Chapter 2

The Malerhark Empire conquered the Kingdom of Xenotat one year ago.

On the day of the conquest, the Xenotat king was beheaded. Now the empire was hunting down the remaining members of the Xenotat royal family.

Meanwhile, the imperial palace kitchen was in charge of preparing meals for the knights who were sent out on these missions.

“Anyway, it seems something was wrong with the egg sandwiches Trudy prepared the other day. The knights all got stomachaches, and they had to return almost right after departing. Trudy ran away before the knights’ complaints reached us.”

“I see… That’s a huge incident. But wait—egg sandwiches with mayonnaise? In this warm weather? Of course they would spoil in less than an hour. Why did she do that?”

Risse asked as she whisked egg whites so hard her arms were shaking. Marika shrugged.

“How would she know that? She probably thought mayonnaise would taste good.”

“Well… I suppose she could think that, but still…”

But that was something any trained cook should know.

Risse held back the rest of her words. Marika was low-ranked, so it wasn’t surprising she didn’t know—but how could the deputy head chef of the imperial kitchen not know something so basic?

“What’s wrong with Malerhark’s cooking standards…?”

“Huh?”

“…Nothing.”

Risse cut herself off and stopped talking. If she said more, she might start complaining. Instead, she focused on whipping the eggs.

She whisked until her face turned red—and finally, the egg whites formed a beautiful glossy foam, like whipped cream.

Now she only had to gently fold in the yolk mixture and flour to finish the batter.

Marika stared wide-eyed at the fluffy meringue.

“Wow… what is that?”

“Pancake batter.”

“Aren’t pancakes just flat and thin?”

“Watch.”

Risse smiled and melted butter in a pan over low heat. Then she scooped the meringue batter and placed it gently onto the pan.

The soft batter puffed slightly as it cooked, spreading a warm buttery smell through the room.

When little bubbles appeared on the surface, Risse carefully flipped it. The underside had turned a light golden brown, smooth and glossy.

Marika grabbed her cheeks.

“That’s a pancake? I’ve never seen a pancake like this!”

Risse just smiled.

She poured more batter onto the pan and set the finished pancake on a white plate.

Gulp.

Marika stared at the fluffy pancake so hard she looked hypnotized. When Risse set it on the table, the pancake wobbled lightly—soft as a pillow.

“Go on. Try it.”

“Okay!”

Marika lifted her fork the instant she got permission.

She poked the pancake, and the fork sank right in.

She brought a piece to her mouth—only for it to melt instantly on her tongue. A warm buttery aroma tickled her nose with every bite.

“It’s delicious…”

Marika’s face went dreamy. Risse noticed Marika looking at her.

“What is it?”

“Marika… I didn’t expect this from you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re the kind of person who eats pancakes without syrup? I’m disappointed.”

“Oh—no, I can’t disappoint you.”

Marika quickly poured maple syrup all over the pancake.

Golden syrup soaked into the fluffy cake. When she took a bite, the soft sweetness spread across her tongue.

“Mmm…”

A satisfied moan escaped her lips. Risse smiled and placed another portion of batter onto the pan.

“When you finish that, take these to the first floor. Everyone’s waiting.”

“If you knew they were waiting, why didn’t you make these faster?”

“Risse!”

Both Risse and Marika turned around. A middle-aged woman with fiery red hair and a strong build stood there.

It was Greta Kling, the head chef of the Malerhark imperial palace.

Greta glanced at the pancake Marika was eating and asked Risse,

“This is a pancake?”

“Yes. A soufflé pancake.”

“Where did you learn to make something like this?”

“Well…”

“Did you learn it in Xenotat?”

“Ah…”

Risse’s green eyes trembled slightly at Greta’s casual question. Greta crossed her arms and jerked her chin.

“No need to be nervous. We don’t discriminate against Xenotat people—as long as they don’t slack off.”

Greta’s sharp gaze swept to Marika. She flicked Marika’s forehead lightly but firmly.

“You little thing. I told you to help Risse—what are you doing?”

“Ow…”

“Greta, Marika still hasn’t fully recovered from her cold.”

“If she has a cold, she should be resting, not hanging around here. Why are you here?”

“But how can I rest when this is happening? Right, Risse?”

Greta pressed a finger against Marika’s forehead.

