The God of Cookery

by havok038

"Food is the medicine of the soul". Hitoshi Furuta tried hard to distance himself from the echoes of a violent past. But when a kindred spirit beyond the Gate yearns salvation, can he let go of his own grudges, to fight in order to save her wrongfully condemned soul? If so, who would save his? A saga on a man that became the God of Cookery to save two worlds of just one person.

39. Chapter 38 - Son of Velduar (teaser)

Author's Notes:

*This is only a teaser chapter and only part one of two.

---

The risk was always present, that what he trained for would never come to fruition.

But that was a road that the clan was willing to tread, no matter how soaked with blood it was. He had survived the ordeal of hundreds of training regimes and strengthening trials to prove his worth as a Bushi, a leader of the clan. Even so, there remained the initiation, the last rite of passage was never about will alone nor physical prowess.

But whether their young bodies would be compatible to the viscous agent injected into them and the after-effects that would continue to remain for the rest of their lives. A breakthrough that went beyond the boundaries of regulated science and technology, fused with an archaic spiritualism of all things. The Rashamon Society of Orochi scientists had conceived this game changer to bring about the resurrection of the Imperial Clan. And nothing less. For though many opponents fielded many a powerful weapons or technological superiority, what was war if not waged by the hand that wields them?

He couldn't forget the two hundred individual young faces who he trained alongside, and the two-thirds that never returned. He remembered entering a dark place from a white room and being told to memorize its surroundings, for this was to be the image of a clear mind.

And then, he heard their whispers.

Individually, soft as the breeze. But together, a howling maelstrom. They argued at who should reside within him and who was most suitable to guide his hands. One by one he felt their cold touch grasp his right forearm and branded their will. Flooding him with memories of ancient battles and the techniques established upon the core of their beliefs.

He felt another emotion that they all seemed to share in common, a joy through violence. Should he too?

The instant his eyes opened, there was no one within the dark room but him alone and yet there wasn't. As it should have been, however, they would return when another following him entered the room. Of this he knew.

His ceremony was complete, a child had gone in and a Bushi had successfully emerged.

Bestowed with a cold aura and an ever-present clarity to the mind that held no worry nor anxiety, not even fear of one's own death. Something within him had been lost, but no matter the state of his mind, he couldn't remember what it was.

It was his belief in the years to come that the moment he walked out from that ancient place, a warrior was born from the blood of the child that went in, and its host was gone. He could no longer step back on his roots or adolescent spirited thoughts, it was irreversible. Those that did would never emerge from that dark place from within, as he had been told by his elders. Devoured by the very spiritual entities that inhabited that sacred ground. One day… he would be among them.

So he had that hallowed ground torched.

So that no more souls would be fed to its chasms. But he would never be free of the phantoms who were already fused to his soul. Much had occupied his mind once again since Tsushima.

With the help of a 'additional' phantom, he had succeeded in sealing away these things that made him different from a proper human being, almost. An invisible war that had relevance to him alone. He prepared immaterial coffins befitting the internment of incorporeal things within the imitation of that dark place that was the deepest corners of his mind. They should have stayed there until he parted his mortal coil and they with him, instead he let them out.

One final act of vengeance against not just the Demon of Amarel, or the Human Hegemony of this world but upon the hubris of Japan. The phantoms gave him their deadly arts, a steeled heart and unfathomable techniques, awakening the warrior spirit bred within him for that final display of might upon his foe. Tsuchigumo, the envoy creature of Amarel. And after it was gone, all would know his wrath.

Only, it was not meant to be his time then. His victory in battle was a turning point in his disfavour for the internal war waged.

Releasing the spiritual prisoners had opened him once more to their torment and greater savage urges, his old urges. They preyed on his despair and human weakness, to possess all this strength of will and muscle matched with intellect. All worthless to prevent the deaths of those he held most dear and would. The lonely chef had few friends, few good friends, and they were now risking their lives at his intent. Against opponents that even he would think twice about engaging head on himself. However, this was not out of the lack of options available to him, if he was so desperate, he would have left everything behind and turn tail with them.

As he had learnt long ago, a man is only as strong as his mind, of which he ironically was not. This was one thing that both his brother and Orochi shared common belief in. If his body is willing but not the mind, then hope is loss. That is why he never lost but never won either. Takeo, Parna, Arpeggio and Kugel… Each of them was capable of things that they would never even fathom when they believed they could. Unlike him, each had an incredible destiny that awaited them, they just didn't know it yet. Even those as mundane and modest as Kir could change those around them. The latter was a legendary commander forgotten by the Empire.

Takeo stood to be someone more than what no one expected anything of, because a man with such a big heart couldn't possibly lose it. Of this, he was sure of it.

The weight of heritage fell upon the shoulders of Parna who saw herself unworthy of this role thrusted upon her, but took it on for the sake of her kin and herself. She was to be the living totem of all Warrior Bunny kind, and like her race, she would rise from the ashes.

As troublesome as Arpeggio was to him and others, she stood a chance to challenge Lelei for the title of the greatest mage to have ever lived. She may not have the magic or scientific genius of her younger sister, but in all the mock matches with her sister she bragged about, she had proven to be able to contend with her multiple times with nothing short of grit and determination. Compared to the young and naïve mind of Lelei in Hitoshi's humble opinion, her elder sister's fortitude was greater and would prove to be her greatest asset in times of jeopardy as mages would always face in their ventures.

And Kugel. Or should he call him by his birthname as well, Iraemus Muspel Bloodstein. The lost heir to Bloodstein chieftainship, the Temple of Duncan's envisioned "Holy Son of Duncan".

Talent alone was not the makings of legend, but a fortuitous destiny was. This was something even the clan taught him that he acknowledged himself. Everyone was born differently.

And perhaps it was by his destiny that they were brought here and to which these events would unfold because of him. Against fate, you could not run from it nor avoid it. Only face it head on with the determination to live for tomorrow. And pray to whatever god you worship that fame and glory awaited you on the other side of this trial, or a quick death.

