Cooking Swordmaster [EN]: Chapter 235

“The Sultan has spoken! In three weeks, the ritual for rain will feature the meat that receives the most support!”

Seherazade’s condition was conveyed through Abdullah to numerous tribal chiefs throughout the Ottoman Empire.

Contrary to Abdullah’s expectation of a massive uproar, the atmosphere was surprisingly one of inevitability.

The Ottoman Empire was largely divided into those who followed Allah and numerous small to medium-sized tribes who believed in indigenous gods.

Uniting them was something no Sultan had ever accomplished.

The chief of the Horus tribe looked around at the assembled people and began to speak.

Nearly thirty tribal chiefs, comparable to lords in Britannia, were gathered there.

“Finally, the Sultan has drawn his sword.”

Then, the chief of Sekhmet stood up. He was an ambitious man who had risen to his position at a young age.

“This must be a scheme devised by Abdullah. A ploy to appease the public sentiment angered by the great drought.”

To increase support even slightly, they would have to release the reserved meat.

Eating fatty meat and drinking alcohol would temporarily restore the vitality they had lost.

“…It is regrettable that we have no choice but to comply, even knowing this.”

“However, I want to use this as a stepping stone to elevate the standing of the tribal chiefs.”

“What do you mean?”

The chief of Sekhmet stroked his smoothly shaven chin and grinned.

The doctrines of the indigenous gods prohibited pork and the meat of animals that were beaten or strangled to death.

Moreover, cattle, which could be raised with just grass or hay, were one of the few precious sources of protein in the barren desert.

This inevitably created a conflict with Allah, whose followers considered cattle sacred.

“Abdullah is confident that we cannot overcome pork no matter how hard we try. Certainly, beef is tougher and less flavorful compared to pork, which is specifically raised for consumption. However, if the skills of a chef with exceptional talent are applied, it is possible to create delicious dishes even with such meat.”

“I have never heard of such a chef in the Sekhmet tribe.”

The Ottoman Empire had a less developed food culture compared to Galia or Marpashino, which were renowned for their cuisine.

Dishes with strong flavors, made with plenty of stimulating spices, were considered the best.

It was even considered a culinary wasteland, along with Britannia, which was infamous for its bizarre food.

“That’s true. But there was no rule that prohibits hiring chefs from other countries, was there?”

“Hmm. Indeed, as the Sekhmet chief says, I have heard that chefs from Galia, the land of gastronomy, can bake beef steaks so tender and delicious that they melt in your mouth.”

“Besides, what if the steak was made by a chef who was even granted a title for his culinary skills?”

Then, the eyes of the chief who worshiped the god Horus widened.

“How skilled must one be at cooking… However, if it’s Galia, even if we send a letter right now, it will take at least two weeks to arrive, won’t it? The time is too short.”

“It just so happens that such a man is here to celebrate my younger brother’s wedding. It can only be said that Sekhmet is blessed.”

The chief of the Sekhmet god quietly clapped his hands.

Then, a servant who had been waiting placed a covered bowl in front of the people.

When it was opened, a beef steak on a black iron plate was revealed.

The meat, decorated with colorful vegetables, was topped with Béarnaise sauce [a sauce made from clarified butter emulsified in egg yolks and white wine vinegar and flavored with herbs].

It was a dish as beautiful as a painting.

“Please, taste it first.”

At the words of the Sekhmet chief, the Horus chief took out the large knife he was wearing on his waist.

Until now, a knife of this size was needed to cut tough beef.

But the steak on the plate was different.

When he brought the knife to it, it cut through smoothly.

“…Good heavens.”

The beef he had eaten so far was only from cows that had plowed fields and milked cows to death.

It was tough and had a strong odor, so it could only be eaten after simmering it in a stew.

But how could it be transformed so tenderly?

The juices flowing from the meat sizzled as they touched the heated iron plate.

When he picked up the meat with his hand, an even stronger aroma wafted up.

The Horus chief bit into it without realizing it.

“Hoo…”

The beef had become surprisingly tender.

