback. I unwrapped it with my feet and pulled the cork. ...Hey! Don't look at me like that! Ostriches don't have hands; I have to use my feet. Down the hatch!
"...Guh! Whoo. Yeah. Is this a spirit? The alcohol percentage is huge."
My throat burned even though I didn't drink much. Being an ostrich, the pain faded instantly, but... what is this? Like a whiskey? It's a type of alcohol I never had in my previous life. The flavor is incredibly dense. I might need a mixer.
"I prefer light, sweet stuff I can chug... This is a bit harsh. I can tell it's good, but it feels wrong to just gulp down something this pricey. I should find a good way to arrange it."
I resealed the bottle with my foot and stood up, looking for something sweet like fruit juice. Alan brought back ingredients; surely there's something... nope. Except for me, no one in the flock can handle a glass or a bottle. I could teach them, but they'd forget immediately.
"The downside of having wings... well, what now?"
If I couldn't find a mixer here, I'd have to look in town. But even if the kids were busy with "Food!", leaving them alone was too scary. I'd just wait for Matilde. She's a big drinker; once she gets tipsy, she starts lecturing me about alcohol trivia. She'll know how to drink this.
"Guess I'll just watch the kids until then."
Late that night...
"WH-WH-WHAT?!"
"...Is it really that good?"
"(Nod-nod-nod-nod!)"
Late at night, Matilde stopped by for our usual post-work drink. When I showed her the bottle from Alan, she lost her mind. Her vocabulary vanished, and she started headbanging so hard her neck almost snapped. Even I knew it was expensive, but her reaction was on another level.
"T-T-This is a 50-year Imperial vintage! It's so popular that nobles and commoners literally get into fistfights every year just for the right to buy one! H-H-How?! Did you kill the owner and take it?! If you did, I didn't hear anything! I won't report it if I get a sip!!!"
"No, it was a gift..."
"A GIFT?! Who gave this to you?! Do they not realize how insane this is?! Tell me! I'm going to go punch some appreciation into them and find out where they bought it!"
I knew Matilde lost her knightly composure when she was shocked, but this was something else. You're basically the local judge and executioner, Matilde; you can't overlook a murder for one sip of booze...
"Ahem! Right. I forgot Reis-dono doesn't handle strong stuff well. It can be diluted with milk, though the 'purest' way is to sip it straight while moon-watching. For someone like you who likes to drink a lot of light stuff, this might be a mismatch!"
She was peeking at my face expectantly while talking. I don't know when she grabbed it, but she already had her favorite glass in her hand. And likely some milk for me. Giving a gift away might be rude, but sharing it should be fine, right? And Alan would probably be happy if Matilde enjoyed it too.
(Wait, shouldn't Alan have given this to his boss, Matilde, in the first place? She's a self-proclaimed connoisseur. ...Oh well.)
"Fine, fine. Let's enjoy it together. Alan gave this to me, by the way."
"Him? I thought he was a lightweight who didn't care for alcohol... Why give it to you instead of me? Even a merchant who doesn't drink would know its value..."
"Maybe he's interested in the kids? Look."
I pointed a wing toward the outdoor kitchen. There was Alan, looking half-dead while stirring a pot, yet still wearing that suspicious-looking smile. Or rather, it looked like he had "pasted" a smile onto his face. Matilde told me that's just his natural face, but if I didn't know better, I'd be wary too. Amelia the Elf still thinks he's dangerous.
"True, he looks like he's about to die, yet he keeps swinging that ladle... And there are still so many ostriches running toward him."
"They must love his food. Well, no one has reached him yet today."
We continued our chat, sipping our drinks. As she said, it was delicious mixed with milk. We made bets on which ostrich would reach me first and discussed why Alan was so fond of them. It was typical drunk talk.
"...You know what I think?"
"What?"
"LOVE!"
No matter the world, other people's romances are the best entertainment. Matilde leaned in, her face red from the alcohol hitting her faster than usual.
"Look at that intense gaze he has for the kids, the way he sacrifices his health to feed them... and you're their 'mother,' aren't you? (I'm a guy inside, but whatever.) By giving this to a booze-lover like you... he's trying to win over the mother-in-law first!"
"...That's actually plausible."
"Right?!"
Once we had a good topic to chew on, we couldn't stop. We both suspected he wasn't actually in love, but we weren't about to let logic ruin the fun.
We debated which ostrich he'd pick. The one with the prettiest face? The most expressive one? We started making up couples. "I won't let my daughter marry you!" or "Actually, she's quite a catch..." To a sober person, it was a pointless, stupid conversation. To us, it was the funniest thing in the world.
I explained the subtle personality differences of the birds to Matilde as we laughed.
"Oh! Look, Reis-dono! Things are getting messy! It's a brawl!"
"Wait, what?!"
"Wait—!"
"Stop, stop!"
"Food?"
"Food!"
"HEEEEEEELP MEEEEEE!!!"
I looked where Matilde was pointing. Alan was being chased by the ostriches. It looked like they had finished all the food he brought. I don't know if he was going for more or trying to go home for the night, but the birds had caught him.
Alan was running at full speed, and the ostriches were chasing him at a slightly restrained pace. ...Wait! This is like a soap opera! A messy love triangle! I don't hate it!
But then, one of the chasers shouted "Food!", and their collective brains were instantly hijacked by the word. The "Play Phase" shifted to the "Hunt Phase," and they hit top speed. A regular human stood no chance...
"Oh, Alan tripped."
"And now he's surrounded."
"They're tearing his clothes off..."
"...Reis-dono, are they actually trying to eat him?"
"...I'll go stop them!"
Royal Merchant Alan: Retired (briefly) after being nibbled on! No permanent injuries thanks to church healing! Total recovery time: 3 days!
The "Alan Nibbling Incident" didn't become a major issue since he gave his forgiveness. It was officially handled as a "mishap where the ostriches forgot their own strength during play."
〇 The Ostrich and the Food Provider
Naturally, the ostriches—who can't even remember each other's faces—couldn't possibly remember a chef's face. There was no romance. Every day was "Nice to meet you, Delicious Smelling Person." However, they understood that "being near this person leads to food."
The reason they didn't attack the chefs despite the delicious smell was twofold: "They aren't hostile" and "Delicious food appears without having to hunt." Alan's fear that they would kill him if the food stopped... was actually somewhat true. Providing enough food to keep them stuffed was literally the only path to survival.
A few ostriches have miraculously remembered Reis's order of "Don't eat people!", and some are starting to like the humans themselves rather than just the smell, so the chance of attack will decrease over time... but Alan was just unlucky. Let's hope the ostriches' intelligence grows soon.