Iceworm Subjugation (3)
The problem in Antler Forest had been resolved, but the subjugation force's work was far from over. In a way, something even more important than slaying the monster still remained.
The Iceworm was massive enough to match several carriages lined up end to end. That was only the portion that had broken through to the surface; the rest buried underground was surely no smaller.
A true subjugation only ended once the aftermath was fully handled.
And so—
"The hunt wrapped up faster than expected."
"Fortunately the casualties weren't severe, Sir Zoric."
"Then it's time to clean up the site."
"Sir Zoric?"
"I'll give you two days."
"What?"
They were already dead on their feet, and now he wanted them to start work without even a moment's rest?
Even the fiercely loyal Felwinter soldiers were bound to grumble, and the hired hands would protest outright. Yet Zoric, the man who had summoned the force in the first place, had clearly anticipated exactly this. When the complaints arrived, he offered only a single sentence.
"Commission fees, bounties, and hazard pay—each raised by one and a half times."
"!!!"
Even the lowest-ranked rewards for this job had already been generous. A subjugation force assembled right before winter made that almost inevitable. And now he was offering more on top of that?
Even the loudest complainers transformed in an instant into dogs staring at a treat, ready to be worked like dogs if Zoric asked. The moment the throng of people swarmed the carcass, sweating freely despite the cold, dry air, the giant Iceworm was butchered down to its last scrap in no time at all.
"It looks different from what I imagined."
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I was expecting something more... bug-like."
Layer upon layer of deep-blue carapace covering the long body. Hook-like bristles jutting out. A four-part maw packed with serrated teeth, and a length that could stretch across several carriages end to end.
Rather than a giant insect, it felt more like a mutant eel marinated in radiation and bioweapons—the kind of thing that would show up as a boss in a game. There had been something similar in Pacific Rim, hadn't there?
"Kid. What are you trying to say? That it's disgusting?"
"Not really disgusting, just... never mind. Forget I said anything."
Karem shook his head vigorously. Catherine arched one eyebrow, clearly still puzzled. Of course she would be—anyone who only ever encountered the real thing would never understand no matter how much he explained. Was this how Mongolians felt when they called shrimp "sea cockroaches"?
He dropped the pointless train of thought and simply watched the Iceworm being butchered in real time. What had looked like a single shell turned out to be scale-like plates; once those were peeled away in thick sheets, people rushed in to score the exposed hide. Hooks were driven into the cuts, and several men used their own body weight to strip the skin free. It looked exactly like a whale-processing scene from a movie.
Sections already separated were being carved into massive chunks of pale meat while people ignored the blood soaking them. The flesh still carried a faint blush of life.
"Lady Atanita. What happens to the Iceworm now?"
"The organs can serve as magical catalysts. Bones, hide, and scales become building materials, equipment, and tools."
"Building materials? Well..."
Using monster parts for gear was familiar enough, but construction materials? Karem blinked, then quickly accepted it. The head alone was large enough to fill an entire cart, and the body length needed no further comment—of course it could be used in buildings.
"The head might even be mounted as a trophy."
"The head? Won't it spoil?"
"Kid. Think about the weather."
"Ah. Right."
Even with winter clothes and a fur cloak, the cold still bit deep—easily well below freezing. Nothing was going to spoil out here.
"And the meat is edible," Mary added, picking up where Catherine left off. Her face twisted as if an unpleasant memory had just resurfaced.
"Even if the subjugation force takes a share, the dogs and cats of Drywood will be eating meat until their bellies burst by the time spring arrives."
"No poison, I take it?"
"Correct. Even Deathworms, with a few specific exceptions, aren't particularly toxic as far as I know."
Fair enough. A creature this size that already spat that breath they'd seen at the camp—if it had poison on top of everything else, biology would be playing far too dirty.
"The venomous Deathworms are all the ones that live in swamps."
"Do those ones spit breath like this one?"
"Breath? Hmm." Catherine scratched her chin, thinking. "If you count spitting a boulder-sized glob of venom as a breath attack, then yes. I've lived a long time, but the Deathworms that actually use breath are rare enough to count on one hand."
"So not every Deathworm has a breath attack?"
"Of course not. There aren't many of them to begin with, and the ones old and strong enough to use breath are even fewer."
"And you not only blocked that breath head-on, you even counterattacked?"
