Chapter 56
Chapter 56
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: The 84-Year-Old Patriarch's Final Resolve
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Thus, the patriarch's condition began to improve miraculously.
"Oh, oh! The king has risen!!"
He had regained enough strength to leave the damp, moss-covered cave where mana gathered and return to his original royal chambers.
But was that all?
"The patriarch has risen again!"
"Long live the rock trolls! Long live Rak Talri!"
The entire Rak Talri tribe erupted in cheers.
The news that the dying patriarch, the "Gentle Rock" Bark Makre, had tasted the saint's miracle and risen once more breathed new life into the whole jungle.
"More, my son!"
The patriarch's appetite had grown to an astonishing degree.
Meat dumplings with aioli, thick porridge laced with bolognese, steamed fish topped with tartar.
He devoured every dish as if he had been starving for decades.
Muscle began to build back over his gaunt bones, and the spark returned to his once-hollow eyes.
Rak Jin couldn't hide his joy at his father's miraculous appetite and improving health, but his gaze drifted to the sauce bottles remaining in one corner of the tent.
'They're already running low.'
The patriarch's voracious hunger was a blessing, but the rate at which the sauces were being consumed was beyond imagination.
Especially the white sauces—aioli and tartar—were barely holding up in the jungle's sweltering heat.
Rak Jin recalled the spoiled sauce bottles he had been forced to discard at the jungle's edge just days ago.
'Even if I go back for more, at this rate, half will rot on the way.'
Silver coins could always be earned again at the docks. But there was no way to prevent spoilage in this infernal heat.
How could he secure this miracle that had prolonged his father's life in a stable way?
As he sank into deep contemplation...
Inside a carriage of the Black Moon Caravan crossing the desert, Kalendil was reading the second report just delivered by her shadow wolf.
"…Patriarch Bark Makre recovers strength after consuming the saint's sauce. Rak Talri tribe escapes chaos crisis and enters stabilization phase… or so it says."
Bellaris bowed her head.
"As you predicted, Princess. The chaos in the south has been sealed for now."
"Sealed, but not resolved."
Kalendil turned to the next page of the report.
"The problem is here. 'Rak Jin agonizes over impending sauce shortage and spoilage issues'… Foolish. To cling to what they already hold while trying to buy miracles with silver at dockside taverns."
Kalendil did not want chaos in the south.
Civil war would sever the Black Moon Caravan's trade routes and shatter the grand vision she had in mind.
She thought of the giants in the north.
They had encountered the 'saint's' miracle amid starvation and offered their most precious possession in return.
Those who accepted the miracle had opened trade routes, and now enjoyed prosperity greater than any imperial subject.
'If the north could do it, why not the south?'
This was an opportunity. Centered around her partner Jonathan, a chance to incorporate the south into the empire's economic sphere.
Kalendil took up her pen and wrote a short note laced with the dark elf's unique cipher.
"Deliver this to the Rak Talri patriarch 'discreetly.' They must find the path themselves."
"As you command."
Meanwhile, at Kandoria Castle. In the office.
"Hmm…"
The cayenne pepper and other spices he had stockpiled more than expected were starting to run low.
And the date marked on the calendar for the upcoming trade renewal with the Black Moon Caravan was drawing near.
Not just arrabbiata sauce, but with Thousand Island dressing's key ingredient cayenne pepper also hanging by a thread, it was a worrisome situation.
Just then, as if the calendar date had walked in, the office door opened.
"I've arrived on the promised date, Saint."
The Black Moon Caravan's mistress, Kalendil, entered the room with the fragrance of mysterious purple flowers.
"I'm glad you made it on time, Kalendil. My cayenne pepper was just about to run out."
"No need to worry. The Black Moon Caravan doesn't engage in deals that tarnish our reputation."
Her subordinates sequentially set down heavy pouches of spices.
Not only the cayenne pepper he had so eagerly awaited, but also rare herbs said to grow only in the empire's west.
"You always bring more than expected."
"As your partner, it's only natural for a caravan master to anticipate how far your influence will reach."
As she lifted her teacup, her amethyst eyes gazed intently at him from behind her veil, accompanied by a faint smile.
Then, her gaze paused on a small green sauce bowl on one corner of his desk.
"This is something new, Saint. The aroma is incredibly fresh."
What was in the bowl was the first prototype of the 'fresh sauce' he had devised alongside the full-scale expansion of refrigerated distribution.
Pesto Genovese, made by grinding fresh basil, cheese, and pine nuts with olive oil.
"Ah, this is called pesto Genovese. It requires fresh herbs, so its shelf life is extremely short—something only I could taste until now."
He spread a generous amount of pesto on a piece of bread and offered it to her.