Just as Amarel had once tested them. So too would Velduar. It only highlighted the significance these Primodial relic sites had not just to this world but his own.

But unlike before, no deed would be denied to them by its inhabitants, no tale unspoken of their triumph should they succeed. He stood to gain more than just recognition from the industrious mountain kingdom, but a formal ally to validate the rise of the restoration.

That is. If they survived.

And though he may have cladded them in the façade of impenetrable armor, equipped them with fearsome weaponry and gave them spirit to take heart in. His anxieties were still getting the better of him, leaving him prey to inner voices.

Seated in a quiet place, serene and spacious. He used meditation to banish those thoughts and to steel his disciplined mind.

-Why trouble your mind with such trivialities?-

But he was too late, his moment of weakness had left a slither in his doubtless mind open. Within the darkness of the void perceived by his closed eyes to his surroundings, the immaterial phantom whispered her poison from over his shoulder. Unlike the other warrior-centric spirits that inhabited his mind, there was just one of them that had never bore a sword or a rifle in her lifetime. Her weapon was a venomous tongue that had fallen countless souls with her tricks. She had turned loyal retainers on their masters, monks on the path to enlightenment towards gluttony, and driven many women who eyed her with envy or vengeance to madness and despair in death as she turned the tables on them. Her strength was not in her beauty alone that turned the tables on others, it was turning the strength of others against each other.

She was called by many names, malevolent demoness, fox spirit, adulteress rogue. But her greatest feat had ensured her nonexistence within the annals of history. For her part in the Kenmu Restoration a thousand years prior, the Kamakura shogunate wiped her involvement from the texts. An enemy that even in their triumph had left them too afraid of what the knowledge of her deeds would inspire in the next hundred years. A woman who turned their generals and warlords against their own ideals and the shogun's own scions against him with the euphoric sweet words that left her blood red lips. She was the Daji* of their era, a great orchestrator of calamity, and they would not have her be remembered, ever.

Except she was. As an agent of Orochi, her heart and soul belonged to them from the very start. Thus, her dark legacy was assured. Passed on from soul to soul among the warriors who entered that dark place. Emerging as sole custodians to a mind towards ingenuity merged with malice, forming words that could topple regimes and break zealous spirits. For his part in utilizing her core modus operandi since he arrived in Velduar, for borrowing her tongue had a double edge. That price was that strife would occur no matter what.

The nameless Oiran courtesan of Crimson, Aka no Teika. Gained free reign to torment him endlessly.

-Does this burden give you strength, or weigh you down?-

This phantom continued to taunt his indecision, to mock the words he used every so often that defined his being. His refusal to communicate on the same level as them, gave her the chance to bombard him with the words that tore down the fabric of a once glamorous society. But Hitoshi continued to let her one-sidedly rabble on, his lack of response acknowledged her non-existence. Even so, the courtesan knew she was heard.

-In the end, you will simply summon another of us to your side when it becomes unbearable.-

Just as he had against the creature of Amarel, and again when facing off with the phantoms that Kazuru bore himself. His reliance on the phantoms had now left him in a constant struggle for his own thoughts.

-Tell me, Wakka-sama (Young Master). What differences does it make, now to then?-

Nothing. He knew that better than they did. But as long as he lived, he wouldn't even let a semblance of their spirit revive.

Just as it did for Kazuru.

It was no coincidence that the latter did the horrendous things that he claimed he did to Hitoshi. These actions were very much his own and yet not entirely credited to him. For Kazuru too had entered that dark place and emerged with his own set of phantoms, but unlike Hitoshi, he completely yielded to their yearnings. At some point. His actions were theirs, just as their actions were his. A unanimous harmony that was a stone throw away from the fall into insanity, as so many before them had succumbed to. No. Hitoshi was determined to keep possession of his body and soul for as long as he lived, for these were truly the only possessions he had left dear to him.

-You can call yourself however you want. A child of humble origin. A man of virtue and patience.-

And they waited. Watching his life go by as they bided their time, awaiting the day that he would finally lose resolve.

-You only lie to yourself more of what you are deep within.-

Amarel, had given them that turning point.

-Hypocrite.-

-Deceiver.-

-Thief.-

-How long more can you maintain this lie, pretending to be "him".-

The phantoms would not give him a second chance, and thus had given this one among the eight the vanguard role of their usurpation of the mind and soul. As the Crimson Courtesan's lengthy red nails grasped his chin for all the weightlessness it had to allow her chaotic orbs for eyes to stare into his shuddering soul.

-You….. will always be a wolf amongst men.-

In every word, carried a memory of shameful actions he committed that continued to haunt him now and forever. And that was all she needed to say.

-Everything you've said is true….-

He replied motionless and soundless from his previous stance to the lone phantom of the woman in red kimono, taking strength to answer. However, his tone held not an inch of hesitance or yielding.

-I am everything you say I am. I'm the cause of all my own grief, I've blighted others for the possibility that lay within them for as long as I could remember.-

Even though he agreed with the phantom, her expression held no joy or elation. For he didn't really mean to surrender on any account, even if he affirmed her claim.

-But that at very least proves I am Human. And therefore, I have a soul.-

A human being, not an animal, machine or vessel. A being of free-will. There was a time when he didn't understand what this meant, but this was not that time.

-And acknowledging these mistakes reminds me every day of that fact.-

To err is human. He looked up towards the immaterial image of a seductive woman scantily cladded in silk robes that barely concealed her prideful body, unhindered in his response to her answer and to the answers he knew in his heart.

-You were alive at one time, didn't you experience this privilege too?-

He pointed out the flaw and contradiction to her answers, he fought her at her own game with a single notion of spiteful diction.

-Or were you really nothing more than a figment of my imagination all along?-

They were slaves to his will, not the other way around. He just needed to remind them.

He ended with a thought of a smile. Having self-assured his wavering spirit in the process. The phantom proceeded to take step by step back, as if pulled away from his cognitive sense and out of his inner sanctuary. But the crimson courtesan smiled back at him cruelly as she retreated, determined not to allow him the satisfaction of even winning this round.

