Chapter 66
Chapter 66
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: Chicken Tikka Masala
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Five days after sending Malik back, the Lactari Fortress lay shrouded in an eerie calm.
Beyond the tree line at the base of the walls, Juk Sun's army glared at us but made no rash moves to attack.
Of course, their patience wouldn't last forever. Their hunger was reaching its peak.
Meanwhile, smoke rose steadily from atop our walls, just as it had every day.
The feast unfolding right under the noses of the starving enemy was the perfect entertainment—and a massive morale boost—for our troops.
At that moment, the northern gate of the fortress swung open, and the second supply convoy from the Empire rolled in.
"Commander! It's the regular supply unit from Kandoria!"
"Good work."
I checked the cargo manifest alongside the supply officer.
Pork, sausages, various sauces. And at the very bottom of the list, the item I'd been waiting for.
[Prototype: Chicken Tikka Masala (Refrigerated)]
"It's finally here."
Cloves and turmeric from Kalendil of the Black Moon Caravan, cayenne pepper, garlic. And chicken bones processed through the deboning machine. A new sauce-cum-stew, based on my tomato sauce blended into cream.
Turmeric alone released an incredible aroma, masking any wilted vegetables or subpar ingredients, while also boasting sterilizing properties and packed with nutrients.
Back in my school days in old Korea, curry showed up on the menu once a week. It was a sneaky way to get veggies into kids and use up produce past its prime. Nobody complained much.
But for folks who hadn't tried it before, it could be hit or miss.
Of course, I figured the odds of failure were slim. Still, shipping this prototype all the way to the southern front wasn't arbitrary—there was a clear reason.
'We can't rely solely on refrigerated transport forever.'
The refrigerated wagons were flawless, but they guzzled frost crystals and mana. We had to prepare for contingencies.
Spices like turmeric, cumin, and cayenne had potent preservative effects in their own right. Curry did too.
This was my new Plan B for supplying even the farthest outposts beyond refrigeration's reach.
And this sweltering, humid jungle was the perfect testing ground for such a bold sauce.
"Alright. We'll have this for dinner tonight."
.
.
.
Sunset came, and humid evening air blanketed the jungle.
The sizzle of meat on the wall-top griddles filled the air as always.
But tonight's menu brought something new: an exotic, overpowering fragrance that drowned out the roasting meat.
"Supply officer! Distribute the prototype! Make sure it goes evenly to the soldiers and the Lactari tribesfolk!"
"Yes, sir!"
Orange stew from massive pots began ladled onto soldiers' plates.
The rich scents of turmeric, cumin, and spices cut through the muggy air.
Days of tension and the jungle's oppressive heat and humidity had dulled everyone's appetites.
They took their food out of hunger, but their faces said even chewing bread felt like a chore.
"Whoa, this smells... intense."
One soldier sniffed the unfamiliar orange sauce warily.
"Come on, just eat it. You think the young master would serve us anything weird?"
A grizzled veteran who'd fought under my father in Valantia since the old days scolded him.
"Exactly. It's infused with the noble intentions the Saint wishes to impart to us!"
Even Saintess Lumiel chimed in, her gaze so pure it bordered on overwhelming.
Spurred by her encouragement, the wary soldier finally dunked a chunk of bread into the orange stew.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved it in his mouth.
And a moment later...
"…!"
His eyes flew open in awe.
He could see clearly now—even with eyes wide—that the intense, exotic aroma he'd feared would explode in his mouth.
Curry synergized violently with bread or rice alike.
"Th-this is…!"
The soldier couldn't finish his sentence.
The bold spices hit his tongue hard, but it wasn't unpleasant.
Instead, the creamy tomato sauce wrapped around them, unleashing a deep, savory umami explosion.
His weather-deadened palate roared back to life at this brain-jolting intensity.
He frantically swabbed his plate with the last of his bread.
"What, that good?"
"Gods, my tongue's tingling... but I can't stop!"
That cry was the signal.
The other hesitant soldiers dove in, dunking bread into the orange stew.
"Whoa! My appetite's back in a flash!"
"Even the soggy bread feels chewy now! What's in this sauce?!"
"Bet it'd go insane with that grilled pork from earlier."
Amid the frenzy, one soldier grilling sausages on the griddle plopped a plump, dripping link onto his plate.
He asked the mess cook to drown it in orange stew.
"Hey! Pour some of that on top!"
The cook obliged dubiously, birthing a perfect currywurst.
"Ooh!" The soldier sliced the well-done sausage, dunked it, and devoured.
"Insane! The pork fat's nuttiness with this spicy creaminess... my tongue's melting!"
Inspired, others skipped the bread, pouring stew over grilled meats and sausages.
The fortress turned into a full-blown festival.
I smiled contentedly at the peak morale when a minor commotion erupted in a corner of the wall.
An Imperial soldier stuck out his tongue, face scrunched. Before him, a little troll kid clutched his belly laughing.
A troll centurion assessed the situation, lightly flicked the kid's forehead, and bowed to me.
"My apologies, Holy One. Looks like the little one's prank with jungle fruit."
"No harm done."
I eyed the soldier.
"What happened?"
He rinsed his mouth, grimacing.
