Chapter 53
Chapter 53
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Bark Makre's Final Tazdingo at Age 84 (1)
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"Cough... cough...!"
A dry cough echoed through the damp darkness.
On a makeshift bed of leather and moss, an elderly troll lay breathing faintly.
With hands that had once split boulders, he gripped the hand of the young troll sitting beside him.
"Chief... please, sit up... okay?"
"Ugh, you need your appetite back. You haven't eaten a thing..."
Dozens of young trolls fretted over their aged leader.
The chief stroked their heads with feeble hands, insisting he was fine, then gently scolded the children in a low voice.
"I'm all right, little ones. What can be done about an old troll who's lived out his days and is now crumbling away?"
"But..."
"If anything, I'm grateful to have reached eighty-four and lived to see you all. It's a shame I won't see more of you—cough! Cough!"
As the young trolls wiped away tears and stepped back, a heavy silence settled over the chief's dwelling.
At that moment, a massive shadow filled the entrance.
A young troll with rock-hard muscles, a sturdy jaw, and broad shoulders like his father.
The prince of the rock trolls and heir to Rak Talri—Rak Jin.
He approached the bed quietly and gazed at the food his father had left untouched.
A bowl of thin, watery meat porridge, reeking of decay, sat cooling after barely being touched.
"Father. This won't do."
Rak Jin's voice was low, thick with anger and grief.
"You'll really starve at this rate. Please, just one more bite..."
Bark Makre shook his head weakly. He tried to grasp his son's hand, but his bony arm lacked the strength.
"Jin... my son. This old body of mine... now... cough! The smell is unbearable..."
He turned his head and coughed again.
Once a mighty chief who ruled the jungle, he could no longer stomach even the stench of boiled meat.
His toothless gums, worn by age, rejected not just tough sinew but even tender flesh.
The sight of his father—a great and wise ruler—fading away so helplessly crushed Rak Jin.
He, who had stood by his father's side protecting the tribe all these years, could not accept this reality.
'There has to be a way. There must be.'
He could not simply watch his father waste away.
If the jungle's ways failed, he would seek answers beyond it.
He recalled tales from a forest troll trader who had visited the Empire.
A land overflowing with strange elixirs and foods beyond imagination.
Foods free of stench that even elders could swallow. Elixirs that might extend life itself.
He rose at once, donned the armor marking him as the next chief and a warrior, and took up his axe.
He left the humid jungle behind, trekking for days along trade roads.
As the warm, sticky jungle air faded, a cool, salty tang filled his nostrils.
"This place..."
He had arrived at a seaside village in the Empire's south, kissed by ocean breezes.
The sea air was nothing like the jungle's damp haze—salty, briny, alive with energy.
Amid the bustling crowds, he spotted a few forest trolls and sea trolls.
But they were mere dockhands hauling massive nets or crates, not warriors clad in scale-and-leather armor like him.
Villagers paused at the sight of the armored giant troll, murmuring among themselves. Yet, accustomed to troll laborers, they showed no hostility—just curious stares at the odd outsider.
'Medicine... I need medicine to save Father.'
Rak Jin reaffirmed his purpose and headed deeper into the market, toward the most promising-looking apothecary.
"What're you after, troll sir?"
"Elderly one. Smells bother him. Rejects food."
Rak Jin explained in halting imperial tongue. The apothecary stroked his beard and produced a few pricey herbs.
"Vitality boosters. No odor. This'll do it. Twenty silver coins."
"Silver coins?"
Rak Jin tilted his head and pulled a massive scale from his belt pouch.
A giant crocodile scale from the southern jungles—a prized material for top weapons or rituals back home.
The jungle gave them everything.
Food came from hunting or foraging, clothes and shelter were simple to find.
In a land of total self-sufficiency, imperial coin was just useless metal scraps.
Trade with the Empire wasn't unknown, of course.