-A man cannot beat the Dragon.-

In her backsteps, parts of her image began to wither out of existence.

-But struggle on, Wakka-sama. Prove us wrong, you will only become everything you've ever loathed.-

As treacherous as her tongue was, Aka no Teika had left the last of few words that stung the most.

-Or don't.-

As he had pointed out her contradictions, so too did she. The more he fought, the more he was becoming like his old self just to prove them wrong. The red courtesan had indicated that the way back and forward was still the same, he would inevitably succumb. Just as every other Bushi before him, as life left their mortal coils. They would instead of returning to the circle of life, add to the torrent of phantoms awaiting the assimilation of the next innocent soul. This was their version of hell. But then again…..

Who was to say that any of what he remembered was true?

"-saire? Lord Furuta?"

Emerging from the depths of his deep meditation, his consciousness stirred to the sound of someone calling to him in rough Imperial. As his eyes opened gradually from inactivity, he was starting to notice huge changes to his surroundings.

Within the empty hangar bay of Dreadnought Dominion, was now crowded with citizens of the city of Velduar boarding the juggernaut. The depth of his meditation had indeed isolated all of his senses from noticing such obvious racket. Standing before him was a recently promoted junior officer in the reserve army who he had originally requested for the place to himself. A small detail of guards had formed a circumference around him that had separated the anxious citizens from him. Less out of respect and more of fear that his wrath would be unleashed upon those who disturbed him. As desperate people were often unconsciously ignorant of regularly kept laws and customs.

"Gilbs…." When it was still garrisoned. The order for relocating from their old post was given a day ago when this Dwarf and his remaining men rotated. Gilbs had shifted from guarding fortress dungeons that housed a God of Cookery to the first active garrison of the dreadnoughts. Introduced to a highly contrasting warfare that involved tight metal confines with numerous vulnerabilities to the ships internal structure to take into consideration as they did as its first marine compliment. A position that was initially reserved for the Gray Legion, but these were trying times and they had to make do with the best of human resources. New weapons and armor had been issued to them from the now relocated factory on-board Dominion, but with little in the way of actual training beyond a field manual.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Furuta. But there seems to be limited space to hold our citizens left." Having no idea of the ships' actual load bearing capacity, he went to the most knowledgeable person on that subject. The man who turned a project worth fifty years of their annual revenue from a limited one-time trump no less, into a new kind of strategic superweapon through the revision of its main propulsion.

"How many left?"

"Twenty-six thousand, My Lord. We were unsure if they were allowed to gather up on the deck since Chief Engineer Dwight cautioned it was dangerous without harness."

In actuality, he wasn't sure too. In theory, he worked out the thrust to weight ratio and wind resistance by calculator. In practice, only the defining moment would tell when the primary engines were properly mounted in place. A job that the Chief Engineer Dwight had spent hours with his team hard at work, as they not only installed the lengthy powerpack without aid from power lifts along its central spine, but also hardwired the ships systems to the engine. He was a naval commander by trade not an airframe expert, the fact that he rebuilt some features in reference to this was the equivalent to strapping a jet engine to a dinghy with bolt-on wings hoping it'll fly. A boat only moved in a two-dimensional plane and was greatly assisted thanks to water buoyancy to keep its massive frame from warping, even submarines could still control elevation due to water resistance and pressure manipulation.

But the plane of which these airships would operate on was asymmetric, its control would in fact be as difficult as a harrier jump jet configuration of which not even Imazu had training for. All he had to trust on, was the latency of the cadre of rune priests controlling this gargantuan warship with fine-tuned manipulation. Imazu's proposal towards a fly-by-wire inspired system had removed countless technological barriers and drastically shifted from manual mechanical controls to a single point of control. This meant that a single rune priest could operate the entire vessel, although, it would be extremely taxing to said individual and required very fine control.

Hitoshi's part in the retrofitting was by far the most radical in terms of changes, in that he had revamped the entire rune circuitry of the engine. As the levi-plate lined body could only control lift and keep the vessel afloat when powered but not maneuver it. The Ancient Rune Priest Gabern who founded "air blanketing" rune technology wasn't actually buoyancy or wind manipulation of any kind as he found out in his studies.

When time had still been available to him, Hitoshi had acquired access to their historic records through Novar to study the original concept on which their native airships moved. He found out that in certain areas of Velduar, movement speed and agility was different from other areas despite the similarity of heat build over the lava lake. Which should have corresponded, the Dwarves officially categorized these places as blank spots where hot air was not present and was dangerous to the airships to fly over. This finding contradicted the whole basis of Gabern's theory, was this not actually the blanketing of air?

Hitoshi visited some of these places to test with one of the original slates with the help of Darcia who had some affinity as a Shield Maiden herself. The findings were that the report was accurately described but no theory generated on why this bizarre phenomenon was so. Hitoshi's science was limited more to biology than physics, but he never limited himself to the beauty of physical phenomenon in his tertiary years.

When he was younger, Hitoshi would work in the day at the cooking academy and attend night school from dusk. At the insistence of his Shishou, Yaeko. Even though he'd already set his mind towards becoming a chef, she believed he still had the right to a proper education. Thus, paid for his tuition up till high school. At said school, he was in a class of only a dozen of the home economics course. Many older than him by as many as a decade, simply trying to complete their senior high school years to attain their course certificates. Unfortunately, he didn't make any friends there due to his age disparity and strange disposition, that or it was the absolute zero social life outside of cooking and school which he had. Thus, he spent most of his time in the library to revise while the rest of his class were out having drinks or shopping and enjoying their youths as most Japanese kids got to. But because of his studious mannerisms, he had gotten acquainted with the science class, who often stayed late into the night to do science theory and practical experiments, mainly for the fun of it. Being of a cooking background, or health sciences as they called it, he was welcomed to partake and learn. Even contribute to their experiments when food was involved, expanding his horizon and filling their stomachs as gratitude for their hospitality.