"Commander! The kid said it was tasty fruit, so I bit in... felt like my tongue got yanked out! Spiciest thing I've ever tasted!"
He pointed to a small, firm green fruit resembling an unripe orange.
"Lime…?"
"You know it? We call it kapir."
Trolls had their own name.
"Holy One, it's not for eating raw. Common fruit, but the sourness makes your teeth ache. In the jungle, we sprinkle it on raw fish to kill the fishiness, mix in water for drinks, or settle bad water."
I took the green fruit from the kid, sniffing its citrusy, sharp zing.
As the centurion explained, my mind filled with new visions.
'Lime... acidity... more sauces!'
In this muggy heat sapping appetites, lime could revitalize any dish like the curry had.
Sprinkle on greasy meats to cut richness, explode flavor in salad dressings.
Mix into fish sauce for Southeast Asian vibes.
Hell, use its acid to "cook" fish ceviche-style, no fire needed.
Endless potential in this green gem.
Then my thoughts expanded wildly.
'Why was I fixated on shipping finished sauces from Kandoria?'
I surveyed the bustling garrison inside the walls.
Lactari had Imperial mana purifiers pumping clean water.
The jungle brimmed with fresh ingredients unseen back home.
We had manpower, facilities—everything.
I let out a wry chuckle.
'Does it have to be Kandoria's massive workshop?'
Localization.
Instead of producing everything in Kandoria for shipment, make sauces here in the jungle heart, using local ingredients?
With southern trade routes expanding, it'd flood Argentis lands with specialties—perfect chance to prototype sauces now!
Being picked as expedition commander had irked me inwardly, but it was basically a beta tester golden ticket.
"Heh heh heh…"
I approached the kid, grinning uncontrollably.
"Kiddo, got any more of this fruit?"
"Huh? Uncle likes pranks too?"
.
.
.
Meanwhile, at the tree line below the walls.
The Raalak tribe's camp choked on the cruel aromas wafting from above.
This spicy, exotic, complex scent overwhelmed yesterday's meaty allure, tormenting hungry noses through the muggy night air.
Juk Sun and Agdra gnawed their last tough jerky in their tent, swallowing rage.
They had food left, but the rank-and-file didn't.
Their noses were numb to meat and garlic by now, but tonight's bouquet was another level.
Spicy, stimulating, multifaceted spices twisted their empty guts.
"Damn... what's the smell tonight…"
"Can't take it. Let's drink some water."
But swamp water just smelled of mud and worsened the ache.
At the camp's rearmost corner.
Malik endured his torn back's pain, slowly rising.
A faint whiff of dried meat leaked from the chieftains' tent.
'...Those bastards.'
Hatred flashed in Malik's eyes.
Juk Sun, Agdra, and their guards secretly hoarded emergency rations, devouring them away from the troops.
Chieftains preaching tradition and jungle law. But that law crushed the weak like Malik.
He recalled the scenes inside Lactari's walls.
Imperial soldiers, Lactari warriors, even refugees—all got equal shares from the same pots.
The savory, tangy white cream beyond the walls. Steamed fish melting in the mouth.
And the mercy of the saint who'd spared him.
But here in Raalak camp, chieftains chewed meat while soldiers starved.
Speak truth, get the whip.
Was this their tradition? Their pride?
He melted into shadows, seeking others worn by hunger and injustice.
Malik endured his torn back's pain, slowly rising.
With quiet steps, he approached a cluster at the camp's edge—coldest, dampest spots.
They got shoved into riskiest scouts, scantest rations.
As he neared, wary eyes pierced the dark. An old troll rasped.
"…Malik. Still alive? Lost your pride, took the whip too."
Malik pulled a dirt-caked grain brick from his bosom—the one he'd guarded through the lashing, scavenged below the walls.
"This is what they tossed as 'tasteless.'"
Hungry eyes locked on the sweet, honeyed aroma.
He crumbled and shared it, ignoring back pain, whispering.
"I've seen inside the walls."
His voice rasped with hunger and fury.
"No starvation there. Imperials, rock folk, even refugees—all ate the same food."
He nodded toward the chieftains' tent.
"Chieftains toss us rotten jerky scraps while they gorge on hidden meat inside."
A young troll ground his teeth in rage.
"…We know. You don't need to tell us."
Malik's eyes chilled as heads nodded.
"Juk Sun preaches jungle pride, but we get whips and starvation!"
"The wall's commander—the saint called Jonathan of Valantia—spared me, a spy. Fed me till full, sent me off with rations."
He stood, baring his pus-oozing, unhealed back.
"Who's the proud chieftain? The saint showing mercy to the hungry, or the tyrant whipping starving brothers?"
Heavy silence fell.
The eldest troll chewed his crumb, then rose decisively.
"I've followed jungle law fifty years. But ignoring starving young while they stuff themselves? That's no jungle law. The jungle feeds all plenty—why do some brothers starve while others bloat?"
He spat on the dirt.
"I'm going to the walls."
That sparked it.
"Me too!"
"Better stuff ourselves with the saint than starve here!"
"Sick of bleeding in their land-grab games!"
And so, from the very bottom, a new stirring began—from one scrawny troll.