“‘Right, Risse?’ my foot. Risse, don’t indulge her every time.”

“Sorry. But this is something she should eat while it’s warm—”

“Enough. Keep cooking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Risse pressed her lips together and continued cooking diligently.

Watching Risse carefully control the heat, Greta added:

“We also need to feed the knights at the training grounds. Bring pancakes there too, and tell them the kitchen will take responsibility for the food poisoning incident soon.”

“Yes. But, Greta—”

“What now?”

“If they have stomach aches, wouldn’t soup be better than pancakes?”

“Soup?”

“They probably can’t handle a heavy meal yet. I made cabbage soup this morning. It might be better to serve them that.”

“That soup is Xenotat-style too?”

“Yes.”

Risse nodded faintly.

Because the emperor valued skill above all else, the palace hired based on ability—even conquered Xenotat people.

That was why Risse had been hired based on merit, not heritage.

“If it’s Xenotat-style, it’ll taste good. Do it.”

Malerhark cuisine was so bad people called it “an attack on the tongue,” while Xenotat was a nation of fine dining.

Greta often lamented that the fall of Xenotat had scattered the palace chefs across the continent.

Risse’s skill, despite her being only a former kitchen maid, easily surpassed Malerhark’s deputy head chef. So the Xenotat head chef must have been extraordinary.

But that chef was long dead.

He had been executed for contributing most to the decadent feasts of Xenotat’s indulgent king.

Malerhark valued skill—but mercy was another matter entirely.

And this was also why Risse was now living her fourth life.

***

Risse—Alina Reissender—had died twice.

Once by the hand of the Xenotat king.
And once by the hand of the Malerhark prince.

Both times, she tried to escape.
Both times, she failed miserably.

Which death hurt more was impossible to say. Being pushed to death by her father or being killed by the very prince who overthrew him—both were horrible.

Alina had been one of the many children of the Xenotat king, Ranshel Reissender.

Ranshel probably didn’t even know how many children he had.

But Alina, the youngest, knew exactly how many siblings she had:

Seventeen.

Four princes, thirteen princesses.

She was at the very bottom of the list.

In all nineteen years of her life, not once had the royal family been kind to her. She existed only as a name written in the royal registry.

Her assigned residence—the Cold Palace—was practically collapsing.

She didn’t even have attendants.
So, to survive, she disguised herself as a servant and slipped into the palace kitchen to do chores.

She watched the kingdom’s best chefs and learned by observing. In exchange for errands, she received food instead of wages.

If she peeled a mountain of onions, she earned a bowl of thin stew.

Cooking was a means of survival.

Her life wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t miserable either.

But it didn’t last. In her first life, the Malerhark army invaded.

In a desperate attempt to escape, King Ranshel grabbed Alina and held a sword to her neck—using his youngest daughter as a hostage.

He failed.

The emperor killed Alina himself, saying he intended to wipe out the royal bloodline anyway.

Officially, she died by the emperor’s sword…
But in truth, her father had thrown her away.

***

In her second life, Alina escaped before Ranshel could use her again.

But six years after fleeing, she was caught by the Second Prince, the commander of the Blue Lion Knights.

He told her that thanks to her, he could now overthrow the crown prince.

Then he ran his sword through her chest.

In the next moment, she woke up in the palace vegetable garden.

Her chest burned with pain. She gasped for breath.

Then another memory flooded into her mind.

A memory from a different world—a modern world—of a woman who worked at a restaurant.

A world with unfamiliar buildings and black-haired people.

Alina was no longer just Alina.

She had the memories of her previous life—as a Korean chef.

She had worked in restaurants for over ten years, saving money to finally open her own place.

But the day before her grand opening…

She was carrying heavy boxes of dishes across a crosswalk when a truck hit her.

As her body lifted and the sky filled her vision—

She thought:

I don’t want to die like this.
I want to cook for people again.
There are so many dishes I still haven’t made…
I don’t want it to end here…

And with that regret, she died.

***

That was Alina’s previous life.

When she regained those memories, she crouched in the garden and cried.

What she had experienced wasn’t simple regression.

It was someone telling her:

“This time, survive.”
“This time, fulfill the dream you couldn’t achieve.”

So Alina decided to live boldly and take control of her fate.

But being a fugitive made survival just as dangerous in this life as in the previous ones.