Chapter 54
Chapter 54
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: The Old Troll's Final Tasting (2)
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"The Saint... who the hell is that?"
"Hah, you haven't even heard the rumors out in the jungle, Prince? It's Jonathan, the Saint of the Empire. Officially recognized by the Holy See."
The old troll lowered his voice and began spinning the tale as an appetizer.
"Word is, even those savage giants up north surrendered to that gentleman's tangerine miracle sauce and volunteered to become the Empire's shield, guarding the northern frontier."
"The northern giants... with food?"
Even a rock troll who had spent his life in the southern jungles wasn't completely ignorant of the wider world.
He knew that giants far larger and prouder than southern trolls had held their independence for millennia in the frozen lands of eternal snow, battling wyvern lizards.
For such warriors to submit to the Empire?
It defied the common sense of his rough jungle life.
"Conquered proud warriors... with food?"
"That's right. A real miracle happened."
The old troll chuckled and downed his ale.
"It started with the red sauce. They called it the Blessing of the Stars. It turned bland soup and hard bread into a taste of life's joys for the first time. Starving slum-dwellers tasted it and wept with joy at the simple pleasure of good food. Even the Holy See recognized it as a holy relic."
"I thought that was the end of it. But then the Saint brought forth a second miracle: the Penance Feast, a fiery red sauce so spicy it dizzied the mind. Folks got addicted, fighting tooth and nail on the black market for it. The Church had to step in, dubbing it a 'penance' just to calm the chaos."
"But trouble brewed."
Rakjin swallowed hard and leaned in to listen intently to the old troll's words.
"Greedy bastards started counterfeiting the sauces, mixing in poisonous weeds. Thousands in the capital slums were dying from the fakes, and there was no saving them. That's when Saintess Lumiel walked right into that hell."
"She saw the dying children, prayed, and six pairs of radiant wings unfurled. Golden beams enveloped the entire slum, healing everyone on the brink of death in an instant."
"They say the Saintess despaired at first in that inferno. She felt powerless, unable to save so many with her own strength."
The old troll's tale drew the crowd's attention in small groups, with some nodding in agreement.
"But moved by the Saint's noble conviction, she prayed again—and that's when the six pairs of wings appeared. She wanted to spread goodwill to all, highborn or low, to share happiness."
"After the miracle, the Saintess proclaimed to the world that she was merely an apostle following the path paved by the Saint, and all glory belonged to the true Saint. After that, the Empire and Church reconciled, the northern barbarians were redeemed, and right on their heels came the 'Tangerine Miracle'."
His voice dropped low.
"Prince, you and I were born in the warm southern jungles. We don't know the bone-chilling cold of the north. The agony of gnawing on dried rock-hard meat through starving winters."
"To them, that tangerine miracle wasn't just flavor—it was life itself. Rich fat melting on the tongue. Overwhelming calories even newborn babes or toothless elders could swallow. It filled their empty bellies, warmed their frozen bodies, and pulled their children and old ones back from death's door."
Rakjin held his breath.
"They didn't kneel to the Empire's armies. They bowed before the miracle that saved their tribes and young."
"Anyway, setting aside their tale, thanks to the Saint, old timers like us don't starve on this salty dock anymore. With this Aioli sauce, sour black bread or fishy catch goes down smooth."
Suddenly, a spark flashed in Rakjin's mind.
'Fishy fish... smell... goes down smooth...'
His father's refusal of food stemmed from his frail body rejecting the foul odors and fishiness.
But what if... what if he had this sauce?
If this intense garlic aroma and nutty flavor could restore his father's lost appetite?
'I can revive Father's vigor!'
Hope ignited, and thunder rumbled in his gut. Days of hunger from his trek hit all at once.
He snatched the fish before him, poured on the sauce, and crunched through bone and all, just like in the jungle.
His tusks stronger than steel shattered the bones and head, but no fishy reek or earthy taint remained.
Only the rich fatty savor filling his mouth and the sharp, brain-tingling garlic punch.
'This is it! Without a doubt!'
The legend of the Saint civilizing northern giants might be true.
Hope surged as his plate emptied in a flash.
The old troll stared in astonishment.
"Hah, Prince. You look ready to chew the plate too."
Rakjin gripped the old troll's shoulder hard.
"This sauce! I need to buy it! Where do I earn those silver coins you mentioned?"