It was through them that he attained a distinct understanding of physics and biology in both theory and application. And as such, was able to discern the characteristics of Rune Priest Gabern's Air-blanket technology was less of said rune priest's fire-based attribute and actually had more in common with his own. What was applied to the Dreadnoughts primary propulsion had already been done two days ago, personally overseer by him.

"And have them fall off during take-off? No thanks. Have them occupy every single compartment, everyone. Crew quarters and mess halls, even the VIP accommodation cabins. Not a single soul to be left without accommodation. My instructions."

"By your will." The Dwarven Commander happily saluted with crispness, showing his firm appreciation for Hitoshi's consideration for his people, if he had not already worked towards saving their race.

If he was not sure of these facts at very least, then he was putting all he learnt from the Science Class of the Yokohama Night School to shame.

Gilbs began distributing orders to his subordinates to increase their efficiency and coverage of the vessel that hadn't even been fully packed yet. It was by strange coincidence that the two dreadnoughts could house the exact population of Velduar with additional provisions. Or was it?

Did Novar and his predecessors really plan for their use for such an occasion?

An alternative to the bowels of Mount Nyx, a new an adventurous beginning beyond the depths of earth.

Hitoshi let out a smirk as he chose to believe that it was. As it also acted as proof of Novar's convictions towards the use of the twin dreadnoughts. Protect the people could be interpreted in numerous ways. In modern literature, it often referred to the national interests at maintaining prosperity and safety. Protect your people through the distinct strategic advantage your weapons gave over your adversaries.

Or a medium to ferry not just a hundred thousand souls, but the Kingdom itself from jeopardy.

Even though Hitoshi had only known him for a length of a day at most. Working on the warships had given him a taste of all of Novar's commitment and suffering all the same. As if he had been there to oversee every contribution that he made during his life to this national project. While Dwarves were tooted as masters of siegecraft and defence, the defensive armament hardpoints and angles were limited. Instead, there was a mass accommodation for provisions and systems to support other means. A mobile Angpula forge, warehouse worth of space for food and water, stables for whatever steeds and mounts they had. These aspects seemed to be more akin to the dreadnoughts being floating hotels than battleships.

For such a little person within a cruel and unforgiving world, this King had indeed a big heart.

It was from this epiphany that Hitoshi took heart that he wasn't the only one that was plagued with monsters deep within and around them. Novar had the Gnolls and the Apostle, while Hitoshi had his Phantoms and Bushi kinsmen.

(Crash) It was at this moment when both the guards and his attention was away that a commotion had broken out between the Dwarven Citizenry.

Hitoshi watched as three Dwarf men argued over space as one of them had brought on board many of his own valuable goods that were approved but giving no respite to the rest of the passengers. Another about space for his injured brother to lie down properly and the last on being separated from his wife and children because again these two other issues.

But that was only the embers to the powder keg situation that erupted out of it just as the guards switched their attention towards breaking up the fight. People were probing the guards and Gilbs on why they were brought here than out through a cave exit, or the fact that no one had provided them any medical provisions or sustenance. And most of all, the speed and relentlessness of the Gnolls invading their city thought impenetrable for many generations. Children cried because of the fear and anxiety of the adults expressed though their complaints and anger. Women folk and the elderly stayed clear of the men who in their state of disarray that could resort to anything. And the men, let their insults and fists do the talking than their rational voices of reason. Merchants physically shielded their own provisions for fear that they would be robed, women of their chastity, even the soldiers on board the lengthy hangar feared for their lives as the battles had begun to take their toll on their minds and bodies. A mass frenzy was about to erupt, Velduar was on the verge of ripping itself apart on nothing more than fear, anxiety and despair for their situation. Nobody could be blamed, yesterday they were living in one of the most lively and prosperous cities in the entire continent, today, they understood that Velduar was about to be lost. No one of higher authority was there to console and assure them that their fears were unjustified, either absent or dead. Hitoshi understood all these emotions as clearly as he had experienced them and seen others act in such a way before, many times.

There was little that Commander Gilbs could do in the way of what was expected of a fortress soldier without harming his own citizens. Even though that was all that was required of him, when would the violence end? He could see from afar the despair creep into Gilbs' eyes as it slowly came to the revelation that the fighting against the Gnolls had devolved into straight-up quelling of rioting of his own people. Hope was waning bit by bit.

Hitoshi knew that there was little that he could do in his capacity to fully remove the aggressive tension from the current atmosphere, it was part of their hot-blooded nature as Velduarite Dwarves after all. Then again, every living being would change under circumstance, even the most benevolent ones.

But maybe, he didn't need to remove it.

Standing up from his seat with not a sign of the effects of the disarray on his calm demeanor, Hitoshi stood an additional three quarters their height above and thus overshadowed them when he approached Gilbs. He climbed onto a stack of crates belonging to the aggrieved merchant, thus, raising his silhouette high enough for all to see. Their internal squabbles ceased as his peculiar actions and his very presence to intervene without having even said a word or expressed any sympathetic emotion to say the least.

"Gilbs, have a look in the storeroom on the mid-deck where we keep dry foods and crockery. Bring back the most of whatever staple you can within a fifth of a Sura candle. Enough for a mass temple meal." Gilbs quickly caught on to his intentions to quell the unrest in his place and saluted. As did the crowd within the hangar itself who recognized the word "temple meal". An uncoincidental similarity to many religious meals served at holy sites out of a cross between moral obligation and goodwill to those paying homage. A meal that both rich and poor accepted freely without restraint. And for the God of Cookery to say that he would host a temple meal was of great significance. As such, all the raw emotions started to subside, replaced with the most basic one which was that of hunger.

"Understood, My Lord. Is there anything in particular that I should prioritize?"

To which Hitoshi smiled meaningfully as he looked towards the main instigators of the sudden commotions. Who were befuddled at what to say in the presence of the God of Cookery, especially since he was staring directly into their eyes, as if into their souls. But without any sort of apprehension nor ill-disposed.

"Something that everybody enjoys."

