Chapter 334: The Feast of all Feasts
Altair stared intensely at the tiny, shivering ball of half-white, half-black fur.
The newborn tiger cub had rejected his generous bounty. It refused the freshly killed swamp rat. It turned its nose up at the squished marsh frog.
Altair tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing in confusion. Where he was from, a fresh rat was a great delicacy. What more could this tiny, ungrateful creature possibly want?
He reached out with one finger and gently nudged the dead rat closer to the cub’s nose.
"It is fresh," Altair rumbled, his deep voice carrying a note of genuine encouragement. "I caught it myself. Eat."
The cub uncurled slightly. It opened its striking mismatched eyes and looked from the dead rodent to the giant, intimidating beastman. With a startling amount of attitude for an infant that was less than an hour old, the cub lifted its tiny paw and swatted Altair’s finger away.
Altair blinked. He looked at his finger, then back at the cub.
A sudden realization dawned on the eagle. Mammals did not have beaks. The cub possessed no teeth to tear the meat.
As a bird of prey, Altair knew exactly how to solve this problem. He picked up the dead swamp rat, intending to chew the meat into a soft, digestible paste and regurgitate it directly into the cub’s mouth. It was the natural way to feed a hatchling.
He opened his mouth, bringing the furry rat to his lips.
The tiny tiger cub watched him. Its eyes widened. It scrambled backward on its tiny paws, letting out a frantic, high-pitched squeak, shaking its head vigorously from side to side.
"You do not want it softened?" Altair asked, pausing with the rat inches from his face.
The cub flattened its fluffy ears and hissed a tiny breath of air, backing up until its small tail bumped against the stone parapet.
Altair sighed, tossing the rat over the edge of the roof. Mammals were too complicated. He sat back on his heels, crossing his arms yet again. The freezing night wind whipped across the high spire, and the cub began to shiver violently once more, its teeth chattering.
Realizing the infant was incapable of regulating its own body temperature, Altair finally acted on instinct. He shifted his broad shoulders, and his two large, glorious golden wings erupted from his back. He reached out and gently scooped the freezing cub into his palms.
He brought the infant to his chest and wrapped his warm wings around them both, creating a perfect, insulated cocoon of golden feathers.
Surrounded by the radiant heat of the golden eagle prince, the cub immediately stopped shivering. It let out a soft, contented sigh and nuzzled its tiny nose into the soft down of Altair’s chest. A moment later, a strange, rhythmic vibrating sound began echoing within the cocoon.
Altair stiffened, his golden eyes widening in alarm. Was it dying?
He carefully peeked beneath his wing. The cub wasn’t dying; it was purring. It looked up at Altair, blinked its mismatched eyes affectionately, and playfully swatted at a loose golden feather hanging from the eagle’s wing.
The corners of Altair’s mouth twitched. A small smile threatened to break across his face.
"You are a little nuisance," Altair whispered softly.
He reached for the bruised, milky-white flowers he had gathered earlier. He had observed mammal mothers before; he knew their infants required milk. Squeezing the thick stem of the flower between his fingers, a drop of sweet, nutrient-rich white nectar welled up at the tip. He lowered his hand.
The cub immediately latched onto his finger, greedily suckling the sweet floral nectar. Altair sat there on the roof, enveloped in the moonlight, patiently squeezing swamp flowers to feed the tiny, purring monster.
Far below the roof, the scullery was a war zone.
"I am back! We are behind schedule!" Ren shouted, sprinting through the archway. "The guests are arriving, and I need maximum heat on those cauldrons right now!"
Bia and Las were operating like a well-oiled machine. They had already peeled mountains of starchy tubers and meticulously scored the skin of a dozen wild swamp-boars into perfect, uniform diamond patterns.
"Mistress, the meat is prepared!" Bia hissed proudly, pointing to the slabs of venison and boar. "But we do not have enough fresh water to boil the stews, and the foragers are too busy guarding the gates to fetch more from the wells!"
Ren stopped in her tracks. She looked at the empty wooden buckets, and then a wicked grin spread across her face. She wasn’t a broke, struggling chef anymore. She had fifty thousand Survival Points sitting comfortably in her bank account.
"Stand back, ladies," Ren commanded, cracking her knuckles. "Mama’s got money."
Ren quickly opened her System interface and navigated directly to the Restaurant Builder shop. She didn’t hesitate. She purchased the crown jewel she had been eyeing since she heard about it: the 200-Gallon water tank. And since she was feeling incredibly rich, she added three iron woks and an entire crate of premium sea salt and spices.
Ding!
A massive, beautifully carved stone water tank materialized directly in the corner of the scullery, followed by a clatter of heavy iron pans dropping onto the prep tables.
Bia and Las shrieked, jumping back and hugging each other in terror as the items appeared out of thin air.
