Chapter 575: Middle-earth's New Utensil and Yuko's Happiness
Legolas swore he had never swallowed a spirit so violently potent. A fierce flush seized his fair features—whether from the sheer volume of the alcohol or the violent coughing fit that followed, it was hard to tell. Most likely, it was the choking.
He waved a hand, gasping for air. "No, no, keep that away from me. I will stick to wine. Proper elves should drink wine."
"Hah! A convenient excuse!" Gimli barked.
Aragorn watched the two of them bicker, offering no comment beyond a quiet, amused shake of his head. His attention drifted to the table setting. They had not yet been given proper utensils, but a pair of slender wooden sticks rested by his plate. He picked them up, turning them over in his calloused hands. Why supply so many wooden twigs for a single meal?
"Aragorn," Gandalf said, a knowing smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "What have you discovered?"
"This item... I sense it is meant for eating, though its mechanics elude me. Still, it promises a rather entertaining challenge."
Legolas picked up his own pair. As warriors of Middle-earth, they were accustomed to heavy iron knives, broad forks, or simply tearing into rations with their bare hands. These delicate wooden instruments left them entirely baffled.
"Exploring the unknown is a virtue," Gandalf remarked, his tone light. "But allowing a masterpiece to grow cold is a crime."
Abandoning the wooden sticks for a familiar fork, the old wizard bypassed the delicate soups and aimed straight for the Brazilian Barbecue. One might expect a venerable elder with a flowing white beard to favor the soft, easily digested Wensi Tofu Soup. Instead, Gandalf struck like a hungry hawk claiming its prey.
"Ho ho... this roast is a thing of beauty. Perfectly seared, yet the flesh yields with such tenderness. The aroma alone is intoxicating..."
Gandalf inspected the glistening chunk of meat for a brief second before placing it in his mouth. Instantly, his eyes widened. Recognizing that this was no ordinary tavern fare, Aragorn swiftly speared a piece for himself. A moment later, the ranger simply smiled, shaking his head in quiet defeat. "That same, unforgettable taste."
Legolas followed suit, proving once and for all that elves were more than capable of enjoying a hearty kill. As a race of woodland hunters, they were naturally omnivorous, though they usually avoided anything overly greasy or heavily spiced.
The moment the meat touched his tongue, the elf froze. "This... what creature provided this meat?" he murmured in sheer disbelief. "How can it be so exquisite...?"
Juice. The absolute soul of any roasted meat lay in its rich, savory drippings. Every bite had to deliver a rush of flavor that transcended the surface marinade. Ren had perfectly calculated the portions for these extraordinary guests, ensuring the cuts were thick enough to lock in the moisture while showcasing the smoky, primal char of the open flame.
The true satisfaction hit when their teeth sheared through the tender fibers, releasing a sudden, explosive flood of hot meat juices and aromatic spices across their palates.
Legolas had never encountered a roast of this caliber. The texture was immaculate—rich without a trace of cloying grease, carrying the deep, wood-fired essence of the grill. The seasoning was a masterclass in balance, elevating the natural sweetness of the meat rather than masking it.
This was roasted meat as it was always meant to be: pure, unadulterated pleasure.
A bite of hot meat, a swallow of cool wine, and the burdens of a war-torn world simply melted away. Any lingering shadows in their hearts were washed out by the sheer comfort of the meal, a fitting celebration for their recent victories.
"You speak the truth," Legolas said, a rare, relaxed smile gracing his lips. "I have never tasted a roast quite like this."
Gimli nodded vigorously, his mouth too full to offer a proper argument.
Just then, a fresh array of dishes arrived at a neighboring table, where Yakumo Yukari and Hakurei Reimu were seated. Reimu casually picked up her wooden sticks, immediately drawing the focused stares of the Middle-earth fellowship.
Watching her deft movements, the four warriors instinctively mirrored her grip. They were masters of the blade and bow; their hand-eye coordination was peerless. It took only a few seconds of observing the shrine maiden for the mechanics to click into place.
When Reimu effortlessly plucked a glazed sparerib from her plate, revelation washed over the group.
