While Eddleguard was swept up in prayer and tears of gratitude, the person at the heart of it all had no idea that the city was singing her name.
Sapphire Rosabelle Astley — or simply Saphy, as everyone close to her called her — was far too busy for ceremonies or speeches.
Because at that very moment, she was in the kitchen.
Flour dust clung to her hair, her sleeves were rolled up, and she wore a look of intense concentration usually reserved for knights before battle. Pots clattered, oil simmered, and the smell of spices began to fill the air.
Saphy was on a mission — to create something new. Something crispy, juicy, and irresistible.
Saphy stood proudly in front of the table, hands on her hips, while the maids and cooks exchanged uncertain glances.
The bowl of thick red sauce shimmered faintly under the kitchen's warm lamplight. It looked… suspicious. Too bright, too smooth, too foreign. Some whispered that it might be a potion; others quietly wondered if it was blood from some mythical fruit.
"Miss, may I ask what it is?"
The head chef finally spoke up, his voice trembling between curiosity and concern. The moment he did, everyone's eyes darted toward Saphy — as though he'd just asked the question they all feared to voice.
Saphy smiled, a bit mischievously. "This is not a dish," she said, tapping the spoon against the bowl. "It's a condiment."
The cooks blinked in confusion.
"It's called tomato ketchup!" she declared proudly, her voice echoing in the kitchen like an inventor unveiling her greatest creation.
"A… con-dee-ment?" one maid repeated uncertainly, as if tasting the word itself.
"Yes! A condiment is used to complement the flavours of the main dish," Saphy explained, puffing her tiny chest. "It doesn't fight for attention — it helps the food shine."
The kitchen fell into thoughtful silence. No one really understood what she meant, but they nodded anyway — mostly because Saphy looked too confident for anyone to argue.
Then she picked up a small basket of potato chips and placed it on the table.
"You all can try — with these," she said, giving them permission like a benevolent goddess granting mortals a glimpse of heaven.
The cooks hesitated at first, exchanging uncertain looks. Then one brave soul — the sous-chef — picked up a chip, dipped it cautiously into the strange red liquid, and popped it into his mouth.
And then… time stopped.
His eyes went wide. His pupils dilated. His jaw froze mid-chew. The man stood there like a statue for three full seconds before his soul seemed to return to his body all at once.
"W–What is this!?" he gasped, clutching his chest as though struck by divine revelation.
The others immediately followed, scooping up chips and dipping them frantically. The room erupted into chaos — gasps, cries, and even a few muffled moans of delight filled the air.
"It's sweet—no, tangy—wait, it's both! How can it be both!?"
"My tongue… it's dancing!"
"Did she cast a flavour spell!?"
"God forgive me, but this might be better than my wife's cooking!"
Within moments, the entire basket was gone. Everyone was licking their fingers, eyes shining with the kind of awe one usually reserves for miracles or treasure.
Saphy giggled softly, utterly pleased with herself.
They thought the ketchup was the limit of culinary wonder, but Saphy wasn't done yet.
Next came a bowl of something pale, glossy, and suspiciously smooth.
She was looking at a bowl of thick, creamy white liquid. The cooks leaned in cautiously — they had just barely recovered from the shock of ketchup, and now this?
"Miss… may I ask what this one is?" the head chef asked carefully, as though afraid it might explode.
Saphy smiled mysteriously. "This," she said, raising the spoon, "is called mayonnaise."
The staff blinked. The texture looked glossy, almost magical — but when they saw the raw eggs sitting beside the bowl, a ripple of unease spread across the kitchen.
"Raw eggs?" one of the maids whispered in horror. "Isn't that… dangerous?"
Saphy chuckled softly, her sapphire eyes glinting. "Don't worry. Trust me."
Those two words — trust me — had already become legend in the mansion. Everyone knew that when Miss Saphy said them, something miraculous was about to happen.
With that, she handed the chef a piece of bread spread with the pale sauce.
He hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, took a bite.
His eyes went wide. The spoon in his hand clattered onto the counter.
"It's… soft… creamy… and rich! It slides down the throat like silk!"
The others followed — and within moments, the kitchen was filled with delighted murmurs and muffled gasps.
"It's light, but filling!"
"It melts on the tongue!"
"My soul… feels smooth!"
Saphy couldn't help giggling. "Hehe~ Told you it'd be worth it."
After that little episode was over, she placed both hands on her hips and declared with a grin,
"Alright everyone, it's time for the main event!"
The atmosphere instantly shifted. Everyone straightened. Pots were polished, aprons adjusted. They knew she was about to make something world-shaking again.
At her order, several chickens were brought in.
"Keep the skin on," she instructed.
That one line made every chef pause.
"The skin, Miss?" the head chef repeated, clearly baffled. "You mean— not removing it?"
"Exactly," Saphy nodded. "The skin is the secret weapon. That's where the crunch lives."
Although still skeptical, they followed her command diligently. The sound of feathers rustling filled the room as the chickens were carefully defeathered and trimmed.
Because it was their first attempt, Saphy selected dark meat — thighs and drumsticks. "Dark meat is forgiving," she explained casually. "Even if we mess up, it'll stay juicy."
She then began mixing ingredients in a large bowl.
"Buttermilk," she said first — a familiar sight, but none of them had ever used it for soaking meat before.
"Salt, garlic powder, ginger powder, onion powder, chili flakes, black pepper…"
And then she picked up a small tin.
"…and baking powder."
That raised a few eyebrows.
"Miss, isn't that for bread?"
"Yes," Saphy replied. "But it'll make the crust lighter and crispier. Trust me — this'll make your soul sing."
Truth was, baking powder already existed in this world — a creation of the alchemists, who called it Rising Salt. But unlike her old world, yeast didn't exist here at all. And honestly, that offended her on a spiritual level.
