Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: 84-Year-Old Bark Makre's Final Tazdingo (3)
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Rak Jin's heart burned with urgency.
Even after buying up all the sauces, he had silver coins left over. Without hesitation, following the old troll's advice, he poured every last coin into the largest frost crystal blocks available at the dock warehouses.
He loaded the miraculous glass jars onto the hired carriage as carefully as if handling a newborn babe, wrapping them thoroughly with frost crystals and cloth.
"Let's hurry."
The road back to the jungle along the trade route was treacherous.
Every time the carriage jolted, his heart sank with it.
Whenever he checked the cargo hold, the sturdy frost crystals were melting helplessly before the jungle's oppressive heat.
"Damn it...!"
The rotten stench began to creep up just as they neared the tribe's border.
He halted the carriage and flung open the cargo hold in a panic.
The red sauce jars (Marinara, Bolognese) held firm, but the ones he'd pinned his hopes on—the white sauce (Aioli) and the other pale-based ones (Tartar, Thousand Island)—were the problem.
They couldn't withstand the heat: jar lids were bulging, contents separating unpleasantly and reeking of sourness.
Rak Jin unhesitatingly hurled the spoiled jars away with his callused hands.
Even though frost crystals were meant to preserve them, he'd lost more than expected, but he didn't collapse in despair—he pressed on.
Two days had passed since the carriage set out.
"This is as far as we go, milord."
At the jungle's edge, where stifling heat and vines blocked the way, the coachman yanked the reins.
"No carriage can pass beyond here. I've brought you to the agreed spot, so I'll be off."
Rak Jin had no time for replies. He silently leaped down, tossing the remaining silver to the coachman.
"Good work."
Without pause, he headed to the cargo hold and hoisted the massive sauce crate—big enough for three or four grown men—onto his shoulders.
"Eek! Th-that thing...!"
Ignoring the coachman's horrified stare, Rak Jin took his first step into the jungle.
Humid air stabbed his lungs, venomous insects buzzed his ears, but his feet never faltered.
How long had he walked? A familiar tribal boundary marker appeared.
"Look! It's Lord Rak Jin!"
"The prince has returned!"
The warriors on border duty shouted, and the Rak Talri village stirred in an instant.
They gazed at their sweat- and mud-caked heir and the bizarre crate on his shoulder, faces mixed with expectation and anxiety.
"Prince, what's in that crate...?"
"Clear the way."
Rak Jin silenced the barrage of questions with a low voice, pushing through the crowd toward the innermost dwelling—the coolest one, blanketed in moss.
The life-filled stone-moss clinic. Only the faint breathing of the withering elder echoed within. At last, he arrived.
"Father."
By the bedside, the foul meat porridge sat cooling.
Bark Makre wearily opened his eyes at his son's voice.
He beckoned the old troll woman waiting nearby.
"Get rid of this stinking gruel right now."
"But Prince, the chieftain needs to eat... "
"Prepare something new."
Rak Jin pulled two red sauce jars from the crate.
Marinara and Bolognese.
Recalling the heavier, more complex aroma he'd smelled in the empire, he picked up the Bolognese first.
"Bring the freshest meat, debone it, mince it fine. Simmer it deep with this red seasoning until the foul smell vanishes. Strong root vegetables too. Mince them all in with this red stuff!"
He'd never tasted it himself in the empire, but he staked everything on the old troll's tale of the saint's miracle.
Moments later, the dwelling's cloying stench faded, replaced by a deep, rich aroma utterly unlike before.
Tangy yet sweet, with a nutty meat scent.
Bark Makre's gaunt nose twitched faintly.
Slowly, drawn by the new fragrance, he turned his head.
"...This doesn't smell foul."
Rak Jin's heart pounded fiercely. He scooped a spoonful of sauce-infused gruel with a wooden spoon.
Cooling it carefully, he brought the red gruel to his father's lips.
"Father. Please, just one bite."
Drawn by his son's desperate gaze and the alluring aroma he'd never known, Bark Makre parted his lips with effort.
The spoon slipped between his gums, warm, thick liquid enveloping his tongue.
And in that instant.
'...!'
Bark Makre's emaciated body trembled faintly.
His closed eyes snapped open.
This was no crude meat gruel of his lifetime.