But fine fabrics rotted in the humid climate, lush fruits spoiled in days.
Bulky goods made large-scale bartering all but impossible.
To them, true value lay in tangible rarities like this scale.
But the apothecary's face hardened coldly at the offering.
"First day in the Empire, eh? What's this? Playing pretend? Pay with money! Empire coin!"
"This is valuable. Jungle treasure."
"Tch tch. Keep your jungle treasures in the jungle. This here's the Empire."
The apothecary waved him off dismissively. Rak Jin couldn't hide his bewilderment.
It was a treasure that could trade for almost anything back home.
He tried a few more shops, but the response was the same.
Then, an old forest troll laborer from the docks approached and whispered.
"You must be Rak Talri's prince."
"You know me?"
"Who doesn't? Rak Talri's lord came here before pacifying the south. Got so comfortable, I stayed put."
A fellow troll who spoke his language—welcome relief.
Rak Jin asked the old troll his biggest question.
"They won't take our goods. Why? They know these are valuable."
"Too hard to trade."
The old troll gave a wry smile.
"Our fruits turn to mush in two days, our fabrics rot in this salty wind. So they only want those round, cold metal discs. That's why we do the grunt work here to earn 'em."
"Then this..."
"Folks might buy it for silver, but not in this podunk town. You'd have to trek far north to the capital's material dealers. Ten days one way without a mount."
Despairing news.
He was Rak Talri's heir, yet here he was as good as penniless.
Father dying, and he couldn't buy a thing.
As he stood lost, a savory aroma wafted by—not herbal, but oily and appetite-stirring.
Rak Jin turned, and the old forest troll patted his shoulder with a wry grin.
"Looks like you haven't eaten, prince. Let this old-timer buy you a cheap meal."
"......"
"Fill your belly first. Moping here won't get medicine back to the chief."
"...Thank you. I accept."
Rak Jin nodded silently at the practical advice.
He followed the troll laborer to a dingy tavern swarming with dock workers.
"Hey! One bottle of Black Pearl rum!"
"Coming up!"
The place was rowdy and hazy with smoke.
The old troll claimed a familiar corner table, pulled out his meager silver, and ordered.
"Landlady! Two mixed fish steams and two ales! Extra aioli sauce!"
Moments later, two plates of unidentifiable steamed fish—reeking of damp fishiness—were slammed down.
Beside them sat a small dish of creamy white sauce Rak Jin had never seen.
"What's this?"
"Ho ho, prince hasn't tried it? Empire folk say some saint whipped it up. Big craze lately. They call it aioli."
Rak Jin held his nose and forked off a bit of fish, forcing it into his mouth.
Fishy reek and earthy grit stabbed his palate. He finally understood his father's refusal.
"Ho ho, can't eat it plain. Dip it good in that white stuff and try."
Half doubtful, Rak Jin slathered the fishy chunk in the white sauce.
Garlic's sharp tang mixed with the fishiness into something strange. He squeezed his eyes shut and ate.
"......!"
Rak Jin's eyes flew wide. Something impossible happened.
It wasn't the fish's foul fishiness hitting his tongue.
Nutty richness and garlic's brain-jolting intensity exploded instead.
The bold flavors didn't just mask the stench—they crushed and erased it.
"This...?!"
The food's quality was still trash.
But paired with the sauce, the stringy fish felt like fine cuisine.
He found himself dipping the next piece, then the next, without thinking.
"Ho ho, quite the show. That Empire saint's a genius. Turns garbage bar snacks into something you pay for."
The old troll chuckled and chugged his ale.
"Surprised? Food's bottom-shelf, but that white sauce makes it go down forever."
"Sauce...?"
"Aye. A kind of seasoning."
The old troll quenched his throat with ale and clicked his tongue.
"That saint's something else. Not just aioli. Tartar sauce for fried stuff—they say it makes even soggy fritters endless."
Rak Jin looked up.
"The saint... who is he?"