She muttered under her breath, "They have mana crystals but no yeast… unbelievable."
After tasting the mixture, she gave a satisfied hum and poured the chicken pieces into it. The creamy marinade coated each piece like a promise of greatness.
"Now we let it marinate for six hours," she said.
"Six… hours?" one cook asked weakly.
"Good food takes time," Saphy replied, puffing out her chest. Then she snapped her fingers.
A crack of frost filled the air. A shimmering block of ice appeared beside her, glowing faintly with light mana.
"There. Magic refrigerator," she said nonchalantly, placing the bowl atop it.
Everyone stared, jaws slack. It was official — she wasn't cooking; she was rewriting the laws of cuisine.
And as the cold mist curled around the marinating bowl, the chefs could already smell destiny forming —
a faint promise of something golden, crispy, and divine.
The first whisper of what would soon be known as…
The Golden Crunch.
Six hours passed in the blink of an eye for Saphy. Thanks to her young body, she had slept soundly, dreaming of golden crusts and crispy delights.
For the cooks and servants, however… it had been an eternity. Every minute dragged on like a month. They had hovered near the marinating chicken, checking, rechecking, and pacing, each glance at the clock sending fresh waves of agony through their weary bones.
By the time Saphy woke, it was already afternoon. She stretched, yawned, and bounded toward the kitchen, her tiny feet tapping lightly on the floorboards.
When she arrived, she froze.
The staff were… a disaster. Aprons wrinkled and stained, hair sticking out in every direction, eyes half-closed, limbs slack. They sprawled against counters, leaned against walls, and slumped in chairs. Some even resembled soggy, defeated fish tossed onto the deck of a ship.
Saphy cocked her head, genuinely confused. "What… happened to you all?" she asked innocently, tilting her head like a curious cat. She had no idea that six hours of waiting and worrying could be so excruciating for them.
The moment her bright sapphire eyes landed on the kitchen, something miraculous happened.
The staff stiffened. Their drooping shoulders straightened. Eyes widened. Hands twitched into readiness.
Saphy smiled faintly, noticing their sudden revival. "Ah… I see. You were just… waiting for me," she said, as if it explained everything.
And just like that, the kitchen buzzed with life again — though a faint trail of exhaustion still lingered like smoke around them.
Saphy clapped her hands sharply, eyes sparkling. "Alright! Let's start!"
The cooks quickly freshened themselves, straightening aprons, wiping sweat from their brows, and rubbing hands over flour-dusted forearms. They had waited six long hours for this moment, every second dragging like a leaden chain. Now, the real work was about to begin — under the watchful gaze of the tiny, energetic Saintess.
Saphy's instructions came clearly, almost rhythmically, like a conductor guiding an orchestra. "First, mix wheat flour and corn flour. Then add salt, baking powder, garlic powder, onion powder, chili powder, and ground black pepper. Blend it well — this is our dry mixture."
The cooks leaned into their work, shaking slightly with anticipation. Next, she pointed to a separate bowl. "Add two eggs, milk, and all the seasonings. Whisk until smooth — that's our wet mixture."
A hush fell over the kitchen. The bowls sat side by side, waiting for the first step of the main event.
"Now…" Saphy paused dramatically, "the main event begins!"
She wasn't allowed near the hot oil, so she directed the chef like a general on a battlefield. Slowly, the marinated chicken was lifted and coated in the dry flour mixture. Each piece was pressed gently, ensuring no spot remained bare. Then it was dipped into the wet mixture, shimmering as it soaked in the liquid, before being returned to the flour for a second, perfect coat. The chicken now looked impossibly plump, golden-hued even before hitting the oil, each piece seeming to promise a miraculous crunch.
With a deep breath, the chef lowered the first piece into the heated oil. The instant it touched the surface, a violent hiss erupted, sending tiny droplets of oil spattering like sparks from a forge. The crust began to bubble and puff, changing from pale beige to a glowing golden brown. The sound was a rhythmic crackle, almost musical — a song that made mouths water and hearts race.
Once the first batch reached the perfect shade, it was removed and left to rest. Then, as Saphy instructed, the oil was turned up for the double fry — ensuring an unbreakable, ultra-crispy crust that resisted even the most enthusiastic bite.
When more chicken was added, each piece plunged into the oil with a satisfying sizzle, sending up tiny clouds of fragrant steam that carried a heavenly aroma through the kitchen.
The smell was intoxicating. Rich and savory, with the tang of buttermilk, the warmth of garlic and onion, the subtle heat of chili, and the earthy crunch promised by corn flour. It was comfort, indulgence, and pure delight all at once. The cooks' stomachs growled involuntarily, their mouths watering, throats dry with anticipation. Every inhale was a promise: this would be unlike anything they had ever tasted.
Finally, the frying was complete. The chicken rested on trays, glimmering golden, with crusts that looked delicate yet unyielding. Steam curled upward like ethereal wisps, and every piece seemed to radiate warmth and promise.
The head chef, still trembling slightly from the intensity of the process, looked at Saphy and whispered, "Miss… what is this dish called?"
Saphy's grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief and pride. "It's called… fried chicken."
For a moment, the kitchen was silent. Then, slowly, the realization spread. They had just witnessed the birth of a new culinary legend. Every cook and servant stared at the golden pieces as if they were treasure — crisp, inviting, perfect in every way.
The aroma hung thick in the air, curling into every corner of the kitchen, tantalizing noses, stirring hunger, and making the heart race. Even before tasting it, they knew it was extraordinary.
Saphy clapped her hands lightly. "And that, everyone, is how you make magic happen."
The first golden, steaming pieces of fried chicken — simple yet miraculous — marked a moment that would be remembered forever.