The rich, oily flavor emanating from the high-quality meat filled his mouth.

Moreover, how did they create this slightly spicy yet rich flavor?

The other chiefs were equally astonished by the taste of the beef steak.

At this level, it was a taste that was not inferior to pork, which was raised by feeding it plenty of precious grains.

No, it was much more delicious than that.

The chiefs devoured the beef steak in an instant, as if possessed.

And a soft voice was heard in their ears as they let out pleasant sighs.

“Did you enjoy the dish I made?”

The speaker was a slender man with short brown hair.

It was an appearance that was not commonly found in the Ottoman Empire.

The smile on his lips was so attractive that even a man could be captivated.

“Haha, you are the chef who baked this steak. How can you make it so tender and odorless?”

“Tough meat becomes tender when marinated in onions. It also replenishes the lacking umami [a savory taste, one of the five basic tastes].

However, that alone could not explain the rich flavor of the fat.

When asked about it, the man grinned and took out a piece of beef with relatively more fat.

“I injected only the fat into the steak meat to enhance the lacking marbling.”

“…Good heavens!”

To think that such a method could transform low-grade meat into something so delicious.

With this man’s skills, the status of beef could be elevated to the next level.

That would naturally raise the standing of the small and medium-sized tribesmen.

The chief of the Horus god reached out his hand to the man with a satisfied face.

“It’s really reassuring to have a chef with such tremendous skills fighting alongside us. If you don’t mind, can you tell me your name?”

“My name is Jaime Oliver. Please, call me Chef Jaime.”

* * *

Pork, which is raised for consumption, has a softer and fattier texture than beef.

However, because pigs eat the same grains as humans, they are difficult to raise in the barren desert.

It was truly a precious ingredient.

A whole roasted pig, grilled whole, was a dish that was difficult to eat unless there was a big event like a wedding.

Abdullah, the right-hand man of Sultan Sinbad, was confident of the victory of the pork supporters.

“Don’t worry. I swear in the name of Allah that we will win this contest.”

He had no idea that the beef supporters had brought in a powerful reinforcement.

Meanwhile.

Keinzel, who had left Byzantium, headed to a mine on the outskirts of the Arabian Desert.

It was a journey that could only be undertaken by riding a camel for a full day.

Abel habitually checked to see if his elf ears were sticking out from his honey-colored hair.

The place they were going to now was a place where a race that was literally the enemy of the elves lived.

“Abel. Shouldn’t you wait in Byzantium since we’re going to meet the dwarves?”

“Cough, cough. I appreciate your concern, but I’m confident in imitating humans. But there are only three weeks left, right? Why are we going to meet them? Surely not just to convey the regards of Blue Mountain?”

Keinzel recalled the time when he sold honey butter sandwiches to raise his level.

It took nearly a week to create a boom in one city.

To do the same thing throughout the Ottoman Empire would take years.

“That’s why we’re going. This is impossible with individual power alone. We need plenty of allies who will move toward the same goal.”

“I see. Anyway, if you need my strength, tell me anytime. I’ll do anything to help you.”

“Thank you, Abel. I’m really glad you’re with me.”

“……”

Abel caressed the leaves he was wearing on his back with a reddened face.

If he had obtained this opportunity half a year earlier, he could have participated in the battle to close the gate of the Demon World.

He was saddened that he didn’t see the end of Calliope, who was like a younger sister to him.

Elves who have received the blessing of the World Tree are said to live for nearly a thousand years.

But what about himself, who still has human blood flowing through him?

Will the day ever come when he meets Calliope again?

When they arrived at the entrance of the mine, a dwarf guarding the entrance raised his halberd [a two-handed pole weapon that combines a spear and an axe].

He was wielding a steel weapon the size of their height as lightly as if it were made of wood.

“What business does a human have in the dwarves’ sanctuary! If you don’t reveal your purpose of visit, I’ll turn you into a spark for the furnace!”

“Um, just a moment.”

Keinzel took out a gold badge with a small hammer engraved on it from his pocket and held it out.

It was inscribed with the name of Blue Mountain in intricate letters that only a dwarf could engrave.