It was becoming an even rarer opportunity than usual to do what he loved when it mattered the most, something he could take pride in doing for once. As Yaeko always said to him,

"A man is not himself on an empty stomach…." He murmured to himself, as it applied to the people of Velduar as it did with him. He would perform his namesake obligation and feed these weary people with hope through sustenance.

They couldn't hurt to have a little more as did he.

---

The Isle of the Royal castle was the busiest it would ever be, burly feet trundling along until there was the tremor of a stampede.

Citizens of Velduar had been shepherded into the Royal Castle isle, awaiting boarding on the last remaining airships to the safety of the outer realm. Those that could not gain instant passage were confined to the security of the walls surrounding the Royal Castle, converted into the last bastion against the Gnoll Hordes lurking outside. The citizens in Bruneberg and Brightholm were relocated to the dry docks where another alternative to departure was made in secret.

This was a mass exodus.

This left the remaining six isles abandoned, save the one where House Mobkis stubbornly resided, the Isle of Kyrill. As she had promised, Thranmilla came in person alone to convince the Lord of Kyrill from outside his wall to cease his foolishness. And failed. Even after telling him of the Apostle's desertion of his kin and the destruction he intended to bring with written evidence, Marden Mobkis refused to accept the Queen's words. Passing them as but a mere ruse to let his guard down and defenses, Marden knew what the charges were for his rebellion and refusal to respond to the general summons of the monarch. Thranmilla stood outside the castle walls arguing back and forth for an hour. But no resolve could be found.

Instead, the Queen demanded that he let those who didn't want to stay with him go. To which Jarl Marden hurled over the wall only the heads of those who opposed him at every turn of his decision to hunker down in his castle. Reaching the last straw of her patience and grace as she left behind venomous words.

"Your end will be quick, but your despair will be everlasting!" Leaving the ominous warnings of what his stubbornness would lead him and his family to if they stayed. Because by the time they realized the truth, it would already be too late for any sort of redemption. Upon her return to the Royal Castle dispatch point, Thranmilla ordered her scribe to strike off all the names of House Mobkis from their nobility.

Even though she did so, it was with heavy heart that even her persuasions weren't enough to break through the conceit and arrogance of Marden Mobkis or any of his sons to think better. He had doomed his entire clan to die with his refusal to listen to her terms of a temporary truce, let alone heed her warning to evacuate. Even though the fault lay with their living ancestor, the Apostle. If they meant anything to him, he would have brought them to safety or at least warn them. But unfortunately, his descendants meant nothing to him. The Apostle was not just cruel, but heartless. It angered Thranmilla every time she thought about what Mortar had done whether by his own machinations or at the whim of another. She pondered on how she could have better mediated a truce with Lord Mobkis for even a moment to accommodate his prideful yet ignorant self. Then she could have saved a thousand more members of Clan Mobkis.

In fact, previously, Thranmilla hadn't left the conference room entirely and had thus heard Furuta's talk with his companion donning the persona of the white armor-cladded Kagemusha, the doppelganger shadow that bore Al'aelsaire's strength. Having unintentionally eavesdropped, she'd learnt to her relief that Furuta had full intent on staying to fight this to the end, but also of the ominous premonition that there were hidden forces at work, apparently, like there were in Amarel.

Manipulating this war between the Dwarves and their natural enemies, the Gnolls. He expressed his fear that he was not in the know of who they were and to what ends did they seek by eradicating these two species. He believed that it was none other than the two temples the Dwarves and Gnolls worshiped that was the primary agenda of this shadow force, this likely immortal entity. A being that could turn an Apostle and take advantage of Lord Duncan's dormancy. Sealing the Temple of Duncan had narrowed the focus of these machinations towards the second temple which Furuta dubbed the Temple of Illuma, parallel to the Dwarves' worship of Duncan in the Temple at the heart of Velduar. Just as their attention had been divided between two enemies, the Gnolls and the Temple Guard. So too did Furuta divide this entity's focus and force its hand in picking between manipulating the Gnolls and the Apostle's forces since its perceived goal could only be found within the parallel temple now. The real question was, who would be forced to face its wrath head on? The Gray Legion, or them?

Thranmilla raised her head towards the towering structures moored to their concrete basins, these juggernauts. A pinnacle of two hundred years in continuous trials and development. From every failure, came a resolve to do better and not let their faults weigh them down. Three generations of Kings had dedicated their life's work in secrecy to these wonders of Dwarven engineering to break the hubris they had been drawn into by their relative false comfort and security.

The dreadnoughts, named Dominion and Asunder. Two of the largest airships that would ever be constructed by the Dwarves remained silently anchored to the dock. Christened by King Branwen upon the completion of the dock itself and its basin, these superweapons were without a doubt built for war as mobile fortresses unassailable except by airships of which no other race possessed. To put an end to the struggle that has plagued them for over five thousand years. It was also an expression of the Monarchs distrust of the Temple militant to accomplish this task they had first initiated at the birth of Velduar itself.

Now, they were the only means of ferrying the masses to safety from the imminent eruption of Mount Nyx and their continued survival as a species. It wasn't a question of will it erupt, but of when. Even if the Gray Legion Strike force succeeded, the City of Velduar was still in danger of being engulfed since it was in an extinct hollow magma chamber as Furuta pointed out. Thranmilla hadn't fully overcome the idea of leaving behind hers and several hundred thousand other Dwarves' home, but their species could not be allowed to end here in a misfortunate extinction of their race that could have been avoided.

Once stirred from his slumber, Lord Duncan would emerge to his disappointment and shocked at how the Dwarves had led themselves towards oblivion. Without the Apostle to regulate the awakening through proper ritual, Velduar would be flooded with molten rock. The thought made her ashamed of who she was and how she hadn't done nearly enough to resolve this crisis simply by putting more faith into most of the subjects they had ignored over the years. If Furuta hadn't chosen to stay, what would become of Velduar? She already knew the answer. Some of her closest subjects thought differently.

They thought that Furuta was responsible for all the events that occurred, even though they were merely a spark to what was already a volatile situation. And yet, why would Furuta say something like…

"If it helps them move on, let them think whatever they want."