"But that's about to change. Thanks to the frost crystals pouring in from the north, the 'cold chain' system will soon be complete. Now even this can grace imperial tables."
Kalendil looked at him for a moment before accepting the bread and carefully bringing it under her veil.
Her amethyst eyes widened in awe.
The fragrant freshness of basil, the salty umami of cheese, the nutty richness of pine nuts, all enveloped in the flavor of olive oil.
A soft yet violent harmony of living ingredients, perfected by the sharp bite of garlic.
"……!"
She silently set down her teacup and took another piece of bread, spreading pesto on it to taste.
"Amazing. If mayonnaise was a revolution in texture, this is a 'miracle of aroma.' You're saying this delicate flavor will circulate across the entire empire?"
"Haha, yes. Have you tried mayonnaise too?"
"Of course. Tales of the sunset miracle have long spread throughout the empire—how could I miss it?"
She elegantly swallowed the pesto-topped bread and adjusted her veil. Her amethyst eyes pierced him like a blade.
"Then, that 'cold chain' you just mentioned isn't just for this pesto, is it."
"What do you mean?"
"Items like this pesto, where freshness is everything, are one thing, but the 'sunset miracle' and its derivatives—aioli, tartar—are the same. Egg- and oil-based sauces are inherently extremely vulnerable to heat, making long-term storage difficult."
As he had sensed before, she was a woman of remarkable insight.
It hadn't been long since he had released the mayonnaise recipe monopoly, yet she had pierced its core instantly.
"You're right. Especially in hot regions like the south, distribution was nearly impossible."
"Exactly."
A satisfied smile curved Kalendil's lips.
"In that vein, it seems people in the southern jungle will soon be calling your name, Saint."
"The south?"
He looked puzzled.
Of course, he had plans to expand sauce distribution to the south, including Onan-hot climates, but it was recent.
Kalendil smiled mysteriously from behind her veil, as if reading his thoughts.
"Saint, your miracles outpace your footsteps. Word has it that a southern jungle prince already sought your aioli sauce to save his dying father."
"A southern prince… my aioli?"
"Yes. Unfortunately, half the sauce he brought back rotted in the jungle heat. He'll desperately need this 'cold chain' technology."
He was once again impressed by her information network.
How far did the Black Moon Caravan's intelligence reach?
"Then…"
Before he could finish, Kalendil cut to the chase.
With a graceful dark elf gesture, she pointed to the newly completed pesto and the mayonnaise jar on his desk.
"So, Saint, I'd like to place an order."
"An order?"
"Along with the pesto I just tasted, I'd like to purchase some of your new cold-chain mayonnaise and its derivatives."
Her violet eyes gleamed with the calculating light of a merchant.
"You've brought the spices I've so desired, so naturally, we must trade. Though I can't provide large quantities yet."
"That's fine. That's more than enough."
"Understood. Our scribe will guide you to the new production line for cold-chain applied products."
Kalendil rose, signaling her servant with her eyes.
She whispered something to the servant, who nodded and quietly left the room.
She turned back to him.
"My servant will pack the cold sauces just purchased and head straight south. They're essential for delivery there."
"Right now? It must be quite urgent."
"Not urgent so much as 'the perfect investment timing.'"
Kalendil flashed her signature dark elf enigmatic smile.
"Saint, your miracles outpace your footsteps. And investments backed by those miracles are best made swiftly. Until our next trade date."
She bowed gracefully and left the office, leaving only the lingering scent of spices.
He gave a wry smile at the firmly closing door.
"…Still a mysterious woman. Is that just how dark elves are?"
At the very moment the mysterious merchant and the saint concluded their deal in Jonathan's office...
The Rak Talri tribe's jungle was swept by unprecedented winds of change.
Patriarch Bark Makre's miraculous recovery had instantly elevated the saint's sauces to the tribe's object of faith.
The tale of Prince Rak Jin earning silver through dock labor to buy miracles became a new heroic legend among the young troll warriors.
"Hey, Guruk! You're heading to the southern docks too?"
"Of course! If the prince did it, what's stopping us? A few days of hard work, and we can taste that white miracle!"
One by one, the tribe's young trolls began leaving the jungle for the empire's southern coast.
Like Rak Jin, they hauled cargo with overwhelming troll strength at the docks, earning shiny silver coins and the sauces they craved.
The changes didn't stop there.
They hummed imperial songs heard in taverns and bought sweat-absorbent imperial cotton tunics instead of stiff leather armor.
A new wind of imperial culture began seeping into the jungle's closed society.
But not all escaped the prince's frustration.
"Damn it! I finally got some, but half rotted!"
"This damn humid heat! White sauces just can't hold up!"
Beyond not being able to eat the sauces they barely obtained, they lamented not being able to use them on their own ingredients.
