Menu No.19 - Blessing through history

The moment I stepped into the Sanctuary hall, I had one immediate thought:

This looks exactly like the inside of a cathedral . . . if someone also decided to open a mini-clinic in the back.

The long rows of wooden seats were aligned perfectly—so symmetrical it made me sit up straighter out of guilt. But behind those seats were also several patient beds, curtains half-drawn, like someone couldn’t decide whether this was a holy place or a hospital.

And right in the center of it all was Raiza van Hartmann, kneeling with the kind of solemnity that made even breathing feel disrespectful.

Before her stood Sister Arietta, holding Raiza’s sword—freshly dipped in water, droplets sliding down the blade. A faint magic circle glowed near the podium, pulsing gently like a heartbeat.

Raiza knelt inside that circle, head bowed, posture so perfect it looked sculpted.

Sister Arietta raised the sword with both hands, her voice shifting into a graceful, almost ancient tone. She began chanting, and the magic circle burst into shimmering light. With slow, ceremonial precision, she tapped the flat of the blade to Raiza’s left shoulder… then her right… then lifted it high before offering it back.

Then—pom, pom, pom—the Sister’s wooden staff touched the floor three times in front of Raiza.

“With this,” she declared, “I bless your expedition, Raiza von Hartmann. May the protection of your ancestors and the valor of the warriors before you guide your blade and steady your path.”

It was . . . impressive.

Actually, very impressive.

Like the kind of scene where dramatic orchestra music should swell up and camera angles spin around the protagonist while they unlock a new power.

Meanwhile, I sat alone on one side of the hall, trying not to look too out of place. Joan sat five rows away—as if being near me would shorten her lifespan. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if she disliked me or simply believed I would spontaneously combust in a holy place.

Probably both.

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“Raiza-san, you may stand now,” Sister Arietta said gently.

Raiza rose, the faint glow fading from her armor. Her sword shimmered before settling back into its usual silver-blue color.

Joan immediately approached her with the urgency of a mother duck checking on her duckling.
I approached too—much slower, mostly because I feared Joan might hiss at me.

Sister Arietta handed each of us small pieces of bread. “Mana ceremonies cause fatigue. Eat.”

I took one bite.

It disappeared instantly.

It wasn’t that I ate fast. The bread was just . . . tiny. Like “sample size given by a stingy supermarket staff” tiny.

Raiza finished hers even faster. So elegant during battle. So efficient at eating.

She brushed a crumb from her lips and turned to Sister Arietta.
“The press machine… is it here?”

Ah yes. The reason we came.
The holy wine press I needed to brew a proper strong coffee.

Sister Arietta motioned for us to follow. She led us through a side corridor behind the podium, arriving at a large wooden door. With a grunt much stronger than expected from her frame, she pushed it open.

Inside was a warehouse-like room filled with boxes, crates, old banners, potion jars, and a concerning number of dusty religious statues staring at me silently.

“Ah, there it is,” Sister Arietta said, pointing at a cloth-covered object.

Together, we lifted the cloth.

I froze.

Raiza leaned closer, eyebrow raised.

Sister Arietta smiled proudly.

Before us stood a wine press—but not just any wine press.
This thing looked like the fantasy equivalent of premium vintage equipment. Beautiful sturdy wood, polished metal handles, compact and surprisingly lightweight.

It was perfect.
Absolutely perfect.

“Amazing . . . ” I whispered.

“I thought you’d like it,” Sister Arietta chuckled. “It hasn’t been used in years. It deserves a second life.”

Second life?
This thing was about to become a legend.

“I shall create masterpieces with this,” I murmured dramatically in my heart—probably glowing with determination.

Raiza placed one hand on the press, examining it with serious knightly focus.
“This seems convenient,” she said. “Easier to carry than I expected.”

“Ah, that’s because it’s enchanted with a weight-reduction spell,” Sister Arietta explained. “Even children could lift it.”

Raiza nodded.
I nodded.
Joan—who had followed us in silence—narrowed his eyes as if trying to decide whether allowing me near enchanted equipment was a national security risk.

“So,” I said brightly, “should we bring this back to the guild?”

“Yes,” Raiza answered immediately.

“Together?” Sister Arietta added.

“Together,” Raiza repeated.

Joan’s expression was . . . indescribable.

We lifted the press carefully.
It was indeed very light. Almost suspiciously so.

Raiza carried it with one hand.
I carried it with both.
Because pride is important, but so is safety.

As we walked back through the Sanctuary, several acolytes peeked curiously, no doubt wondering why the kingdom’s strongest knight and a visiting cleric were escorting a barista carrying holy equipment.

Their expressions said:

“Is this some kind of divine mission?”

Yes.
A divine mission to brew coffee strong enough to wake the gods.

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We exited the Sanctuary bathed in midday sunlight.

Raiza walked calmly.
Sister Arietta hummed peacefully.
And I—well—I held onto that press like it contained my entire future.

Joan trailed behind, clearly still evaluating every molecule of my existence.

The wind carried the faint scent of incense from the Sanctuary.

It felt like a strangely sacred moment.

A knight, a cleric, and a barista walking together, carrying a magical wine press to make better coffee.

If someone told me this would happen when I got isekai’d…
I would’ve laughed.

But now?

This was my life.

And somehow . . .

It felt right.