The foul reek was gone—utterly obliterated by an overwhelming 'flavor' that assaulted his tongue.
'This... this taste...?'
Tangy yet sweet.
Rich meaty depth, yet not off-putting—incredibly tender and profound.
Unthinkingly, he swallowed dryly.
His stomach, his dying body, craved more of this miraculous food.
"Father...?"
Rak Jin called in a trembling voice.
Instead of answering, Bark Makre raised a bony hand to grasp his son's wrist.
"...More. Son."
"! ...Yes! Father!"
Rak Jin hurriedly scooped the next spoonful.
One spoonful, two.
Forgetting the dignity of a lifelong chieftain, Bark Makre slowly swallowed the gruel his son fed him.
Even toothless gums needed no chewing; perfectly mashed meat and vegetables melded with red sauce, sliding smoothly down his throat.
When the bowl emptied, color returned to Bark Makre's cheeks for the first time in decades.
"Son, what in the world is this...?"
"There's more, Father."
Jin was certain: Bolognese had saved his father.
Soon, he picked up the second red jar, Marinara.
"This time, stir it into clear meat broth!"
Moments later, a fresh, garlicky herbal fragrance filled the dwelling—refreshing, unlike Bolognese.
Bark Makre felt appetite stir anew, despite the full bowl.
As he took the second bowl to his lips, his eyes widened once more.
"This... is different again!"
If Bolognese punched with heavy, meaty body from ground meat, this was a light, crisp wake-up for the tongue.
The broth's fishiness vanished; raw ingredients burst with grassy freshness.
He drained the second bowl clean.
At last, he propped himself halfway up on the bed by his own strength.
"Haa... haa..."
His breaths gained power. For the first time in days, the sensation of life coursed through the chieftain's body.
His son, Rak Jin, suppressed overwhelming emotion.
His father, the great chieftain, had reclaimed his will to live from just two sauce jars.
But this wasn't enough.
The red sauces restored appetite, but true nutrition was needed to put meat on those skeletal bones and rebuild vitality.
"Father. Without teeth, chewing must be hard."
Bark Makre gave a wry smile.
"Aye. Even this delight must pass as gruel; I've long forgotten chewing's joy."
At those words, Rak Jin's eyes gleamed. He rummaged the remaining crate.
Half lost to jungle heat, but thankfully, some white sauces survived in the frost crystals' last chill.
He recalled the dock tastes: Tartar turning soggy fritters heavenly, Aioli erasing steamed fish's stench.
"No, Father. I'll restore chewing's joy too."
He rushed outside at once, commanding the tribe's finest hunters and fishers.
"Bring the tenderest lean meat and mild white fish! Debone fully, mince fine! Soft enough for gums to chew!"
Puzzled but obedient to the revived chieftain and resolute heir, tribesfolk moved swiftly.
Soon, steaming-soft 'meat meatballs' and 'fish meatballs', lightly blanched, lay before the chieftain.
"Here, Father."
Rak Jin first drenched a fish meatball in chunky 'Tartar sauce'.
Tart freshness perfectly tamed the fishiness.
Bark Makre tasted it skeptically.
"...!"
No need to chew. Silky fish flesh melted on his tongue.
With it: mayonnaise creaminess, vinegar tang, crunchy pickled cucumber bite filling his mouth.
"H-how...! No chewing, yet this richness as if I did...!"
Eyes closed, he savored the crispness within softness—first in his life.
"Try this too."
Rak Jin slathered garlic-bold Aioli on a meat meatball.
"Kuh...!"
A low groan escaped Bark Makre.
Plain meatball met Aioli's fierce savoriness and fat, delivering grilled steak satisfaction.
Gums whisked it down, every flavor and aroma perfect.
He polished off the last pinkish sauce mixed with minced mushrooms and roots too.
'Fullness' and 'taste's joy', forgotten for decades, filled the old chieftain.
And sudden silence fell.
"F-Father. D-did the food suit your taste...?"
Even as his son asked, the chieftain sat still, savoring the lingering flavors.
And when every aftertaste faded.
"Taz..."
"Taz?"
The chieftain rose, bellowing triumphantly.
"TAZDINGO!! Hahaha, superb!! This old troll has regained his will to live!!"