The Bizarre Food Craze (2)

On the outskirts of El-Ladh, the ancestral forest of the elves, a crowd was busily rummaging through the damp moss beds beneath trees that soared as tall as skyscrapers.

"Ha! Got one!"

A man clad in armor let out a triumphant roar as he snatched something from the underbrush. Trapped in his gauntleted grip was a squirming, translucent green slime.

"Whoa."

"Already? Man, I'm jealous."

Slimes were classified as demonic beasts, but their numbers in the wild were sparse. The surrounding hunters watched the armored ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠man take a commemorative proof-shot with undisguised envy before redoubling their efforts, thoroughly combing through every inch of the mossy terrain. While a slime possessed potent acid capable of dissolving flesh, that hazard barely registered as a threat to these people.

"Dying is scary, but starving to death is worse."

Ever since the Great War, food supplies across the continent had plummeted. Everyone here had known the gnawing agony of famine; having hit rock bottom, their determination to secure a meal was deadly serious.

"I managed to buy ten cans of tuna!"

"Holy crap, are you insane?!"

"Hey! Name your price for one of those tuna cans!"

Naturally, matters were entirely different if one possessed the luck to purchase goods from the marketplace opened by the Head Mod. But snagging coveted commodities from an auction flooded by desperate survivors across the entire continent was nearly impossible. Instead, most people carried cheap, abundant packets of MSG against their chests, scouring the wilderness for any stray beast that could serve as ingredients.

"Lady Mersen, it is right over here."

"Hmph..."

Reports of the bizarre spectacle—hordes of outsiders invading the sacred elven woods just to dig up slimes—had finally reached the ears of Mersen, the most influential figure on the Elf Elder Council.

"How utterly repulsive," she sneered, her deep ocean-blue eyes scanning her surroundings. "To defile our pristine forest simply to cook monster meat."

The scenery on the perimeter of El-Ladh—a zone that should have been tranquil, serene, and perilous with prowling monsters—was completely unhinged.

"So, you are telling me these outsiders are hunting demonic beasts on our behalf?"

"Yes. Word is they are sweeping the outer perimeter, focusing primarily on eradicating slimes."

"And that is precisely the problem."

The elves had merely stood by and watched. Why? Because elves, having sustained themselves for centuries solely on morning dew and wild forest fruit, were abominable cooks. A tacit arrangement had formed: the elves granted the humans permission to farm resources in exchange for a cut of the finished dishes. Human knights in full plate armor trudged through the undergrowth, while young elves sat cross-legged before makeshift campfires, their pointed ears twitching in anticipation of a hot meal.

"Good grief."

Mersen sighed deeply, convinced that the younger generation was entirely rotten. Snapping open her system interface, she brought up the forum board to write a scathing denunciation.

Just as her finger hovered over the confirm button, Eliana, the Knight Commander assigned to escort her, approached holding a steaming wooden bowl.

"...Eliana? What is that?"

"They were handing out portions, so I procured some. Here—they call it spicy slime noodles, eyo."

"..."

Mersen narrowed her eyes in stern disapproval. This was what happened when a youngster was appointed Knight Commander: running off to beg for food from filthy outsiders.

I will summon her later and re-educate her properly, Mersen resolved. She also made a mental note to pry Eliana's forum handle out of her; every time Mersen brought it up in passing, the knight commander clamped her mouth shut, which only fueled Mersen's curiosity.

"You must eat it fresh off the fire, eyo. If you wait, the noodles lose their springiness and turn soggy, cutting the flavor in half."

"...Very well, if you insist."

This was not out of hunger, Mersen told herself. It was simply the grave duty of an elder, personally testing the reality of the situation to assess the threat.

Slurp.

Mersen drew a mouthful of slime noodles past her lips.

"Mmph?!"

In that singular instant, a brand new dimension of culinary existence detonated inside her palate.

The noodles possessed an exquisitely tender yet delightfully springy chew. Coated in a fiery, sweet-and-spicy glazed sauce, their depth was elevated to transcendent perfection by the mystical savory powder known as MSG, all finished with a crisp arrangement of fresh vegetables tailored specifically to elven tastes.

"This... this is made of slimes?"

"The humans refer to it as spicy chewy slime-myeon, eyo, though I am not entirely sure of the specifics."

"Hrmmm..."

Mersen's eyes narrowed to slits. Her tongue, slightly scorched by the addictively pungent heat, poked out for a split second before she violently plunged her chopsticks back into the bowl and shoveled in a massive bite.

