While Igris and his team worked feverishly within the sweltering heat of the kitchen, an entirely different wind of entertainment was blowing through the courtyard where the Thorin Oakenshield company had set up camp. Matheld, fully armored, holding her shield in one hand and her heavy Nordic axe in the other, stood with the resolute posture of a warrior on a battlefield. Right in the middle of the courtyard, she shot a challenging glare at the half-bald, stocky, yet rock-hard dwarf standing opposite her. Dwalin, gripping his massive axe with both hands, observed Matheld with sharp, calculating eyes, measuring his opponent. The two warriors began to circle each other, probing for a weak point. Matheld raised her shield slightly, locking her eyes onto the dwarf; Dwalin, too, had focused all his attention on the woman's every move.
The dwarves and other warriors gathered around the duo watched this clash with bated breath. Bofur, who had set up a table just beside the crowd, sat comfortably in his chair, collecting the bets flying through the air. The dwarves were tossing their coin onto the table with their usual insatiable appetite.
"20 silver on Dwalin!"
"30 silver on Matheld!"
"22 silver on Dwalin!"
"14 silver on Matheld!"
As the clamor of betting echoed through the courtyard, Zoltan stood beside Kargan and Ciri, observing the tension on the field, and spoke.
"Who do you think will win?"
Kargan scanned the field for a brief moment before answering bluntly.
"Dwalin."
Ciri, however, noticed a strange, indescribable feeling rising within her as she watched the fighters.
"I'm not so sure."
Zoltan turned to this young woman beside him with curiosity.
"What do you mean?"
Ciri fell silent for a moment. Trusting her instincts, she summoned her newly acquired powers. The whites of her eyes darkened as her irises narrowed into vertical feline slits, and thin, black veins spread from the corners of her eyes toward her temples. When she looked at Matheld, she saw a very faint golden glow rippling around the woman. She squinted, trying to decipher this energy, then released her power and returned to normal. She spoke in a calm yet deep voice.
"That woman is not normal."
While Zoltan raised his eyebrows in astonishment, Kargan stepped closer to them, his curiosity piqued. Zoltan asked,
"What do you mean?"
Ciri was looking at the field with furrowed brows and a thoughtful expression.
"I'm not sure... There is something in her blood... Her body is far stronger than that of normal humans... I don't know, I've only just begun to use this power."
Kargan asked in a measured tone that betrayed no emotion.
"So the woman isn't human?"
Ciri slowly shook her head.
"No, she is human, but it's as if she has approached the very peak of humanity... That clown must have done something to her, just like he did to me."
Zoltan looked at Ciri, then at Matheld circling on the field. His mind was muddled; he couldn't decide who to put his money on.
"Who should I bet on?"
Kargan responded to his friend's greed with a soft sigh.
"Let it go, Zoltan. Gambling is no good. It would be better if you didn't play."
Zoltan looked at his old friend and let out a hearty, booming laugh.
"You might have made a promise to your wife and quit gambling, my dear friend! But I haven't! I am going to experience one of the dwarves' most indispensable entertainments to the fullest! HAHAHAHA!"
As Zoltan's booming laugh echoed across the courtyard, Kargan and Ciri sighed in unison and ignored him.
"Hopeless case..."
Right at that moment, Matheld initiated the match, lunging forward at full speed. Using her shield like a battering ram, she aimed to crash straight into Dwalin. However, the experienced dwarf had already anticipated this; he waited until the exact right moment and dodged to the side with a nimble sidestep at the very last second. Matheld, rushing past him, did not lose her footing; she swiftly twisted her torso and raised her shield, perfectly blocking a sudden strike Dwalin made toward her exposed flank with the shaft of his axe.
CLACK!
Though Matheld was momentarily dazed by the sheer weight of the blow, she maintained her focus. She shoved Dwalin hard with her shield and quickly created some distance. Dwalin was slightly jolted but didn't lose his balance, standing as sturdy as a rock where he was. Matheld dashed forward again, swinging her axe in a brutal vertical arc. Dwalin evaded the strike by lightly slipping to the side; as the axe sailed past him, he surged forward and charged at Matheld with a heavy shoulder tackle. Matheld instantly raised her shield, and they collided.
THUD!
The impact forced Matheld to slide back about two inches, a sharp ache shooting through her arms. But Dwalin had no intention of letting up; he swung his giant axe horizontally at the woman. Matheld parried the attack.
THUD!
As Matheld dug her heels in to resist the jarring force, Dwalin skillfully hooked the sharp edge of his axe onto the rim of her shield and yanked it sideways with all his might. Caught off guard by this unexpected maneuver, Matheld lost her balance and left herself wide open. Dwalin didn't miss the opportunity; forsaking his axe for a split second, he delivered a brutal punch straight into the woman's ribs.
SMACK!
"GAH!"
The woman staggered, her breath knocked out of her by the blow, but she quickly recovered and pulled back. As she retreated, she swung the edge of her shield viciously toward Dwalin's head in retaliation. The bald dwarf used the shaft of his axe as a barrier, effortlessly stopping the shield, and spoke.
