CHAPTER 26: CAKE LOGISTICS
The supply chain diagram covered half my prep table.
I'd sketched it during the night, unable to sleep, mapping the logistics of a problem that seemed simple on the surface: Milim wanted more cake, and I couldn't survive her aura long enough to make it in the guest wing kitchen.
The solution required a relay.
"You want me to deliver food to a Demon Lord," Gobta said, staring at the diagram like it might bite him.
"I want you to deliver food to the guest wing staff, who will present it to Lady Milim." I pointed at the relevant section of the diagram. "You don't have to be in the same room as her. Just the same building."
"The same building as the Destroyer."
"The same building as someone who really likes honey cake and will be very happy to receive more of it."
Gobta considered this.
"Will there be danger pay?"
"There will be first taste of every batch before delivery."
His expression shifted from hesitation to enthusiasm with the speed that only Gobta could manage.
"When do we start?"
The relay worked better than I'd hoped.
I cooked in my own kitchen—safe, stable, my FMK HUD running without interference from ambient Demon Lord radiation. Every two hours, Gobta sprinted from my door to the guest wing with fresh dishes, returning with empty plates and updates.
"She said the honey one was 'acceptable.'" Gobta reported after the first delivery.
"Acceptable is good?"
"Coming from her, I think acceptable means she didn't destroy anything while eating it."
The Standard-tier honey preparations kept Milim satisfied but not obsessed. Without the D-Grade royal jelly, I couldn't recreate the Honeycomb Tempest Cake's full impact. She ate what I sent. She didn't demand more with the same intensity.
That was probably for the best. The last thing I needed was a Demon Lord showing up at my kitchen personally to request dessert.
Milim's tour of Tempest lasted two days.
The Achievement Ticker went insane.
Every interaction she had with citizens, every building she visited (or accidentally damaged), every moment of "narrative significance" that occurred within range of my HAT subsystem—all of it generated proximity alerts that scrolled past faster than I could read.
[Achievement Nearby — Proximity: District]
[Achievement Nearby — Proximity: City]
[Achievement Nearby — Multiple Detected]
[Achievement Nearby — Proximity: Immediate]
The last one appeared when Milim flew over my kitchen's neighborhood, her aura brushing against my awareness like a passing thunderstorm.
I couldn't process any of it. The data flood was overwhelming, notifications stacking on top of notifications, the system trying to track every significant event in Tempest while a Demon Lord generated significance just by existing.
The settings menu appeared at the edge of my vision when I mentally reached for it.
[Notification Configuration]
[Mode: Standard (current)]
[Options: Verbose / Standard / Minimal / Critical Only]
I switched to Minimal.
The ticker quieted. The constant scroll of proximity alerts reduced to occasional pulses—only completed achievements, direct personal relevance, and critical warnings.
"Should have done this weeks ago. The noise was making me miss the signal."
The royal jelly ran out on day forty-eight.
I'd rationed it carefully, using the smallest effective amount in each batch, but D-Grade ingredients didn't stretch the way Standard supplies did. The bottle sat empty on my shelf, the FMK HUD tagging it with gentle finality.
[Insufficient quantity for recipe use.]
Without royal jelly, I couldn't make the Honeycomb Tempest Cake. The Standard-tier versions kept Milim fed but wouldn't generate the same system rewards, the same achievements, the same opportunities to build reputation with a Demon Lord.
I needed more D-Grade honey.
The eastern market had nothing. The vendors who'd sold me the original bottle didn't know where it came from—"Dwargon trade goods, probably"—and Dwargon itself was weeks of travel away.
The only reliable source of D-Grade honey was the Jura Forest deep-hives.
Monster territory.
Places where the creatures that hadn't evolved toward civilization still roamed, where a hobgoblin cook with CM at 297 and exactly zero combat skills would last approximately three minutes.
I closed the market research and stared at the empty bottle.
"There has to be another way. A trade connection. A gathering party I could commission. Something that doesn't require me to walk into a forest full of things that could eat me."
The answer came from an unexpected source.
"Found something strange in the eastern caves."
Kaido's voice carried the particular tone of someone reporting a minor oddity that might or might not be relevant.
I looked up from my prep work. The orc logistics chief had stopped by to discuss food-cache construction progress—our first cache was two weeks from completion—and the cave discovery was apparently an afterthought.
"Strange how?"
"Sealed hollow. The construction crews broke into it while excavating for foundation stone." He shrugged. "Full of crystallized amber resin. Smells like flowers. Nobody knows what it is."
Crystallized amber. Floral scent. Found in a cave system near the eastern district.
The FMK HUD flickered.
[Possible Ingredient Detection: Requires direct assessment]
"Show me," I said.
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