[Voidknight Ascension] Chapter 276 – Food for the Soul

All around Sil’mara, things were changing. The Skyshard grew. People gathered under one alliance. Monsters were repelled. Nests were sunk beneath the clouds.

The golden leaves of the Sacred Tree tarnished into the rich colors of autumn. Red and orange leaves drifted down the riverbeds and danced through the crisp air.

The Skyshard had advanced enough to acquire seasons.

Haman reveled in it all, but he did not let it detract from his work. These newest arrivals were broken. They were injured in more than body. Their home had nearly been taken from them.

And so, Haman cooked.

He scampered around the kitchen that Kale had kindly made for him. With its massive ovens that could fit 20 loaves of bread and a dozen Archflame burners to make ultra-high-quality food, Haman was in his element.

Mandragoras with aprons on worked efficiently under the pobul’s guiding paw. They were lowly sous chefs, preparing and cutting so that Haman could work with the raw ingredients easier.

A few of them showed great promise. More than some of the humans that had joined him in the kitchen. Most of the time, the humans would criticize or ask questions instead of doing the task before them.

Haman was a kindly and patient pobul, but sometimes he couldn’t help but chuff angrily at them until they got back to work.

Once, Raiko had heard somebody telling Haman that they did things differently back on Earth and that Haman was doing it wrong. They had been gently taken aside by Raiko, and upon their return, they didn’t question the pobul anymore.

“Don’t let anyone discourage you, Haman,” Raiko had told him, scratching behind his ears just the way he liked. “People are misguided sometimes. And you, well…you are an adorable genius.”

The pobul didn’t mind when he was teaching. When it came time to prepare the meals for the whole Skyshard, he did not have the time to constantly correct errors or mistakes.

That was one of the main reasons his kitchen hummed along so well with mostly mandragoras, a lone dullahan who was a dab hand at julienning, and three humans.

“[Discin Fruit] chopped and ready, Chef Haman!” Ollie sounded off.

The pobul raised a paw and wriggled his pads. The plate of freshly diced fruit was barely Copper, but it was adequate work. Haman chirruped his thanks and got to work.

The mandragoras grumbled to each other. Haman was not a cruel taskmaster, but he doled out praise and thanks sparingly. He had incredibly high standards for himself and for his kitchen.

The pobul was single-handedly responsible for feeding much of the Skyshard. It was an almost impossible task until Haman reached Copper Chef. Raiko had lavished him with some [Skill Support Potions] and an incredibly rare [Rarity Up Potion] that fast tracked his growth.

Gaining [Lunch Rush] allowed him to apply a multiplier to all his efforts and all the food he touched.

The [Discin Fruit] would be used to make [Pobulberry Nectar], but it had to be Copper Rank to be used by his ability.

Haman hopped up onto the small ledge that ringed every surface in the kitchen, a height perfect for the pobul’s body, and got to work.

To the casual onlooker, it would seem like Haman was being extremely careful processing the fruit. He cut off any piece that slightly offended his delicate paw pads and even more sensitive nose.

The slightest inconsistency was swiftly excised so that only perfection remained on the plate. It seemed like a gross waste of food. Scraps were given to anybody who wanted them, though mostly they were used as compost for Sil’mara’s growing gardens.

Another domain Haman was responsible for. One that Raiko tended to with great care alongside him. She had little talent for meals, something she was quite ashamed of. Not that Haman minded.

He enjoyed one of his many purposes.

Once, Raiko had a salad spontaneously combust. She had set off a chain reaction in the mana, turning it into [Charleaf Mix]. He could eat it just fine, but it wasn’t safe for most to consume.

After slicing each piece into perfectly identical chunks, Haman scooped the [Discin Fruit] into a smooth stone bowl already filled with a variety of other fruits.

“Looks like you’ve got enough for one good sip,” Xero mentioned, looming over the pobul’s shoulder.

Haman snorted but didn’t deign to respond further. Xero knew Haman’s magic better than anybody, but he continued to tease the pobul.

Indeed, the amount in the juicing bowl looked good enough for a shot glass at best. A good drink for a small pobul, but hardly enough to quench the thirst of hundreds!

Haman gently hopped onto the surface of the counter and reached to his maximum height until he took hold of the wooden handle atop a corkscrewed apparatus.

Touching the handle wasn’t necessary, but Haman enjoyed the tactile feel as he turned the handle again and again. The convex stone at the end of the corkscrew slowly inched its way toward the cut fruit.

Haman threaded a thin trickle of mana into the juicer as the fruit was squashed.

Without being told, Xero picked up a wooden barrel and set it down in front of the spout seconds before the juice began to flow. At first, it was little more than a trickle, as any casual observer would expect from such a paltry amount of food.

The trickle became a stream, then a flood. A raging torrent gushed out as if Haman had dumped tons of fruit into the juicer instead of a few handfuls.

When one barrel was filled, another was brought out. Xero, with his superior Strength and Dexterity, fitted the lid to each barrel and sealed them with mana.

The mandragora sous chefs danced in celebration around the barrels, spinning in place with their leaf-like limbs out.

The barrels would ideally rest for a few days before being tapped and used, but Haman knew the newcomers needed his food now more than ever.

If he had his way, there would be an ever-revolving batch of nectar being aged so that they always had proper [Pobulberry Nectar] on hand. Of course, setting up such an undertaking would take more time than anybody had.