This person had a disposition of a powerful military ruler with a deeply conscientious mind for the most ironic of things, peace among ally and foe. By Duncan's grace, these weren't even his people, yet here was a man that thought of others as his equals. As a "God", these values shake the very fabric of traditional society and the cult of religious order, a trait that frightened the likes of Mortar to no end. Where mortals walked beside their Gods.

The Apostle was so wary of who Furuta was and what he had done previously on his visit to the elven city of Amarel and the way it was resolved that he had initially tried to expose this to the public to try and rally the kingdoms' collective fear of Al'aelsaire as the High Elves feared in him, as a disastrous jinx and bringer of ill-omens. Just as he had wrought upon the High Elves in Amarel, so too would he bring instant ruin to the city under the mountain. But her husband thought differently. While Novar also believed in this mysterious yet devastating power this God of Cookery wielded, the saying, the enemy of my enemies could be my friend presented an enticing opportunity.

King Novar saw someone, whether he was a genuine god or mortal, that had made the Apostle sweat for the first time in over seven hundred years of the latter's immortal life. And knew that if he could have such a person on his side, they might succeed where many had failed. Thus, made plans to welcome Furuta as a revered guest of their city unlike the High Elves, extending every bit of hospitality that he could despite the pressure exerted by Mortar and the Temple.

Novar had spent many sleepless nights pacing about in his bed chambers and study on how he would approach the God of Cookery, such that they had never expected the return of the lost son of Bloodstein, the exiled Iraemus. This was their blessing in disguise, the restoration of the Bloodstein lineage perhaps. Despised by Mortar and were the House of Oakenspires' ancestral allies.

This had not been coincidental either, but the subtle workings and foresight of Bromhall Oakenspire. Or more specifically, his revenge upon Mortar.

No one despised the Apostle more than he and his family did, after many ancient blunders the Temple militant caused for the House of Oakenspires' military exploits and the latter's inability to accept things as they are. As a Vanguard General, Bromhall defied the Apostle's orders on more than one occasion, due to the latter's insistence on deploying the Temple forces into more serious combat roles at the expense of critical turning points, as if to continually highlight the Temples' relevance in their war effort. Or perhaps subtly prolong their plight against the Gnolls until only the temple forces remained the dominant power. It resulted in many unnecessary deaths in Brom's criticisms he confided to both King Branwen and Novar during their reign. Bromhall didn't just relinquish his title and enter exile with the young Iraemus with his sons out of some eccentric whim or shining example of a brotherhood bond with Lord Rambek as many commoner stories had depicted. But to protect that which Mortar feared within the scion of Bloodstein from certain death. He was gambling everything on a single boy that he thought had something special. Like his father before him, Iraemus Bloodstein was a prodigy in rune magic and forgecraft. But there was something else.

So much so that he dared to fix problems which not even the Apostle could and succeeded whether he received consent or not. Studying the forbidden tomes on the making of Adamantite was the last straw for the Apostle apparently. As far as foul play could be concerned, there was little the Monarch could do for the scion that had no direct affiliation to the throne and was just an initiate to the Temple. He was subject to their rulings, back then.

Brom made a bet with her and the King before his departure, that if Iraemus survived his exile long enough to return, his reappearance would likely spark the fuse that would ignite a civil war they had long anticipated. By Dwarves on the subject of long hidden disputes of progress and tradition fighting each other till one remained. And the Gnolls that would exploit this civil unrest to their favor. The day that Iraemus returned was no doubt in Thranmilla and Novar's mind, the countdown to the end of Velduar. It was only now that Thranmilla realized what Bromhall had meant wasn't just referring to his aptitude, but a mysterious and unseen presence that had been guiding the son of Bloodstein. And yet, things seemed brighter than it should with such end times. As it wasn't Furuta who had brought Iraemus to Velduar, in their opinion.

But the other way around. Brom's gambit was about to pay off beyond his own interpretations.

However, things weren't always certain with Furuta, the so-called God of Cookery, as they would later learn.

A near-perfect Adamantite which was closer to what had been lost during the Golden Age of Velduar and superior to the Temples' own iteration. This was something not even Novar thought Iraemus could pull off, but he did. It was a sign that perhaps Iraemus was truly blessed by the Forgefather. And was in order for a reward for their efforts.

Until Furuta and Iraemus offered the formula freely.

As Hekrel would later report on his interactions with them, Iraemus had in fact wanted nothing to do with Velduar at all. Curious, as they would have thought that old Brom would have ingrained a grudge against the Temple with subtle suggestions against their initial wishes. However, this tribute of the restored Adamantite ratio was meant to end any emotional attachment or debt he had with the Kingdom and Temple alike. Sending things in a turn for the worst as they could no longer win the God of Cookery's favor through Iraemus. To gain consent for their accommodation within Velduar, Novar made a compromise with his opposition, the Apostle. By granting the Temple custody over the new formula, as Mortar's influence amongst the masses was still stronger.

Furuta himself was not what Novar nor Thranmilla had expected. He never asked for favors and when asked for one, didn't asked for anything in return which messed with the flow of how foreign political relationships were formed. He was a modest and humble individual when respected. And to think that the High Elves had messed this up so bad by looking down on him by thinking he was simply an uncomplicated man. For their attempt to manipulate him into doing their dirty work had a steep price on their hands. The High elves were now closer to becoming an endangered species, and it was all their own doing.

When it came to dealing with things, Furuta did it in a relatively straightforward manner and expected the same out of those that he worked with. The misjudgment on her elven counterpart, Queen Elisen had been on a long shot, such that her Kingdom was now no longer able to prosper as it used to. Amarel's prestige was now a footnote in history.

As for them, he was a seemingly perfect match for the Dwarves, as they both respected and honed their craft with passion. Novar was quick to realize this as Thranmilla brought him to see the Dowager Grammola, to further examine his character. He was patient with the young and respectful to the elderly.