"You fight too fiercely. Your moves are too obvious."
The moment he finished speaking, he forcefully pushed the woman away. Although Matheld stumbled, she quickly planted her feet firmly on the dirt and refocused on Dwalin. While their sparring continued with ferocity, Gilan, standing on the sidelines, observed the situation carefully and nodded.
"She has a character and fighting style very similar to the Skandians."
Halt nodded in agreement.
"Absolutely, this shows she has a purely stubborn, vindictive, and arrogant personality."
Gilan asked curiously,
"Who do you think will win?"
After a brief assessment, Halt replied.
"The dwarf."
"I think so too. The gap in experience is far too vast."
While the noisy entertainment of the Oakenshield company carried on in the courtyard, in the peaceful yet busy atmosphere of the kitchen, Igris was pulling his first pizza out of the stone oven. The mouth-watering aroma of the steaming cheese and exquisite sauce atop the golden crust filled the kitchen, whetting their appetites. As the elves and Bilbo approached with curiosity, Igris cut the pizza into five equal slices with a sharp knife. When he picked up a slice and lifted it, the mozzarella cheese stretched for meters, leaving the onlookers in absolute awe. Igris cut the stretching cheese with his knife, took his first bite, and evaluated the taste.
'Hmm... It's not like Mr. Danilo's pizza... But it's not bad given the current conditions... In fact, it's close to being called delicious...'
He continued to ponder as he took another bite.
'Still... I'm not a pizza guy... It tastes good, but it lacks meat; if only there was some spicy sujuk on this... Now that would be a feast of flavors...'
Shaking off his thoughts, he turned to the quartet who were staring at him in sheer admiration.
"What are you waiting for? Eat."
Given the permission, the four of them descended upon the remaining slices, while Igris drifted into the past.
'I've eaten pizza with corn, mushrooms, and sujuk since I was a kid, but I didn't have an authentic Italian pizza until I was around 18... Every time I eat the original, it feels like something is missing... Would Italians chase me with pitchforks for this? I don't know...'
Then he chuckled, a memory surfacing in his mind.
'Ah... I just remembered the good times I had with Lorenzo...'
--- Flashback ---
"Speak up, Lorenzo! Did you eat my pie?!"
In the living room of a house in the modern world, Igris—or Bozkurt, as he was known back then—glared furiously at his friend, whom he had tied tightly to a chair. The bound young man spoke English with a thick Italian accent.
"I didn't eat it, amico mio! This is not cool at all."
Igris narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"But you know who ate it, don't you?"
Hearing this, Lorenzo reflexively averted his eyes and spoke in a timid voice.
"I don't know..."
Igris's scowl deepened.
"Is this person also the same one who crashed my laptop?"
A thin drop of sweat trickled down Lorenzo's forehead.
"I don't know."
Igris's gaze grew even harsher.
"And is this also the person who spilled cherry juice all over my country's national team jersey?"
Lorenzo was sweating profusely now; he remained utterly silent.
"..."
Igris let out a deep sigh and spoke in a pained tone.
"You forced me to do this, my friend."
Lorenzo looked at Igris in bewilderment.
"What are you going to do, Bozkurt?"
Without saying a word, Igris walked behind his friend, lifted the chair he was tied to into the air, and began carrying him into the kitchen. A great sense of dread bloomed in Lorenzo's heart.
"What are you doing?!"
Igris set him down by the kitchen table, turned down the heat under the boiling water on the stove, and spoke with a slight smile.
"I'm making spaghetti tonight."
Hearing this, Lorenzo felt no joy whatsoever. Igris took a handful of spaghetti from the packet and looked at Lorenzo.
"Are you still not going to answer my question?"
Lorenzo maintained his resolve by staying silent. Igris shrugged, snapped the spaghetti in his hand right in the middle with a loud crack, and tossed it into the boiling water.
SNAP!
Seeing this, Lorenzo was so appalled it was as if something inside him had broken, and he yelled in fury.
"Ma che cazzo fai?!"
(What the hell are you doing?!)
Ignoring him completely, Igris grabbed more spaghetti, snapped it again, and threw it into the water. Lorenzo's fury was growing exponentially.
"Nooo! Ma sei pazzo!?"
(Nooo! Are you crazy!?)
This time, Igris took an even larger handful of spaghetti and looked straight into Lorenzo's eyes.
"Are you talking or not?"
Lorenzo, now taking this incredibly personally, shouted with immense stubbornness.
"NEVER, NOT AFTER THIS!"
Seeing his friend's unshakable resolve, Igris let out a deep sigh, but this time he dropped the spaghetti into the water without breaking it.
"You asked for this, my friend."
Lorenzo's feeling of impending doom deepened even further. From under the counter, Igris pulled out a magnificent pizza box, the work of an Italian chef, and placed it on the table. When he opened the box, Lorenzo's heart began to pound frantically at the sight of the steaming pizza.
Thump!
Thump!
As sweat poured down Lorenzo's face, Igris slammed a tin can onto the table. Seeing the can, Lorenzo was filled with sheer horror.