"Our jungle has ingredients unimaginable on imperial lands, but can't we eat them with white sauce unless it's fried trash fish?"
"Giant catfish from the red swamps, fragrant mandrake fruit, soft dinosaur bird eggs—we prepared them all!"
"Right! What's the point of fresh, prime ingredients when the sauces spoil!"
As their frustration spread through the jungle, the heart of the Rak Talri tribe—the patriarch's dwelling—was shrouded in an eerie silence.
Fully recovered Bark Makre quietly fondled the imperial silver coins his son had earned through blood and sweat at the docks, his callused hands caressing them gently.
Before him lay an empty aioli bottle among those his son had fetched, spoiled by the heat.
Staring bitterly at the sauce bottle, a shadow flickered in the dim corner of the royal chambers before the rock troll king.
"The Nameless One greets the king of Rak Talri and patriarch of the rock trolls."
From the shadow emerged a gray-skinned dark elf.
He respectfully offered a small wax-sealed tube stamped with the Black Moon Caravan's insignia.
"…Even among dark elves, the Black Moon Caravan. Kalendil's emissary."
Bark Makre opened the wax seal and unrolled the parchment inside.
The secret message was brief, but its weight was immense.
[The jungle's heat devours miracles, but the miracle-maker tames the north's frost as well. The Black Moon knows the path, but opening the door is the patriarch's will.]
Bark Makre grumbled at the shadowed figure before him.
"Kalendil… Still speaking only in riddles. Is there really cause to fear secrets leaking?"
Then the dark elf emissary spoke.
"My mistress sent more than words, Patriarch."
The emissary gestured outside. Moments later, another dark elf carefully brought in a wooden box.
The box's surface bore the Black Moon Caravan's insignia alongside a blue frost emblem.
"This is…?"
The dark elf emissary opened the box, and a rush of cold air poured out.
Inside were three glass bottles wrapped in silvery yeti fur.
Bark Makre's eyes widened at the sight.
"Impossible!"
They were the very white sauces he had tearfully discarded.
Aioli and tartar, plus pink-hued Thousand Island.
Bark Makre reached out and touched a bottle. Even in the jungle's oppressive heat, it was ice-cold.
"My mistress purchased this new miracle from the saint and sent it."
Pride filled the emissary's voice.
"The saint has already mastered the north's frost, perfecting the 'cold chain' technology that prevents spoilage even in heat. This is proof."
Bark Makre touched the frosty glass bottle with trembling hands.
Maintaining such perfect chill amid the jungle's heat.
He looked at the dark elf emissary.
"The saint… He conquers even this jungle's heat?"
The emissary nodded silently.
Bark Makre's gaze slowly turned to one corner of his dwelling.
There lay the pouch of silver coins earned by his son and the tribe's youth through sweat in the empire.
From outside came the lively voices of young trolls.
They hummed imperial pop songs and boasted about their sweat-wicking imperial cotton tunics over stiff leather.
"Heh heh…"
Bark Makre gave a wry smile. This old patriarch had seen how much joy this new miracle brought his tribesmen.
And he wished for all to share the taste and abundance that had saved him.
But he knew half the sauce bottles they fetched had already rotted in the jungle heat.
'Our sons, Rak Talri's warriors, toil as dock laborers for food that will just spoil.'
He felt not anger, but profound realization. This wouldn't do.
The troll monarch unrolled the dark elf's secret message again.
One word caught his eye.
'Path…'
Trade with the empire hadn't been absent until now.
They had been self-sufficient with the jungle's most precious blessings.
Content with this blessed land's bounty, the rock trolls had never thought to venture out.
But this oppressive heat and humidity—the blessed land's sole curse.
Because of it, Rak Talri's mighty warriors, like his son Rak Jin, became imperial dock laborers earning mere silver scraps.
And even the miracles bought with that hard-earned silver rotted away halfway.
But the saint had found a way to break the curse.
If the saint's cold technology could preserve not just these sauce bottles, but turn Rak Talri's blessings—undervalued due to spoilage—into money.
Vibrant-feathered southern fowl meat, soft sweet fruits. Even fatty fish that became delicacies with just a sprinkle of salt and steaming.
Then they need no longer beg for imperial silver.
They could trade as equals. Give their most precious and receive the saint's in return.
Further, it would restore respect for the tribe's warriors as Rak Talri tribesmen.
With resolve hardened, Bark Makre faced the dark elf emissary and spoke in a dignified voice.
"Convey this to the Black Moon Caravan's mistress, Kalendil."
"Yes, Patriarch."
"The Rak Talri patriarch has decided to open the door. No longer will we beg for silver at the docks—we will trade directly with the 'saint.'"
"-Thus, we ask the Black Moon Caravan to pave that path."