"Haaahk!"

Spicy, sweet, salty, and endlessly savory—an unrelenting barrage of flavor beat Mersen's refined elven sensibilities into absolute submission. It was nothing short of culinary violence.

"Well? Is it palatable, eyo?"

Eliana's question finally snapped Mersen back to reality.

"Ahem! I-It is acceptable, I suppose... but it still leaves me gravely concerned."

She quietly retracted her earlier thought about it being barbaric. Nonetheless, Mersen could not bring herself to embrace this frenzy. In the history of the world, unbridled, gluttonous slaughter of demonic beasts had never once yielded a peaceful outcome.

"Kyaaaaahk!"

"?!"

And right on cue, her worst fears materialized into flesh and bone.

There was an old adage on Earth: too much of anything was poison. Global warming was the prime textbook example—the relentless, reckless exploitation of nature gradually stacking the deck until disaster came roaring back with interest.

Evidently, this other world was far less forgiving.

"Holy hell, that's insane."

Contrasting sharply with its clear, docile-looking eyes, the stag's frame towered larger than a two-story residential building. Even through a compressed image upload, its sheer presence made my jaw drop. This was fundamentally different from any ordinary monster hunt posted to the Hall of Fame.

If a juggernaut like that crashed into my warehouse, barricades and reinforced steel doors would be pulverized into kindling within seconds.

I blurted out the question purely on instinct. I needed reliable intel immediately if I wanted to prepare any sort of contingency plan.

Of course, it wouldn't be an anonymous forum if they gave me a straight answer. Seeing an entire comment section full of smug trolls dancing around the subject might have enraged anyone else, but I remained entirely unbothered.

"Who am I again? The gallery administrator. The Head Mod."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Wait, a Wave?"

My eyes narrowed at the ominous phrase. This time, I didn't even need to ask. I jumped over to the Hall of Fame search bar and entered the keyword across all titles and bodies. Instantly, countless historical threads flooded the screen.

Kelton Kingdom. It was a name I recognized well, but I didn't have to strain my memory to place it.

"Wait... that's here."

The royal crest prominently stamped across the supply crates scattered throughout this underground bunker belonged to none other than the fallen Kelton Kingdom. The place where I had transmigrated was the ruins of Kelton itself. The realm had fallen years ago, but until now, I had simply assumed it was destroyed during the Great War. I had no idea a subsequent Wave was the true culprit.

The scale was instantly clear. If a Wave was equivalent to a military company or battalion, the Great War had been a continental meat grinder where all of them struck simultaneously.

"Then isn't that thing terrifyingly dangerous?"

Among the newly surging posts on the board, clips of the rampaging stag tore through the screen. And it was no laughing matter: comments beneath the active threads were vanishing in real time.

"The Otherworld Destruction Gallery doesn't have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an 'account deletion' feature."

That meant only one thing: when a user's life was extinguished in reality, their registered member profile was wiped from existence alongside them.

My previously casual, relaxed mood vanished, replaced by cold urgency. If there were no gallery members left, the gallery ceased to exist.

"And worse, this isn't just someone else's problem."

If the survivors fighting on the surface were wiped out, the monsters would inevitably sniff out those hiding beneath the earth. If that behemoth breached my sanctuary, I wouldn't last five seconds.

"I'm pretty sure the system shop sells all kinds of modern hardware..."

Until now, I had focused exclusively on stocking groceries and food rations in the marketplace to keep survivors fed. But the situation had drastically shifted. For the first time, I navigated away from the groceries tab and clicked into the weapons, armor, and industrial supplies categories.

"What should I buy? Screw it, should I just buy out the whole arsenal?"

My accumulated Moderator Points had long since surged past a hundred thousand. But just as I was debating what ordnance would be most effective against that demonic beast, a fresh Hall of Fame post landed at the top of the feed.

"Ah."

While I had been hesitating over the shop screen, a woman paralyzed with terror had been gored straight through the chest. My blood ran cold. Nausea twisted my gut, and I reached out to close the video feed. But right at that very second, the live comments began spiraling into absolute chaos.

On the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠screen, the woman who had undeniably suffered a fatal impalement was slowly rising to her feet. Blood dripped steadily from her lips as her eyes burned with an unhinged, predatory madness, staring down at the colossal beast with an insatiable, drooling hunger.