Chapter 05
Weasel and Teddy Bear (3)
drip—.
creak!
A not-so-small sound echoed through the corridor, and I pushed my head into the barely opened window.
It was daytime, yet the inside of the building was pitch black. It felt like I had dipped my head into a pool of black water.
‘Movement’s going to be restricted… what now.’
After a brief moment of thought, I forced my body through the window into the church interior. The shield—too large to carry easily—was awkwardly dragged along with me.
From my bag, I took out a candle stand and a single candle.
pshhk—.
whoooosh!
‘During the day I don’t need to worry about <Sanity>. What a waste of candles.’
The <Sanity> system was one of the reasons Mirabilis was labeled a “uselessly hardcore, difficulty-from-hell trash game.”
Unlike health or save points, losing sanity doesn’t kill you or reset your progress.
However, as sanity drops, the screen gradually darkens, objects become distorted, jump scares increase, and the environment turns increasingly bizarre.
‘It doesn’t directly harm you… but practically speaking, it increases difficulty.’
Because people perform worse when they’re scared.
‘There are roughly four main conditions for sanity loss.’
Opening doors while hearing hallucinated voices.
Being caught by ghosts roaming the church at night.
Encountering certain demons.
And—
‘At night, not lighting a candle.’
Except when sleeping, you have to keep a candle lit both indoors and outdoors at night.
If not, the surroundings darken, strange talisman-like objects appear everywhere, and furniture becomes grotesque.
So while you should conserve candles during the day…
‘I’ve got a candle infinite-spawn cheat.’
Well, strictly speaking, it wasn’t exactly a cheat.
‘I just pull decorative candles off the wall and use them as items.’
Normally, decorative candles in the map couldn’t be removed or used.
But I could.
I just… pulled them out. They came out easily. Probably because they used the same asset source, so they were compatible.
And the removed candles respawned daily. A typical RPG Maker-style reset mechanic.
You know—the kind where you leave a room and come back, and everything’s restored.
In short, it was pretty convenient. Free candles every day.
A perk of being a “possessor,” I guess.
‘Of course, there are more downsides to being a possessor.’
Anyway.
Holding the candle, I scanned the corridor and began moving.
My military boots echoed sharply against the cold marble floor. In the silent darkness, every sound felt unnervingly loud.
I carefully collected items along the way.
Whenever footsteps overlapped strangely, I crouched and hid behind furniture.
It probably wasn’t a pretty sight—an adult man crawling on the floor—but pride doesn’t save lives.
Eventually, I reached my destination. Thanks to entering through a nearby window, I arrived relatively efficiently.
In front of me, as remembered from the game’s graphics, was the target location.
I placed my hand on the worn door…
ding!
Map #019: Church Kitchen
A kitchen run by the skilled chef Poco Smith. This is where all meals in the church are prepared. Beware: the strict head chef may appear without warning!
‘And right of the doorway… here it is.’
[Someone’s note: Never handle kitchen tools in front of the chef! Otherwise, the fresh ingredients will… (the text is obscured by dark red stains)]
‘I know. Thanks for the friendly warning… already-dead friend.’
Silently paying respects to whoever became “ingredients,” I opened the door.
creeeak—.
I stepped inside carefully, eyes darting around while keeping my head lowered.
creak… thump. creak, creak…
A sound pierced my ears, and my heart jumped.
I slowly raised my head.
A massive slab of meat hung from hooks on the ceiling, twitching slightly. The bloody cross-section assaulted my vision.
Instinctively, I realized that this was likely the fate of my “kindly warned friend,” but I said nothing. If I opened my mouth, I felt like I would throw up.
Things like slaughter and human flesh still hadn’t fully become “real” to someone who came from modern society.
‘Dried meat felt disgusting, but that was just a rumor… or fiction.’
Even that was unnecessary worry.
But the metallic smell and the dangling flesh pushed my imagination to its limits.
Scenes from grotesque horror films I had once seen replayed in my head.
A wave of nausea rose from deep in my lungs.
I quickly covered my mouth with a trembling hand and turned away, searching for water.
A large tank came into view. The water looked clean.
But I lost my appetite for another reason.
