Chapter 258
The revival of Azhdaha undoubtedly caught the attention of the gods. If mishandled—or worse, left unchecked with no information—it would spell certain doom for humanity.
That's precisely why action must be taken. However, the rules of this divine conflict prohibit conveying information about Azhdaha through prophecies.
The gods themselves are unsure why this prohibition was included. But since it exists as a rule, they cannot violate this taboo. With divine intervention limited essentially to prophecies, the gods have almost no means to act.
"What are we supposed to do about this?"
"Grr..."
"...This is troubling."
"Ahaha, this is really bad, isn't it?"
As a result, the gods gathered, their worried faces on full display to one another. Even Akm, the God of War, renowned for his prowess, was at a loss, holding his head in his hands. Goldos, the God of Commerce, stood beside him, arms crossed, glaring at the board as if trying to stare a solution into existence.
No amount of glaring would change the current situation, but for now, they couldn't afford to look away from the world for even a second.
Their trump card, divine prophecy, was currently useless.
The gods never imagined they would feel so powerless.
Meter, the Goddess of Mediation, agonized over whether to send another prophecy to her apostle. Paffle, the Goddess of Love, considered having her apostle flee but realized the impracticality of finding a safe haven and could only manage a dry, helpless laugh.
Amid this chaos, the goddess who would normally be heard softly turning pages was instead...
"Such an emergency, and what are you doing?!"
"...Can't you tell? I'm eating."
"I can see that! I can smell that delicious aroma, so of course I know you're eating!"
Currently, she was eating something that filled the space with a tantalizing aroma. Even Kefeli, the Goddess of Wisdom, apparently didn't read during meals. She had clearly moved the books from her desk and was eating from a square wooden box with skilled chopstick work.
"South, isn't that food from my continent?"
"Indeed. It's kabayaki."
"S-so you really just ordered food..."
"South, have you given up on the fight?"
The enticing aroma of the sauce soaked into the white rice, combined with the fatty eel on top, was savored with each bite.
She was elegantly eating unaju—eel over rice—despite the emergency signified by Azhdaha's revival.
Her audacious nerve made Meter wonder if she had abandoned the fight.
"If we can do nothing, panicking will only exhaust us. After sending our apostles, there is nothing left for us to do. This situation is merely the result of unfortunate coincidences."
The consensus among the other gods was that Kefeli was simply resigning herself. The timing of her prophecy was so blatant that they thought she had violated the rules, but its content was like a delivery order.
Meter desperately tried to find some deeper intention, but unaware of the internet slang from a certain game on Earth, she couldn't find evidence of a rules violation.
Even if she had heard Liberta's conversation, if Kefeli claimed she hadn't intended that meaning, then the one making the wild interpretation was the Wisdom Goddess's apostle.
A straightforward interpretation would deem it a tactless prophecy simply requesting food.
That would lead to a futile argument. Since gods can detect lies, asking directly if the prophecy referred to Azhdaha might yield an answer, but Kefeli, being the wisest, could easily obfuscate the truth with clever wording.
In fact, Meter did ask Kefeli, but the fact that she was still here, eating leisurely, meant she had escaped the judgment of the other gods and the entities "monitoring" this space.
Meter considered it a shade of gray leaning toward black, but the verdict was white.
Having secured this verdict, Kefeli looked at Meter, who was staring intently.
"Would you like some?"
"...Thank you."
"Ah, lucky!"
"How enviable."
"W-well, I eat it often, so..."
"Then, everyone except East, have some. If I'm sent this much, it'll just get cold and lose its taste."
Misinterpreting their looks as envy, Kefeli took one of the many stacked unaju boxes and offered it to Meter.
The unaju made by Ingrid, a woman skilled in Cooking Art and Culinary skills, released an exquisite aroma upon opening that tickled the gods' nostrils.
Why was there unaju among the gods? Liberta, having greatly misunderstood and jumped to conclusions, worried about incurring divine displeasure. He asked spirits to defeat eel-type monsters in dungeons using Butchering skills to obtain ingredients.
He then had the spirits prepare various items like seasonings and charcoal, and asked Ingrid to experiment and create a dish.
Based on his past life memories, he desperately recalled the taste of a high-end eel restaurant where a single meal cost a fortune and recreated it.
He didn't expect it to match a veteran professional's skill, but with skill bonuses and Ingrid's own culinary techniques, they created an unaju that was undeniably delicious, even if its authenticity was uncertain.
And why was there enough to share with other gods?