The old troll stopped chuckling at Rakjin's desperate gaze and pointed to the dock piled with cargo mountains.
"Folks over there hire hands for jobs and pay in silver coins. But—"
The old troll eyed Rakjin's armor and the rune-etched obsidian axe at his side.
"That's work for laborers and underlings, not a warrior prince like you..."
"Prince?"
Rakjin cut him off.
His voice rumbled low with resolve.
"My father, the chieftain of Rak Talri, is wasting away, too weak for even death to claim him. If I can't haul a few crates to save him out of pride as his son, then screw being a prince."
He stood. His massive shadow blanketed the tavern table.
"I'll be back."
.
.
.
The dock was chaos of massive crates and bellowing voices.
The foreman, soaked in sweat and brine, flipped through his ledger, roaring.
"Hey! It'll take all day to unload at this rate! You wanna keep slacking for pay?!"
Before his shout ended, a huge shadow blocked the foreman.
A jungle-armored giant with an obsidian axe on his back—the warrior who'd been with the old troll moments ago.
The foreman faltered.
"Wh-what? Wh-what do you want... sir?"
Rakjin interrupted.
He jerked his chin at the mountain of unloaded cargo still on the ship.
"Work."
He patted his empty belt pouch.
"Money. Want."
The foreman barked a incredulous laugh.
"Ha! You messing with me? Look at that barrel—one needs six grown men to roll it. What're you gonna do alone...?"
Before he finished, Rakjin strode to the massive wine barrel the foreman had pointed out—the one supposedly needing six men.
"H-hey! That's dangerous!"
The foreman's cry was futile.
Rakjin hoisted the enormous barrel with one arm like a beast's scruff and slung it over his shoulder effortlessly.
"...What?"
A dumb sound escaped the foreman.
All the dockworkers, who'd been watching the exchange, froze mid-task, gaping at the impossible sight.
Rakjin ignored the stares, striding across the gangplank to the warehouse without pause.
He set the barrel down inside, then returned to the ship without hesitation.
With his free hand, he lifted the second and third barrels onto his other shoulder.
"Mi-madness... what kind of monster is that...?"
The foreman nearly dropped his ledger.
What took six men a full day to roll, this troll warrior carried two at once on his shoulders.
Only one thought filled Rakjin's head.
'Faster. More.'
Sell this for silver coins. Buy the miracle called Aioli. Bring it to Father.
Father will taste it, regain his strength, and live.
Simple, ironclad resolve fueled his muscles.
"Heave!"
That day, every unloading job finished before sunset.
The foreman, eyes mixed with awe and fear, poured silver coins from his pouch at Rakjin's feet.
Rakjin, fatigue forgotten, scooped up the dirt-dusted coins and headed back to the tavern with the old troll.
"Here!"
The tavern door burst open as dirt-caked Rakjin stormed in.
Without giving the old troll a chance to stop him, he slammed the heavy coin pouch onto the wooden table.
The tavern noise halted; the clear jingle of silver seized all eyes.
As attention converged, Rakjin bellowed.
"That white stuff. Aioli, you called it. All of it."
The barkeep's eyes widened at the coin mountain, then twisted in embarrassment.
"Uh, no, that's served in dishes with snacks—not sold by the jar..."
"Not for sale?"
Rakjin's gaze chilled.
As the mood threatened to sour, the old troll jumped in hastily.
"Haha, barkeep! Misunderstanding! The Prince doesn't want the serving stuff—he wants the product for sale. The bottled kind on that shelf!"
"Oh! That?"
The barkeep sighed in relief and pointed to the shelf.
Rakjin's eyes turned there.
Neat glass bottles of sauces lined the shelf—red, dark crimson, even pinkish.
But to him, only one: the white cream he sought.
The clear glass bore an unfamiliar imperial seal.
Exquisite craftsmanship beyond jungle pottery.
"That white one. Garlic kind. All."
Rakjin shoved the coin pouch forward.
"Oh, sure thing! Buuut there's a problem—"
The barkeep approached with a fawning smile but troubled expression.
"Problem?"
"Th-those silver coins would buy all our Aioli and more... haha."
Rakjin stroked his chin beard with his callused hand at the barkeep's words.
After a brief think, he stated flatly.
"Then all sauces, not just Aioli. Pay full with silver."