If there was one flaw to him from their opinion, it was on the subject of when violence approached him that Thranmilla begun to notice from similar reports of him in Amarel and Velduar before the internal conflict broke out. It became especially clear to her after witnessing it for herself when he came between them and the humans from their world, these so-called insurrectionists. Or before that, a report of how he had culled the Gnoll attack on the Western Nexus Defence with weapons that were the precursor to what the Gray Legion currently had. Furuta, the God of Cookery dealt with violence through the use of even greater acts of violence either by his own hands or methods. It was greatly puzzling to the likes of their spymaster who gave his findings on his brethren, the Men in Green a month back. A clear contradiction towards approaches that went like fire and water. In whatever case, Furuta could not be generalized to the rest of his brethren who were a lot more hesitant towards the use of excessive force or the invasion of their world itself. Perhaps he represented a different majority in their soldiery.

Novar had mentioned that these overwhelming methods of his were part of the heavy-handed military strategy of shock tactics and terror warfare. Using single powerful acts of wanton violence or lack of empathy upon an enemy to discourage retaliation, to subjugate an enemy by making them realize that there was no outcome of victory in their actions. The goal was breaking the enemy's morale such that their strength would cave-in on its own and hopefully lead to a conditional surrender. And these methods had once been employed by none other than Bromhall himself upon the Gnolls, to their ill-effect.

Until every member of their species remembered this former Dwarven general for his atrocities of razing an entire tribe of the Gnolls, leaving twelve remaining out of the original thirteen tribes. And on the holy day of Iluma, no less. The consequence of these actions had resulted in the hunting by oath for the members of the Oakenspire family out of a blood feud with some survivors of that fallen tribe and their close relations. Thranmilla recalled that the recently submitted Temple Shield Maiden, Ashlaug Valdur Oakenspire was one such victim of these events, if her memory served her correctly. The only survivor of the Valdur branch in the Oakenspire family to survive the raid on the Frontier village Dahur. After that day of tragedy, the King had made an edict which withdrew all frontier villages behind the Nexus Defence, but by then, the damage had already been done.

Bromhall's justification for the way he acted was under the belief that he would frighten the Gnolls into regressing their attacks, but it only seemed to strength their commitment to wiping out his family line before all others. The Oakenspires had been devoting their energies to rear echelon lines, foreign affairs, logistics and food imports ever since. Meanwhile, Bromhall was officially forced to enter early retirement, although he remained in the active reserve to teach the next generation, by order of the King. Which he begrudgingly agreed to as he withdrew from the frontlines.

As difficult as it was to admit it as someone who thought favorably of Furuta, what Thranmilla felt from it was like his actions resembled that of a wild animal, one attuned towards fierce instincts of survival by means of killing their aggressor. Feral big cats, griffons, dragons. All beasts that responded to even the slightest threats without any semblance of mercy in mind. Furuta stalked adversaries like he hunted prey, then pounded on their when they were at their most vulnerable.

No, he posed as the vulnerable one to lure them in. Apex predator that stalked other predators.

Novar likened his behaviour closely towards a certain horsemens' tribe described passionately time and time again in older Imperial literature. This tribe of riders remained elusive to the modern world but had shaken the Continent of Falmart and nearly destroyed the Empire and her vassals in its prime, if not for the Gods and their Apostles. These godless horsemen who roamed the steppes and vertical peaks of the Mountain Range of Ice and Snow set their young out into the woods to survive on their own and find their way home. Those who returned, this was the easiest trial yet and only the beginning of what awaited them as warriors of the tribes. When asked what resembled Furuta, this came to mind. Which again contradicted the advanced reports from Alnus they received on the outstanding culture of Japan and their constitution, a peaceful and prosperous nation with many conveniences' superior to Velduar itself. And yet, someone like him was conceived with instincts of only the most hardened warriors who had lived several lifetimes in war, as if one's life was always a hair's breadth from being snuffed out. This led them to believe that the reports of the Japanese in Alnus were either false or that not everyone lived in the same standards of living as they had been led to believe. The world beyond the Gate of Alnus was far from anyone's comprehension or it was a similar in many ways to their own.

The life that Furuta had lived had not been kind to him exclusively, using his other Japanese soldiery companions as a reference. His intent was too sharp, attendant Darcia had even informed her that Furuta never slept laying down and only rested in a seated position as if meditating or closing his eyes, she could not find any distinction. He was too keen on inviting more enemies than it did friends for the purpose of honing these senses. And they were more than willing to respond in kind because wherever he pointed it, everyone could sense a threat to their own wellbeing. It was a worrisome prospect for future long-term relations. It certainly resounded with herself and the King. What if an alliance to whatever Furuta proposed brought them into fighting on numerous fronts? Something they could ill afford as a single city state.

This was especially important to them since his traits mirrored a 'certain' someone else who had caused a great wave of disaster upon the Imperials exactly a year ago before the Gate of Alnus opened.

But once again, it was her husband that had chosen to take a leap of faith.

"He has ferocity in battle but magnanimity in peacetime." Her husband had surmised his own view towards Furuta's approach that differed from Brom. Furuta had given his opponents room for retreat or withdrawal, mercy when it was on short supply. Whereas Brom gave none to the Gnolls during his service, only culling them as the vermin he saw them for.

Perhaps it was because he too felt kindred spirit with the God of Cookery. The weight of a people's union resting upon one's shoulders, upholding their expectations of one's own self. And how far they were willing to go for them even if it put them at risk to their own personal safety. In that very lonely position, it must have felt nice to have a friend that could understand your burdens and not be an opposing force. Sadly, he would not live long enough for any sort of friendship to develop.

But even so, like Novar. Perhaps Furuta had also taken a plunge for the Dwarves despite the lack of Novar's guarantee to his requests.

These did little to ease her most current concerns however, of appealing to her peoples' likely at the verge of hysteria. Not only failing to hold off them Gnoll army, but also leaving behind the only home they've ever known because of a danger that was not guaranteed to happen. Thranmilla didn't care if they would sing their names as the monarchs that led the Dwarven Kingdom to its lowest so long as there still was a future for their descendants. Her attendants had insisted that she find the time to rest, but she stubbornly made her way to find Furuta and report the unfortunate news. Even though she hadn't even caught a wink in almost a day, her time was too precious. So much to do in so little time, if she wanted to close her eyes, it'll be when she caught her last breath.