Liberta, unsure how much a god would eat, decided it was better to send too much than too little.
Now, here lies a problem.
The FBO game world recreated various senses, but taste was rather simplistic.
Sweet things were sweet, salty things were salty—broad tastes and distinctions like weak or strong were possible.
However, the recreation of subtle flavors like umami was lacking. This was due to the developers' caution.
They feared that making in-game food too delicious might lead players to neglect real-world meals, potentially causing malnutrition and deaths.
In fact, after a VR technology breakthrough, another VR game that fully replicated taste allowed a player to create a dish with extreme umami. After eating it, the player's brain was so convinced that real-world food seemed bland and unappetizing, exhibiting symptoms akin to drug withdrawal, as reported in online news.
As a result, not only taste but approaches to other senses were legally regulated, and VR games failing to meet these standards were banned from release.
Now, back to the matter at hand.
The problem was that Liberta recreated Japanese kabayaki based on his memories.
It was unaju born from the accumulated refinement of Japan's近乎变态 (almost perverse) food culture, crafted by dedicated enthusiasts who spun history through perseverance.
While not a perfect recreation, it was a product satisfying enough for Liberta.
""""!?"""
The reactions of the three gods who tasted the unaju said it all. An otherworldly, alien deliciousness spread through their mouths, widening their eyes in astonishment.
Kefeli had been eating silently, her muted reaction misleading, but the deliciousness was guaranteed.
"Is it that good?"
""""......""""
The three gods ate wordlessly, leaving Goldos, who missed out, bewildered. They offered no response, simply focusing on their chopsticks—an abnormal sight.
This world naturally had chefs, and the techniques they honed and perfected certainly existed.
However, in this world, a chef's skill was their personal property—intellectual property with strong value. If stolen, their livelihood could be threatened, potentially leading to death.
In a world where survival is uncertain, the idea of passing on such flavors to others is rare. At best, it might be passed to one's child on their deathbed.
Moreover, this world prioritizes cheap, plentiful food over deliciousness.
The order of priority is cheap, plentiful, then delicious—not fast, cheap, and good.
It might not satisfy the luxurious palate of a Japanese person seeking diverse flavors, but in this world, people live by the standard of "if I can eat that, it's fine."
Furthermore, attempting to create tastier food is a privilege of a few wealthy elites. Failure could mean literal execution in a world where a misstep might cost your head.
With values prioritizing stable taste over culinary refinement, it's no wonder the food culture struggles to develop.
""""Seconds!!""""
"One bowl each. No more."
""""Aww...""""
The gods, living in such an environment, were no different. The food offered to them was what this world considered delicious for survival, not the变态性 (perverse pursuit) of taste sought by the Japanese.
Thus, the gods' palates were calibrated to this world's standards. They didn't despise cooking but didn't have high expectations.
However, one bite overturned that notion.
Unlike Kefeli, who ate carefully, the other three devoured theirs. If they saw the massive quantity prepared, it would vanish in an instant.
After all, gods don't need food for sustenance.
Their energy comes from mortal faith.
Faith takes various forms, but it boils down to whether its meaning is needed.
Simply put, as long as wisdom exists, the Goddess of Wisdom will exist. She doesn't need to eat to survive.
In other words, food is a treat. They could eat infinitely if they wished.
Knowing full well that permission would lead to endless eating, Kefeli considered allowing one refill already generous. Why should she sacrifice her enjoyment?
While the oppressive air from the Azhdaha crisis was dispelled by appetite, Kefeli sighed, reaching for her second bowl, unwilling to let her enjoyment be entirely consumed for that reason.
As for the one god who didn't get any—he refused it himself, so it couldn't be helped. The others had no intention of sharing their portions and were now diligently savoring each bite.
Kefeli's inner thoughts were: "If this can deceive them, it's for the best."
She herself believed she had issued a prophecy that skirted the rules very closely.
It was clear that remaining ignorant until the last moment would mean facing an opponent they couldn't defeat.
Therefore, even she considered it a rather bold prophecy.
The unexpected miscalculation of receiving such a deceptive offering turned out to be fortunate, in a way.
She glanced at the board. Peace, relatively speaking, still held.
Thieves robbed people here and there; monsters occupied territories and fought those who entered.
While the public order might not be considered peaceful by Japanese standards, it was sufficiently peaceful for this world.
What becomes of this world is for the chief god to decide.
What kind of world would the gods present here envision?
The Goddess of Wisdom, Kefeli, began to contemplate the world she envisioned.