"Unlimited, purified water!" Ren cheered, patting the side of the massive stone cistern. She grabbed a bucket and filled it instantly from the spout. "Alright, no more excuses! We have a feast to cook and a prison break to stage!"
"A prison break, Mistress?" Las asked, tilting her head.
"Operation Stinky Pig!" Ren reminded them, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Bia, did you get the Somnus-Weave Ivy?"
Bia nodded eagerly, producing a handful of dark, potent-looking green leaves. "I got the sleeping juice just as you asked."
"Perfect," Ren said. She quickly grabbed a small, choice cut of pork belly. She chopped it into succulent cubes and tossed it in a small pan with an obscene amount of minced garlic-root, spicy peppercorns, and a thick glaze of wild honey. Right before taking it off the heat, she mixed Bia’s sleeping juice directly into the sticky glaze. The intense, mouth-watering garlic masked the bitter scent of the knockout drops.
She plated the spiked pork on a small wooden tray. "Bia, deliver this to the dungeon guards as a ’special appetizer’ from the King’s kitchen. Make sure they eat it all. When they pass out, come find me."
With a sharp nod, the coral snake took the tray and slithered swiftly out of the kitchen to execute her part of the heist.
"Alright, Las! Back to the feast!" Ren clapped her hands.
Ren didn’t waste a single second. She grabbed handfuls of coarse sea salt, crushed red peppercorns, and pungent wild garlic, aggressively rubbing the spices directly into the scored boar skin to ensure the seasoning penetrated deep into the fat layer.
"Get these on the spits over the fire pits!" Ren commanded, handing the wooden skewers to a group of guards waiting by the door. "Keep them turning steadily! I want that fat rendering perfectly, and I want the skin to shatter like glass when they bite into it!"
Ren spun around to face the giant iron cauldrons positioned over the roaring hearth. The sweet-and-savory venison stew was next.
She tossed enormous chunks of rendered animal fat into the scorching hot iron. The fat melted instantly, smoking slightly. Ren dumped the thick, beautifully marbled cubes of venison directly into the cauldrons. The glorious sizzle of the Maillard reaction echoed through the kitchen. She let the meat sear untouched until a deep, gorgeous mahogany crust formed on the bottom, locking in the savory juices.
"Las, hand me the aromatics and the tubers!" Ren called out, stirring the massive vat with a long wooden paddle.
She dumped the chopped root vegetables and fragrant swamp-herbs into the bubbling fat, letting them sweat and absorb the rich meat drippings. Then came the secret weapon. She tossed in giant, golden chunks of the Sun-Burst Melons.
As the stew simmered, the intense heat broke down the fruit. The mango-vanilla sweetness melted into the savory venison gravy, caramelizing and thickening the broth into a rich, glossy, dark brown masterpiece. The aroma exploding from the cauldrons was genuinely intoxicating.
"Now for the appetizers," Ren declared, practically glowing with adrenaline.
She retrieved the lobster-sized swamp crawlers the foragers had provided. Dropping them into her newly purchased giant woks set over a blistering flame, she tossed them vigorously. She added a frankly irresponsible amount of churned butter, minced garlic root, and fiery spices. The shells turned a brilliant, vibrant red as they cooked, tossing up clouds of spicy, buttery steam that made her stomach rumble.
Beside the wok, a smaller pot of bubbling oil was ready. Ren took thinly sliced lotus roots and dropped them into the fryer. They hissed and popped, turning a perfect, golden crisp in mere seconds. She scooped them out with a wire skimmer, tossing them in a wide wooden bowl with a generous dusting of smoked sea salt.
For the next two hours, the scullery was a blur of culinary perfection. Ren orchestrated the chaos flawlessly, tasting, seasoning, and adjusting the massive quantities of food with the expertise of a veteran chef.
Outside in the courtyard, the loud, boisterous roars, howls, and hisses of two hundred ravenous beastmen echoed through the night. The guests had arrived. The air was thick with the smell of roasting boar and the anticipation of the upcoming feast.
"Mistress, the King signals that the guests are seated!" Las announced, rushing back into the kitchen with wide eyes. "The Timberwolves are drooling on the floors!"
"Then let’s feed them!" Ren grinned triumphantly.
With the help of a dozen royal guards called into the scullery, they began plating the colossal feast.
Cleaned wooden planks were loaded with the whole-roasted boars. The skin had blistered and crackled into a flawless, golden-brown crust, while the meat underneath was so tender it was falling off the bone. Giant, hollowed-out gourds were filled to the brim with the dark, glossy venison and melon stew. Huge platters of the spicy, garlic-butter crawlers were arranged next to towering mounds of crispy, smoked lotus root chips.
Ren stood back, her hands resting proudly on her hips as the guards hoisted the colossal platters onto their shoulders. The spread was a visual and aromatic masterpiece. It was a banquet fit for royalty.
She offered a bright, exhausted, but satisfied smile to Las.
"We did it!"