"An interesting method," Aragorn observed, his eyes gleaming with sudden understanding. "This entirely solves the dilemma of eating delicate dishes, like fish, where a heavy knife and fork would merely butcher the meat."
"The true brilliance lies in its accessibility," Legolas added, turning the chopsticks between his long fingers. "As long as you stand near a tree, you possess the means to eat with dignity. It spares you from greasing your hands in the wild. A highly practical survival tool."
"It also bypasses the need to cut everything into bite-sized pieces beforehand," Aragorn agreed. "A worthy utensil. One could easily carve these from fine wood, or even forge them from polished stone and metal for easier cleaning."
Gimli grunted in approval, finding the delicate balancing act surprisingly engaging. Eager to test their newly acquired skill, the group turned their collective gaze toward the centerpiece: the West Lake Vinegar Fish.
Aragorn slowly extended his chopsticks toward the steaming dish. Under the intense, watchful eyes of his companions, he pinched a tender flake of white meat. With a steady hand, he lifted it away, leaving the rest of the beautifully glazed fish completely intact.
"Unexpectedly effective," Aragorn chuckled, admiring his prize. "This allows an entire party to share a single fish without crossing knives or mashing it into an unrecognizable stew. Brilliant."
Gandalf and the others quickly followed suit, finding the wooden sticks remarkably intuitive. They felt like explorers charting a new continent, but that thrill of discovery was instantly eclipsed by the staggering flavor of the food itself.
Legolas was left utterly speechless. Elves consumed fish regularly, but he had never imagined it could be elevated to such a divine state. In his long life, fish had always been a simple affair—roasted over an open fire or boiled into a plain stew, seasoned with nothing more than coarse salt and wild herbs.
He had no idea what species this was, nor did he care. He only knew that the sweet, tangy glaze and the melt-in-the-mouth flesh were absolute perfection. After the rich intensity of the fish, the crisp, refreshing bite of the Green Papaya Salad and the savory, silken warmth of the Wensi Tofu Soup created a flawless culinary progression.
By the middle of the feast, Gandalf had entirely abandoned the dignified aura of the White Rider. Aragorn was the only one managing to retain a shred of noble composure. Even the elegant Legolas was caught in a frantic, joyous rhythm—chasing a mouthful of hot soup with a bite of roasted meat, a flake of glazed fish, a deep swallow of wine, and a crisp forkful of papaya salad to cleanse his palate.
It was a state of pure, unbridled indulgence. It was easy to see why the desires of the flesh and palate were so often categorized as sins.
In the midst of this chaotic joy, the rich, simmering pot of Burgundy Red Wine Stewed Beef sat completely ignored at the edge of the table. It was a simple matter of sequencing: the primal allure of the barbecue had captured them first, followed by the novelty of eating the vinegar fish with chopsticks. The papaya salad was necessary to cut the richness, and the tofu soup provided a soothing warmth. The classic beef stew, despite its excellence, was temporarily sidelined by their sheer excitement.
Meanwhile, in a completely different realm, a beautiful woman was humming a soft, cheerful tune as she tidied up a traditional Japanese room. Swirls of fragrant smoke drifted through the air.
As she packed her belongings, two peculiar little spirits floated past her, chanting in a strange, rhythmic cadence. "Yuko, Yuko! Warm water! Warm water!"
Ichihara Yuko merely smiled. She carefully gathered up an impressive hoard of premium toners, rich face creams, and various skincare bottles she had painstakingly saved up over a long period.
"It is finally done!" Yuko laughed, her voice carrying a rare, bright relief. "I can finally go home! I have hoarded these for so long, and now, the saving is over!"
"Yuko is so strange..." the spirits chimed.
"So strange, so strange!"
Yuko paid their teasing no mind. She turned her gaze to her precious, long-stemmed smoking pipe resting quietly on a low wooden table. She stared at it for a long, silent moment. Finally, her expression twisting into a look of deep, dramatic conflict, she snatched the pipe up and hugged it tightly against her chest.
"Should I take you with me...?" she whispered, stroking the smooth wood. "You cannot even speak to me... Oh, what a tragedy..."
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