I made eye contact with a bloated fish lazily opening and closing its mouth underwater.
‘…I’d rather just throw up.’
I stopped looking around for water.
My stomach was still unsettled, but continuing to observe this place would only harm my mental health.
‘Just finish the objective and leave.’
With a determined expression, I focused on the counter and moved forward.
step.
creak—.
step.
creak—.
Each step made the wooden floor groan.
But I didn’t panic more than necessary.
‘Kitchens are actually safe… if you follow the rules.’
The reason I came here today.
A method of restoring “lives” other than eating dried meat.
That was—
“…this.”
Chef Poco’s Pot
A pot belonging to Poco Smith, the church’s chef. It can cook very healthy and delicious meals!
Chef Poco’s note: My most precious pot. Anyone who handles it carelessly may become very fresh ingredients.
I carefully lifted it after checking for any nearby presence.
Then—
ding!
▷ Cook something delicious!
▷ Leave it alone.
▷ Kick it.
The options appeared.
My choice was obvious.
▶ Cook something delicious!
This pot belonged to Poco Smith, a monster who worked as the church’s chef.
And this item was directly tied to my life recovery method.
‘Eating food made with this pot restores lost lives.’
Wouldn’t the owner come chasing me?
No.
The chef of this church, upon encountering you, triggers the script: “The kitchen belongs to everyone!” and will even generously provide pots, cookware, and ingredients.
He only becomes angry when someone kicks or abuses his precious pot.
‘And then he turns you into ingredients and hangs you from the ceiling.’
Still, I didn’t have the courage to kick someone else’s pot. If I had that level of bravery, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.
I glanced through the cupboard, checked the ingredients, and looked out the window.
The sun was already leaning west. It wasn’t evening yet, but I didn’t have much time to waste.
‘I got here faster than expected… but I should keep it simple.’
For a moment I worried, “I’m a bad cook, is this okay?”
But it didn’t matter.
Even if I was terrible at cooking, I also had a “whatever, I’ll eat anything” palate.
I could tolerate experimental foods like anchovy-topped cream pumpkin pie or kimchi-chip macarons.
A slightly failed dish? No problem.
‘Menu… curry.’
Simple—just throw everything in and boil.
I had all the ingredients.
‘Carrot, onion, potato… is this water parsley? Celery? Good for health. And this is… shallot? Something like that. And pickled cucumber. Also vegetables, so it’s fine. Finally… turmeric. Right, that’s curry.’
Good.
The recipe was simple.
I washed everything in a basin, cut them into quarters, heated the pot, added oil, seasoned with a pinch of salt and pepper, then sautéed everything in order: shallot → pickled cucumber → celery → onion → potato → carrot for five minutes.
The aroma slowly settled my stomach.
The smell alone was enough to revive a starving appetite.
For once, I felt a small sense of satisfaction.
People like me were never allowed in kitchens, so this feeling was new.
“Smells good…”
Once the vegetables began to soften, I added water and generously dumped in turmeric powder.
Soon, a curry-like aroma filled the air.
growl.
My empty stomach protested violently.
‘Seriously, it doesn’t look that bad. Why does everyone hate this?’
A couple of minutes later, I placed the pot on the table and fanned it to cool.
‘I hope it works properly… like the dried meat.’
The dried meat was a drop item, so it didn’t worry me. But this might behave differently.
After all, this world wasn’t exactly identical to Mirabilis.
The candle cheat and hidden passages were proof of that.
‘I’ll test it when I lose a life next time.’
Thinking casually about my own death made me uncomfortable, but there was no choice.
If I wanted to go home, I had to accept it.
Honestly, I really, really hated it—but anyway.
The curry cooled.
I just needed to put it on the bread and store it in my bag.
The bag functioned as an inventory, so items didn’t spoil or get contaminated.
‘Once I stored broken eggs for three days and they didn’t rot.’
Convenient system.
As I reached for the bread—
creak.
The door opened without warning.
My body froze.
I lifted my head while crouching instinctively.
A hand holding bread trembled.
The owner of the kitchen looked at me.
Then at the pot I had used.
Then back at me.
And—
Aaaaaaaaaaaah!!!
A scream… or rather…
Did I scream?
