Chapter 511: The Food Culture of the Elves
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
With a creak, the door to the captain’s quarters of the Vanished swung open, revealing Duncan’s imposing figure as he confidently entered the room. The room was simply furnished, with the only unique piece being Goathead, a peculiar wooden entity responsible for navigation. As Duncan entered, Goathead’s carved features creaked as it swiveled its head to meet his gaze.
“Duncan Abnomar, responding preemptively,” Duncan declared, asserting his presence before Goathead could speak. He then walked to a corner where a liquor cabinet was neatly tucked away, extracted a small glass, and poured himself a measure of potent spirit. With a single, smooth motion, he tossed it back, the fiery liquid searing his nerves yet providing a calming effect. Exhaling slowly, he felt a slight easing of his intense demeanor.
Mood somewhat mollified, Duncan moved to a nautical map sprawled across a table, his gaze tracing the route that meandered towards the south. Goathead maintained its silent vigil, its head slowly following Duncan’s movements, attentive to every motion on the ship. After a considerable period of silence, Goathead eventually addressed the tension hanging in the air.
“Captain, I perceive a heaviness in your mood. Perhaps some humor would lighten the atmosphere? I have an arsenal of jokes influenced by elven humor. Despite popular belief that elves are a stern race, they indeed harbor a distinct sense of humor,” it suggested hesitantly.
Though not in the mood for jesting, Duncan responded dismissively with a wave of his hand. He understood that Goathead’s intention was to cheer him up but chose to remain silent, sinking into a nearby chair.
Engrossed in the intricate web of lines and navigational markers on the map, Duncan’s mind wandered. He had been seeking answers in his apartment with no success. His computer, now in a peculiar state of non-response, offered no assistance, behaving as if the images of the lunar landscape that had previously appeared were figments of his imagination.
Despite the lack of answers, Duncan sensed he had stumbled onto something significant. The representation of the moon from his homeland in this distorted, alien world suggested that the two seemingly disparate worlds were not as distinct as he had initially assumed.
Alone with his secrets and theories, Duncan had no one to comprehend or analyze the matter with him. This included Alice, who placed her unconditional trust in him, and Goathead, his supposed most loyal companion.
With a soft sigh, Duncan raised his eyes from the map to find Goathead still quietly observing him. Its obsidian eyes were deep, dark abysses, shimmering with an impenetrable shadow.
“Captain, your first mate is always at your service,” Goathead declared solemnly. “I understand your sentiments,” Duncan responded with a gentle shake of his head, “but there are issues you can’t necessarily assist me with.” His stern demeanor softened slightly at Goathead’s earnestness. “Your intentions are commendable. Let’s shift our discussion towards our upcoming voyage. We’re setting a course for the southern elven city-states. What can you tell me about the elves?”
Eager to respond, Goathead began, “My memory of them is quite vivid. My interaction with them has been minimal, but I recall their exceptional aptitude in mathematics and mechanics. They possess a distinctive historical heritage and adhere to peculiar beliefs and customs. Yet, aside from these, their appreciation for gourmet cuisine is renowned.”
Duncan’s brows furrowed, sensing a deeper meaning in Goathead’s statement.
“The elves’ taste preferences are notably distinct from other races, leading them to adapt foreign dishes to their specific palate,” Goathead explained. “That’s why I intended to forewarn Miss Nina about the sweet pancakes of Wind Harbor. Wind Harbor is known for unique cuisines from various city-states, but the elves modify these dishes to suit their tastes. Elves often fill sweet pancakes with chili and pungent, fermented cheese, crafting a flavor that is nothing short of a gastronomic shock. While I appreciate their creative approach, I don’t find it much more appealing than honey-glazed pig intestines or a tart and spicy sheep eye pie.”
Duncan sighed, “It seems Nina is in for quite a surprise during our upcoming southern expedition.”
Meanwhile, Lucretia found herself in the study of Taran El, a renowned elven scholar. She watched as he rapidly sifted through a mountain of materials while nonchalantly munching on egg rolls. The potent aroma of the egg rolls taunted her senses. This traditional elven fast-food delicacy comprised pancakes, eggs, fermented cheese, and a peculiar fungus known as black finger mushroom. Its fried flavor was reminiscent of severely rotten wood, both in taste and smell. For Lucretia, the processed black finger mushroom had an unappetizing texture and odor, not unlike a moldy, old rag.
