The Return of the Iron-blood Sword Hound
chapter-46

Episode 46 The Husband Hunt (1)

“So this is what we’re supposed to do together?

Vikir looked down, frowning.

In front of him, the camel cupped his chin in his hands and grinned broadly.

In front of him now was a steaming pile of bread, potatoes, boiled meat, and vegetables.

“You need to eat to stay strong. Here, eat.”

Vikir pressed a hand to his forehead as the camouflage man practically shoved food at him.

They had been in the fort for over ten days now.

In that time, the camo had gotten over the grief of his brother’s death.

But the way he’d gotten over it was causing Vikir quite a headache, …… because he’d been coming to the door of his quarters every day, demanding to eat with him.

Six times a day!

“……What kind of meals do you eat six times a day?”

“It’s healthy to eat small and often.”

“I tend to binge eat one meal a day. Maybe I should skip the next meal.”

“Uh-huh. Don’t you know that starvation leads to loss of combat power? It’s against military law.”

“Then you’re not really eating.”

At Vikir’s point, the camo frowned and averted his gaze.

He shoves a bit of salad into his mouth and grunts.

“I get full just watching you eat.”

“…….”

Vikir chewed her meat and frowned.

He couldn’t figure out why a 15-year-old girl from another family he hadn’t seen in seven years was being so hard on him.

“Is she trying to arrange a marriage?

Before his regression, Camus had discussed strategic marriage with a number of prospects, but none of them had actually gotten married.

It would be troubling if he had chosen himself as a candidate for an arranged marriage.

“I’m leaving Baskerville.

If you leave, I will destroy you.

What has been your reward for doing all the dirty work in the house?

You must repay me for all the foul and disgusting sensations of that moment when you stood on the gallows waiting for Guillotine.

So it’s better not to get involved with Morg’s women.

The last thing I need is a scandal or a love triangle later on.

This was true not only of Camu, but of any woman in the world.

Unaware of Vikir’s thoughts, the camel still looks innocent and asks.

“Is there poop in the meat?”

“……?”

“You look like you chewed shit.”

Hearing the camel’s words, Vikir blinked a few times with a nonchalant expression before picking up his fork and eating again.

All the while, she never looked up.

Meanwhile.

Vikir’s cold demeanor was a breath of fresh air for Camu.

Usually, when she asks to join her for a meal, everyone is happy to oblige, men and women, young and old.

Especially men outside the clan, whose faces were already lit up with anticipation before they even sat down to eat.

It was only natural.

Camus was young, brilliant, beautiful, and a future ruler.

But Vikir’s 15 years of common sense and experience had been thoroughly discredited.

“I think we should eat separately from now on.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

Vikir said, slamming his fork down.

At that, Camu nodded as if he could agree.

He was right, the cafeteria where Vikir ate was almost exclusively filled with women.

Women receiving their meals, women serving them. Hardly a man in sight.

Camu chuckled.

“Alas, what can I say. Morg is a matriarchal society, so most of the fighters are women, and the men do most of the cooking in the kitchen back there.”

It’s not like the Baskervilles, an extreme macho society.

Just as males have a slight advantage when it comes to swordsmanship, females have a slight advantage when it comes to magic, so naturally Morg’s army is made up mostly of women.

Instead, the men are in charge of supply in the rear, a job that is actually just as important as combat.

“My uncle, who is in charge of supply, is currently ill with chest pains, so we don’t have many supplies. Eat up, though.”

Camu ignored Vikir’s offer to eat separately.

Instead, he scooped some boiled potatoes onto Vikir’s plate and slyly changed the subject.

“You don’t have this in your house, do you?”

The potatoes were the object of Camu’s shrug.

It was a super potato that had been modified by Morg’s plant-based magic, making it far more nutritious and faster to absorb than a normal potato.

The downside was that they were so nutritious that they lacked flavor.

Camou chewed on the fluffy potato and said.

“The only flaw in the nutritional improvement is the lack of taste, but it’s still better than the haggis you eat back home, right?”

Vikir looked away from the potato and picked up his fork.

Apparently, it’s hard to shoo away a camel that’s been looming over you for a while.

This was Morg’s territory, and she was in charge.

Vikir decided to go along with the camel’s change of subject for now.

“It’s not bad.”

“……?”

Camu repeated.

Vikir picked up Morg’s potatoes with a serious look on her face.

“They’re not bad. It’s just that you guys cook them badly.”

“Eh? I’m sorry, but the cook in this fortress used to be a chef in the Imperial City, and I have a picky palate, so he’s specially brought in. If it’s cooked by him and it doesn’t taste good, it’s not there.”

Vikir shook his head at that.

“Well, with the …… supply disruption, we’ll have to eat this for a while anyway.

Vikir picked up the potatoes, stood up, and headed to the kitchen.

Using a knife, Vikir cut the potatoes into small pieces and lightly rolled them in salt and vinegar.

Then, she added the dried leaves of the mentrake and the juice of the sabik tree to the pot with the potatoes and started steaming.

The chef in the kitchen saw Vikir and came over in surprise.

“Hey, what are you doing…….”

But the chef is interrupted by a camel that has just entered the kitchen.

“…….”

She’s watching Vikir’s handiwork closely.

Next, Vikir holds a lightly steamed potato in front of the chef.

“This will remove the earthy flavor and bring out the sugar, and the texture will be as crisp as a regular potato.”

The chefs in the kitchen let out a collective gasp.

“Wow, there’s a way to prepare these potatoes like this?”

“It’s amazing, it’s a new breed, how?”

“It’s true, it doesn’t have an earthy flavor, and the texture is just like a regular potato.”

The chefs immediately put Vikir’s simple recipe into practice.

The Morg warriors were also delighted with the change in flavor of the potatoes in their rations.

So did Staffordshire and the Highbrow, Middlebrow, and Lowbrow triplets who ate among the Morg.

“Master, how did you know how to eat those potatoes? Apparently the Morg didn’t either.”

Staffordshire asked, his eyes wide.

Vikir merely looks away, unable to answer.

For now, this Morg’s potatoes are new to the market.

In a few decades, it will be a battlefield staple.

In the Age of Doom, when all supplies were scarce, warriors in the war against demons developed ways to make their limited food supplies as palatable as possible during their countless days in the wilderness.

Mercenaries who had been through the wringer had learned to squeeze every last drop of flavor out of the simplest of ingredients, such as those who figured out how to take the astringency and earthy smell out of the potato.

Vikir, too, had been in many battles and was naturally familiar with many survivalist dishes.

Many of them were learned while being poisoned or maimed, and some of them were truly eye-opening delicacies.

Meanwhile.

“……!”

The camel’s eyes widened as he tasted the newly prepared potatoes.

“Hey. Do you want to come over and cook?”

“…….”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll just take you in.”

Vikir sighed lightly.

The camo still had a twinkle in her eye, though.

“Speaking of which, when do you get into the academy? I’ll match you. I’m probably getting an early entry by a year or two. It would be so much fun if we could be first years together…….”

Just then.

“……!”

The playful camel’s eyes immediately changed color.

She stops talking and closes her mouth.

And then.

“…….”

Vikir’s mouth fell open as well.

The air outside the window changed in an instant.

They both felt it at the same time. A sense of foreboding that the others hadn’t yet felt.

And then.

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

A loud bell began to ring outside the window.

It was the signal for a barbarian attack.