The owner of the cold noodle shop was named Old Tom, and he had run his little shop on this street for over twenty years.
Although there had been some unrest in the Imperial Capital recently, he had escaped the chaos unscathed, perhaps thanks to his daily prayers.
So he still got up at four every morning to knead dough, simmer broth, and prepare the toppings before opening for business, then worked until eight or nine at night.
His days were uneventful but fulfilling, and he was quite content with that life.
It was just that, over the past few days, more students from the Magic Academy had started visiting his shop.
At first, that had made him a little nervous. In his mind, anyone with any connection to magic was someone important.
But he later discovered that most of the students who visited his shop were commoners. They were easygoing and even politely thanked him when ordering, so his nervousness gradually faded.
He knew these students had done a great deal during the recent disaster in the Imperial Capital.
That was why Old Tom took extra care with every group he served. He cooked the noodles a little longer to give them more bite, added an extra spoonful of minced meat to the broth, and arranged the toppings neatly.
It was how an ordinary man like him could show his respect for the youngsters who had helped the Imperial Capital.
It was evening now, and five or six tables were occupied, four of them by Magic Academy students.
They slurped their cold noodles while animatedly discussing something.
"I think those phantom enemies must have been some kind of undead, right? They could reform even after being scattered. Isn't that a characteristic of the undead?" a boy wearing glasses said.