Realist Demon King – 23

The Saint is a Ravenous Eater


The Demon King, the Maid, and the Saintess. Our rather strange journey continued like this.

Part way into our travels, we stopped near the side of the road in order to rest and set up camp.


We could have stopped at a roadside tavern, but we were trying to remain unnoticed. Things would become dangerous if someone found out that I was a Demon King.


That was one reason. And while staying at a tavern would have been splendid, I did not hate camping outdoors either.

We had anticipated that we would be doing this, and so the horses had been loaded with a tent and cooking tools.


In other words, I would be able to enjoy the outdoors cooking of Eve, the best maid in the world.


Of course, Eve had not only brought the tools, but also the ingredients.

There were thick slices of bacon from the Iberico region to the west.

Sweet cucumber and carrot pickles.


The bread had been baked to be extra hard, so as to last, but was delicious nonetheless.


I said as much to Eve.

“You flatter me.”

She replied modestly.


“It’s not flattery. And as proof…”


I looked towards the Saint, who was eating Eve’s food as if she were a starving orphan.

She grabbed the food and shoved it down her throat.


I asked her about it.

“I am the daughter of a farmer. I hate knives and forks.”

She said as she stuffed some fried eggs into her mouth.


“The bacon and eggs are impossibly delicious.”


“It’s nothing special. The eggs from Ashtaroth castle are known for their freshness. We have contracts with farmers to bring them in every morning.”


“Those tricky roadside inns will use old eggs. And so they cannot be half cooked. Being half cooked is proof of their freshness.”


She said with a smile, her mouth chewing furiously.

Eve watched her and seemed to be pleased.


She was a maid from birth and enjoyed serving people. Seeing her service bring smiles to others was even better.


And the Saint was incredibly hungry, so she asked for multiple servings.

I wondered where all of that food was even going.

It was odd, but there was nothing wrong with having a good appetite.


She was as strong as one hundred soldiers. If she could do the work of one hundred spears, then perhaps she should be allowed to eat the rations of one hundred soldiers.


And so I offered her some of my own bread.

When Jeanne saw this, her silent look of gratitude was almost overwhelming.

Over one piece of bread? I thought. But she explained.


realist demon king

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