“W, where did you get this!?”

“I want to meet Santos. Tell him that I have a message from Vitist Blue Mountain of the Black Anvil clan, and he will know.”

Then the eyes of the dwarf guard widened.

If he was an acquaintance of Blue Mountain, he was as good as a VIP.

“Hahaha! Why didn’t you say so sooner? Wait a moment. I’ll bring Santos right away.”

Santos was a dwarf with an aura that suggested he loved alcohol and meat as much as Blue Mountain.

He was the Vitist [a dwarven leader or elder] of Central Mine, the dwarves’ sanctuary and the largest iron production site in the Ottoman Empire.

Santos examined the gold badge that Keinzel had brought and widened his eyes.

It was a symbol of absolute trust that was only given to the benefactor who saved the clan.

“…I never thought I would meet a human who possessed this in my lifetime. And you even have a message from Blue Mountain? If you don’t mind, can I ask for your identity?”

Keinzel briefly explained about the Gistad Territory, omitting the fact that elves lived there together.

That alone caused an astonished expression to appear on Santos’s face.

“A territory where humans and dwarves live with equal rights… I’ve been mining iron ore to death in the mine, and the world has completely changed. And you’re the lord of that place? Haha… Anyway, if you’re the benefactor of my brother, you’re my benefactor as well. But Central is not a very comfortable place for humans, are you okay?”

Certainly, it was as he said.

‘It’s quite hot, probably because there’s a volcano nearby. It would be difficult for others to even breathe.’

However, it felt cool to Keinzel, who had fire resistance at the dwarf level.

And Abel was wearing a cloak that emitted a cool energy all the way to the top of his head.

It was a magic tool that he had purchased for a whopping 100 gold.

It was both heat-resistant and could prevent the elf ears from being exposed.

When Keinzel and Abel didn’t shed a single drop of sweat, Santos widened his eyes and laughed heartily.

“As expected of my brother’s benefactor, you’re a strange one. Anyway, humans rarely reveal their true feelings and beat around the bush. I really hate that. So tell me frankly. What do you want from coming here?”

Keinzel knew very well about the dwarves’ trading methods.

They thoroughly returned as much as they received. The ‘talent exchange’ that he had done with Blue Mountain once was also a custom that originated there.

From the standpoint of being Blue Mountain’s benefactor, the only thing he could reasonably ask for was a decent weapon.

“First of all, I want to use the subway.”

“Hmm…”

It was a passage that was connected to the Tuscan Confederation as well as the Ottoman Empire for the transportation of iron ingots.

However, it was a place that was too hot for anyone other than dwarves to enter.

“If you tell me what you’re going to do, I’ll be generous and grant it. I have to do that much for my brother’s benefactor.”

However, Keinzel’s request did not end there.

“I also want to borrow about 500 skilled dwarf artisans.”

The eyes of Santos, who had been laughing heartily with a pleasant expression, sank coldly.

That was nearly half the number of miners working in Central.

What on earth did he need that many people for?

“It would be better to ask for the exclusive rights to iron. I’m sorry, but I can’t grant that. The Vitist is only in a position to make the initial decision, not to give direct orders. If you’re going to persuade 500 dwarves one by one, I won’t stop you. But you’re my guest. Don’t expect to be treated the same as me just because you’re Blue Mountain’s benefactor.”

This was the crux of the matter.

“If you hear what I’m about to say, not just 500, but all the dwarves in Central will want to cooperate with me.”

Santos’s eyes widened.

What was he going to offer as a condition of the deal that he was so confident about?

“I know that dwarves consider drinking beer and eating fatty meat after working hard to be the greatest joy.”

“You know it well.”

Keinzel took out Durendal from his two-dimensional pocket and infused it with aura.

Then, extreme cold was emitted, and frost formed on Santos’s beard.

“What I can provide is cold beer… and the most delicious chicken. The so-called ‘chimaek’ dish [a popular Korean combination of fried chicken and beer].”

“…Chimaek?!”

Santos swallowed dryly without realizing it.