"Sacrilegio!"
Igris slowly pushed the canned pineapple toward Lorenzo, threatening him.
"Look, the person or persons you're protecting didn't just eat my pie; they also caused the deletion of all my data and game progress saved on my laptop! 5 years of hardcore Minecraft was in those saves, and as if that wasn't enough, they spilled cherry juice on the jersey bearing my country's flag, man!"
He stepped right up to Lorenzo, nose to nose.
"Either you tell me the culprit or culprits, or I swear to you, I will look you dead in the eye and eat an Italian pizza with pineapple! Even though I hate pineapple, damn it!"
Seeing Igris's determination and the crazed, ruthless gleam in his eyes, Lorenzo screamed in defeat and anger.
"IWAN AND JAMES DID IT! JUST DON'T PUT THAT DISGUSTING THING ON MY PIZZA!"
Hearing this, Igris's anger surged anew as he hastily untied Lorenzo. The moment Lorenzo was free, he snatched the canned pineapple, hurled it away, and pulled the pizza toward himself to protect it, glaring furiously at Igris.
"Mostro senza cuore! Mi vendicherò!"
Igris merely nodded with a cold expression.
"Come at me whenever you want, my friend."
Just then, the front door opened, and cheerful voices drifted in from outside.
"We're back!"
Hearing this, Igris headed for the door with a fierce, terrifying smirk on his face.
"But first, I will exact my own revenge!"
Igris sprinted out of the kitchen door and roared furiously.
"YAVUZ, GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
The trio was stunned by the voice, and Yavuz immediately stepped aside. Igris stepped on the couch and launched himself through the air at the two bewildered friends.
"IWAN! JAMES! I'M GONNA @@£$@£# YOU UP NOW!"
SMACK!
BAM!
ARGH!
"@@#$½$#@! LORENZO, YOU TRAITOR!" X2
---End of Flashback---
Finishing his reminiscence of the past, Igris sighed.
'Ah... those were the good days...'
As Igris pondered these things, he was snapped back to reality by Bilbo's voice.
"This is delicious!"
Hearing Bilbo's appetite-filled voice, Igris looked at him. Seeing the hobbit devouring the pizza with great delight, he nodded in satisfaction.
'At least they like it...'
Seeing that the elves were also thoroughly enjoying it, his mind was fully at ease. Nimreath, captivated by the rich flavor of the pizza, turned to Igris and asked.
"How did you make this cheese? If you don't mind, could you tell me?"
Igris paused for a moment and wracked his brain.
'Man, how was mozzarella cheese made again?'
Unable to remember, he decided to cut the topic short and shrugged indifferently.
"I don't know, I received the cheese as a gift. It came through a friend. I don't know how it's made or who it came from."
Although the elves were slightly disappointed by this answer, they accepted the situation and nodded. Seeing their subtle dismay, Igris extended an olive branch.
"If I manage to get my hands on the recipe, I'll send it to you."
Caelthir smiled with sincere gratitude at this promise.
"We would be deeply grateful if you did."
Igris spoke up to raise the tempo in the kitchen once more.
"Alright, please, let's focus on our work. Help me out so I can feed my crew."
The trio finished their pizzas and immediately got back to work. Igris was just finishing his own slice when he noticed a shadow darting swiftly past the slightly ajar kitchen door. That small head, visible for only a split second, vanished instantly. Igris's eyebrow twitched involuntarily.
'I was trying to stay away from that kid...'
He tried to ignore it, but nothing escaped Bilbo's sharp eyes. Bilbo called out toward the door.
"Estel! Why are you hiding out there?"
Moving over to the oven, Igris groaned inwardly and froze.
'Bad timing, Bilbo!'
When he glanced sideways at the Elves, he saw that they weren't surprised at all; they had known Estel was there from the very beginning.
'Hmph! With their long lifespans, whether they're a cook or a scavenger, they're all skilled...'
At that moment, the door slowly creaked open, and ten-year-old Estel stepped inside with hesitant steps. Bilbo looked at him curiously.
"Why aren't you with your mother?"
Estel scratched the back of his neck and replied bashfully.
"They are talking about boring stuff with the women..."
Bilbo chuckled and continued.
"But the people out in the courtyard aren't doing boring things."
Estel nodded.
"Yeah... Dwalin and the new woman were fighting..."
Bilbo blinked and asked.
"Then why are you here?"
Estel was just about to answer whena rumbling sound echoed in the quiet kitchen.
GRRRR...
Everyone in the kitchen paused and looked at the little boy. Estel held his stomach in embarrassment. Caelthir chuckled at this endearing sight and offered gracefully.
"Lord Estel, if you are hungry, let me give you something to eat."
Estel looked at the Elf with shy gratitude.
"Master Caelthir, I would be very glad."
Hearing this title, Igris turned to Caelthir in complete astonishment.
"Master? What is your position in Rivendell?"
Caelthir replied to Igris's surprise with a gentle smile.
"It's nothing that important. I am one of the two master alchemists of Rivendell, the other being my twin brother."