“You work some serious magic,” Xero said, shaking his head. His long, stark white mane of hair flowed back and forth.

Haman turned and chuffed at him.

“Oh! Sorry.” Xero picked up a small, twisted bit of vine and leaf, placing it on his forehead like a circlet. His hair sparkled for a moment. “Forgot the hairnet.”

Snorting, Haman moved over to the next dish. He would have preferred a 12-course feast, but Raiko was recalcitrant to make any feasts whatsoever. So Haman settled for 4-and 5-course meals.

With the same magic as before, he turned singular loaves of bread into five dozen steaming lengths of chewy yeasty goodness. It was a mark of how much the Samurai had grown that he didn’t even make an off-hand remark about using the yeast for something tastier.

Xero often shadowed Haman when he was making food. He was the only person aside from Raiko that Haman tolerated around him at all hours of the day. It created friction between the two of them, something Haman could do little about.

Nobody else was afforded such an insight into his day-to-day life.

He knew they both thought they were guarding him, but Haman felt secure in his kitchen kingdom. None could assail him here.

The farmer dullahan brought in crates full of fresh greens. He had acquired a straw hat somewhere and a pair of overalls. The farmer’s outfit was only slightly diminished by the fact that the dullahan’s straw hat sat atop his shoulders. On account of dullahans being large suits of armor without heads. The mandragoras were quick to jump in and get the rest of the meal underway.

As the not-feast came together for the beleaguered people of Relagia, Haman smiled to himself. He was pleased with his work so far, especially since he hadn’t been able to use the stronger bonuses for larger meals.

As a Copper Chef, he gained bonus effects he could impart with a proper 7-course spread. Raiko still seemed distraught whenever Haman brought up a proper feast, however.

He wasn’t sure if it was her fear of Haman pushing himself too far or something else. Perhaps she missed Sam and felt it would be wrong to celebrate without him.

Though he couldn’t be sure, he was starting to suspect she loved Sam. It was too bad he was gone. Haman would have greatly enjoyed getting to know him.

The pobul surveyed the massive spread. This, more than anything, was what he lived for. Food was life. Food was happiness. Well-fed people were better people.

Nobody would go hungry on Sil’mara if Haman could help it. Even what few Never Levelers remained. And since he could make this spread of food from less than a single chest’s worth of ingredients, he sure as heck (pardon the language) could.

30 massive bowls of [Goldleaf Salad] with [Red Onion Vinaigrette] would be the starter course with a follow-up of [Red Devil Brochette]. The third course of [Silben Eel Soup] would round out the meal before the main event.

50 [Roast Beasts] smoked and charred to perfection, set on a bed of vegetables, would serve as the main course with 100-foot-long loaves of crusty bread to sop up the savory juices.

Fresh-squeezed [Pobulberry Nectar] by the barrel would be served either cooled, iced, or as a frozen drink courtesy of the Food Court’s Slush Mages.

And for dessert, Haman had requested the aid of the Slush Mages to create a [Mintberry Parfait] the size of his head. Haman didn’t ask where the Food Court received its milk or meat, though he did check to make sure they were edible.

Beyond that, Haman was satisfied.

For all their strangeness, the Food Court was serious about its food. In them, he had found a kinship unlike any other. They shared recipes and ideas for new meals every day. However, due to their desire to be completely independent of Sil’mara, they refused to cook with Haman. Even with Raiko attempting to negotiate with them.

It was the only downside to all of Sil’mara. Haman didn’t want to push them, and he regularly offered his services, but it did not change their behavior.

They shared, but they did not cook together. Haman imagined that was what it was like to have two divorced parents. Going to visit each separately, but never together. He tried not to envision that comparison with Raiko and Xero.

The culinary treats they could make if they could just work together!

The [Mintberry Parfait] and the [Pobulberry Slush] were proof of that.

“One day, we’ll win them over, Haman,” Raiko had assured him.

“Or we’ll conquer them, right?” Xero asked wryly with a gleaming, lopsided grin.

“You’re insufferable,” she said, though Haman could tell her heart wasn’t in it.

Haman wasn’t so sure. The Food Court seemed resolute. Besides, they worshiped strange things. Not the multi-dimensional horrors that Raiko worried about, but something equally mysterious and unknowable called the FDA.

They also put up curious posters reminding people to wash their hands after using the bathroom. A very strange people. Who needed to be reminded to do that?

Bizarre indeed.

When all was said and done, Haman used his sous chefs and helpers to haul out the carts full of food. Each plate was ensorcelled with a nifty little script from Lenal that kept the food at the optimal temperature, despite the long trek from the kitchens to the banquet room.

Haman would have preferred a long table decked out with food, but Kale had been resolute on that point. Instead of a large table for everybody to gather at, there were clusters of tables around low-lying couches.

Seeing the meal in action was another story. Instead of sitting and only being able to talk to their neighbors, people got up and moved from one couch to the other.

Sometimes it was to get another helping of preferred food, others to enjoy different company. People were constantly in motion, talking and enjoying each other’s company.

Even those from Relagia were soon lost in the shuffle of hundreds at the banquet. Try as they might to stick together, they were integrated into the whole of Sil’maran society.

Haman thought it was a good metaphor. Even Gray’s haggard demeanor brightened considerably as people from various backgrounds and walks of life came up to his table to speak with him.

Before long there was no way to tell where one Skyshard of people ended and another began. They didn’t know it yet, but they were all Sil’marans.

Haman was pleased.