Karem gave Catherine a flat, unimpressed stare.
"Are you sure you're a mage and not a dragon or something else in disguise?"
"If there'd been ten—no, even five mages—we could have defended just fine."
"But not counterattacked?"
"Obviously not."
Just then a smell brushed past Karem's nose. Not blood. Something else entirely. A sharp, serious fishiness riding the wind.
"Did anyone else just catch that fishy smell, or was it only me?"
"...Oh for heaven's sake."
"Mary?"
Mary's face crumpled harder than he had ever seen, as if she couldn't stand even thinking about it. Karem flinched. She hadn't looked like that even the first time she met him.
"You look like you know something."
"Junior Karem. Once you see it for yourself, you'll understand how I feel whether you want to or not."
"Huh?"
"The smell seems to be coming from the far side, conveniently enough."
Karem was still baffled, but he nodded and followed. The people who needed to hurry were the butchering crews under Zoric's command and the villagers, not the knights and hangers-on watching from a polite distance.
They circled the Iceworm's tail that had been hauled out by sheer manpower and started up toward the head. The moment the opposite side came into view, Karem's face twisted exactly like Mary's.
The scene wasn't radically different. People still worked like whalers processing a catch; knights with stronger stomachs watched from farther back; others carted away the byproducts. Only one new element had been added.
Bubble-bubble-bubble—
"All right, all right! There's plenty of it but not much time, so grab a bowl quick and get back to work!"
"Whoa, this stew's loaded with meat."
"Of course it is. Look at that giant hunk of meat sitting right next to us!"
"Ugh, it's freezing. A little liquor would make this perfect."
"Drink when we get back. When we get back."
Supply soldiers stirred several huge cauldrons boiling over campfires and ladled generous portions of solids and broth into the bowls held out by the colorful line of workers. Every time a ladle rose and the stew bubbled, thick white steam rose with it—carrying the exact same fishy reek as a midsummer fish market by the sea.
"...Mary?"
"What is it, Junior Karem?"
"What in the world is that atrocity?"
"Deathworms are edible monsters. Fresh meat just arrived and they're handing it out free, so of course everyone's diving in."
As if to prove her point, a mercenary who had been about to pass close by startled at the sight of Catherine, bowed politely, and hurried off. Karem caught a clear look at the bowl heaped with pure white meat.
"You're telling me people actually eat that? With that smell?"
"Junior Karem? Didn't you say you came from a serf village?"
Mary's tone dripped with the unspoken prejudice of Surely a place like that would have been even worse, not better.
"Well, that place never had the means to cook something like this. I mostly got grain porridge myself."
"Is that so?"
"And on the rare festival days we only ever saw whole roasted meat."
"I see."
"Not that I ever got to taste any."
It was a strange odor, different from an ordinary fish market. Yet the people were smiling as they ate their stew. Karem, who had been thoroughly unsettled, recovered his composure.
Right. Food should never be the target of prejudice. Plenty of foreigners couldn't handle kimchi that Koreans ate every day; even the king of fruits, durian, stank up entire rooms; and the infamous surströmming was still considered delicious by most people in its homeland.
Determined to smash his own bias, Karem lined up like a man possessed—or like the hungry workers themselves—and returned carrying a bowl of the fishy white Iceworm stew. Mary and Catherine watched with the air of spectators waiting to see how well he would manage.
Feeling the full weight of a brownie's and his employer's stares, Karem examined the contents. The cooked Iceworm meat looked oddly familiar—like poached white fish, with clear grain running through the flesh. The problem was that the supply soldiers clearly had nothing to do with real cooking; both the meat and the vegetables were cut in every size and shape imaginable, which irritated him more than it should have.
That's not what matters. As long as it tastes good, right?
Karem held his breath, speared a piece of meat, and tossed it into his mouth. As expected, it flaked along the grain. The flavor of the meat itself was decent enough, and the vegetables were, as predicted, undercooked.
And the smell...
The smell.
"Motherfucker!!!!!!!!"
"You were the one who insisted on eating it yourself. I warned you."
"Heh heh. He actually went and ate it."
The final fate of a man who had sought gourmet pleasure in the middle of nowhere with neither proper tools nor ingredients. Mary and Catherine laughed knowingly, as if they had expected nothing less.