To the casual observer, this concoction was far from a culinary delight, but to Master Taran El, it was a favorite. Not merely because it catered to his elven palate, but also due to its convenience and ease of consumption.
Being a scholar of Taran El’s caliber meant he could polish off a meal in mere minutes, content with the basic sustenance it provided. The time saved was invaluable, allowing him to continue his ceaseless pursuit of knowledge.
“Eureka, I knew it was here,” Taran El mumbled, his mouth stuffed with the last morsel of his egg roll. As he attempted to swallow and speak simultaneously, he pulled out a bundle of papers from the dangerously swaying stack. The pile tottered precariously but somehow regained its balance.
“Here it is, Miss Lucretia, the documents pertaining to the ancient kingdom of Crete and the anomalies you inquired about. Had you approached me yesterday, I could have fetched it instantly before it was engulfed by this mountain of paperwork.”
Lucretia accepted the documents, her gaze shifting to the elf scholar. Taran El was in the prime of elven adulthood, just entering middle age. With a bit of grooming, he could be an enchanting academic, bewitching countless admirers. Unfortunately, his excessive work habits and disregard for sleep deprived him of such allure. Most often, he was portrayed with profound eye bags, dark circles, and messy hair that shed persistently. Once a vibrant blond, his hair now resembled yellow straw, and his complexion was notably pallid.
More than once, Lucretia feared the esteemed scholar might collapse before her eyes. But miraculously, or rather inexplicably, Taran El managed to keep going.
“I strongly urge you to prioritize your health and adopt a balanced lifestyle,” the Sea Witch advised, flipping through the documents. “Even if your motivation is merely to extend your lifespan for research, you should heed your body’s needs.”
“I do take care,” Taran El retorted, quickly amending his statement. “What I mean is, I am doing more so than before. But supernatural times call for supernatural measures, Miss Lucretia. You of all people should comprehend the implications of the fragments falling from Vision 001 for the civilized world. We are duty-bound to decipher its mystery, and the sooner we do so, the better.”
“However, we seem to be stuck at an impasse. Unless we stumble upon a fresh breakthrough, your sleep-deprivation habit seems pointless,” Lucretia suggested, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Unless we locate a survivor from the ancient kingdom of Crete or uncover a book explaining the creation of the anomaly, I propose you take a few days off.”
Taran El waved his hand dismissively, a hint of irritation flitting across his face. He seemed eager to contest her claim but couldn’t formulate a counter-argument. After a few seconds of frustrated silence, a glimmer of thought appeared in his eyes. He looked at her, a trace of hesitancy in his voice, “Miss Lucretia, I understand your father is on his way here. Apparently, he’s interested in the fallen object.”
“Indeed… he got wind of the extraterrestrial object and set out immediately, taking this matter very seriously,” Lucretia replied, her expression somewhat uncomfortable. “I was unprepared for this. In fact, I still haven’t fully reconciled with the idea. But why do you bring this up?”
“Your father’s immediate reaction to the fallen object indicates his awareness of something. Miss Lucretia, don’t you think…”
“He could be the breakthrough we need. Perhaps he knows what the glowing sphere at the core of the light is, or maybe he has insights into the specific link between the ancient kingdom of Crete and Vision 001, or even-”
“Master Taran El,” Lucretia interjected, “I believe there may be a miscommunication here.”
“My father is a distinguished explorer. His interest lies in the peculiar object itself… And let’s not forget, he has endured a century in subspace.”
“Even my brother and I tread carefully when dealing with our father, but your current outlook seems overly optimistic and audacious.”
Taran El chuckled, “Ah… so, in your opinion, which behavior poses a greater risk of death? An unhealthy lifestyle or a bold interaction with your father?”
Lucretia’s eyes noticeably twitched, her mouth opening as if to respond. However, her words were interrupted by a sudden commotion and cries of alarm from outside the window. “The sun, the sun has been extinguished!”
Damn
Server error?
I mean in the story world, haha.
LOL. Could be.
Maybe Crete was the old world where Zhou Ming came from. Just a guess.
It ran out of light to reflect