Thranmilla tried to control her breathing to keep her senses keen and vigilant despite the endless marathon she had been subjected to in place of a King and a Queen. Her confidants tried in vain to have her at least find a moment to close her eyes, as it was becoming a point that they might suffer the tragedy of the first monarch to work herself to death. As much as she loved her people and they loved her, she had seemed to set their worst fears in motion.

What awaited her on the other side of the dock blast doors was the horde of her fragile citizens who were in need of a formal address for all that had transpired and what was to come. Even at the door, she still hadn't prepared any words to speak of, how could she? Tell them that they were leaving their home for six thousand years, forever? What kind of future awaited the Dwarves out in the open where their ancestors dreaded? What made her different from all the other monarchs before her, a mere consort of the late king? On what premise did anyone have to believe this mere assumption made by Furuta and the remaining loyalists that Mount Nyx would actually erupt? Whose side would actually seem more insane, Furuta's or Mortar's?

These worries weighted on her mind heavily, threatening to take her vitality to oppose this grim fate. The Dwarven Queen fought on with every ounce of strength to stride on her own two feet.

Since, power had been siphoned out from the doors for other essential systems needing recharge, half a dozen guards had to manually unwind the blast door entrance by crank. It was a slow process that consumed time, but was assuring of its rigidity compared to the last door that withheld tremendous explosive force.

The blast door unlocked following a gust of wind blowing inward due to the pressure difference and blew out almost like the building was breathing. Bursting with a thick scent of spices amidst the heat of brews and the grilling of meats than the dry heat of the forges. As confused as she and her entourage were to see that the scent in the air wasn't the only thing that had changed about the general atmosphere, it was of an unexpected convenience in such a time where a little rioting or fighting was to be expected.

There were only soldiers and workers seated beneath the keel of Dominion receiving their day's ration of food and passing it on to those that did not get their meal yet. The main service elevator, a mechanized platform with a winch pulling metallic cable pulleys lowered more bundles of food down from its origin point within the so-called "Hangar Bay" of the dreadnought. People were busy chowing down as if it were after a long day of work and had earnt the right to a moment of respite, but not insufficient enough to miss or fail to acknowledge her presence as she requested her immediate transition from the docks to the ship. As the elevator was about to go up, she noticed the large vats and tables holding ready to eat food stacked into pyramids.

"We can wait." After seeing all the hungry faces, she decided she could at least wait until the elevators were clear so that her soldiers and workers wouldn't be left waiting.

(Groan) The unexpected side effect of removing the source of the savory wafer left her own empty stomach betraying her. Thranmilla was glad that only her immediate subjects were with her on the lifts' ascension but had dissolved most of the tension that had been present amongst them.

On board the Dominion, they passed through the literal maze of corridors. However, finding Furuta proved not a difficult task even though the ship was crowded at its maximum capacity or with over a hundred new compartments where he could be. They could either follow the directions of the food bearers or the origin of aromas bathed rich in a very distinct blend of spice they were unfamiliar too. Until finally, they reached the 'Hangar Bay'. A place where smaller airships were supposed to be stored within the belly of the dreadnought like an internal dock, was now vacant of all such equipment as it housed tens of thousands of citizens in less than desirable cramp conditions even for Dwarven standards.

Like down in the docks, the people were more concerned about eating their newly acquired bun and drink. Even passing extras along to those that had not received any yet, than argue over what little space was available. What ever could have changed their thoughts and notions in such a drastic way? They didn't need to guess. As it was clear that someone was cooking within the confines of the hangar, and as her people had been warned on the fire hazards within the vessel, it could only be done by one person, as the scent had a degree of spice unfamiliar to her despite her own vast horticultural knowledge.

All she needed to do was to continue to follow the trail amidst the crowd of thirty thousand citizens seated and standing, but all eating what was given to them with much satisfaction in their expressions. Thranmilla leaked a smile. Where tensions had been high amongst her citizens upon entering the unfamiliar vessel at a time like this, everyone seemed to be lost in munching away at a round disk food sandwiched by two halves of a bun glazed in butter or oil of some kind.

Seeing who was demanding passage through the sea of people, the civilians and soldiers alike parted way allowing her entry to the source of the spice-rich aroma and the sound of a grill which gave off a warm air filled with good smelling food.

"Your Majesty!" A Dwarven Commander she believed was called Gilbs Tempest bowed and acknowledged her presence whilst holding a stack of bowls with dough within them in lieu of any armaments. "We were just-." The officer hesitated, as if caught doing something outside his job description.

"Doing what I asked them." Behind him, a figure wearing a towel around his head flipped a disk-shaped food on an iron plate heated under a fire element.

"Furuta…." Thranmilla looked worn and exhausted as someone who had trekked on foot through the rubble of their city to get to Castle Mobkis and back to inform him on what he could only guess was a failure on her end. All her subjects could do was stand by her as to hide this fact from onlookers, in case she ever felt like toppling against her will.

To the surprise of the guard and to Thranmilla especially, he pushed her down onto a seat with both hands and handed her a warm bun wrapped in paper, an expensive item that was used as if it were a disposable accessory. Before he wished to hear her speak her part, he told her..

"Don't talk yet, just… eat. Eat up." As he held out a wooden mug to her as well, which held a warm liquid that smelled of tea. Graciously accepting it, the Dwarven Queen sat down and followed his instructions. When her feet were off the ground, her strength suddenly gave way. As if the franticness of running around had kept her up with purely adrenaline. Thranmilla acknowledged that her own body was exhausted, and it was time to rest for a moment.

Although her sense of duty as the last monarch made her hesitant to relax at this moment, Furuta's calm encouragement was all she needed to justify that moment of respite for herself. Thanks to Furuta's persuasiveness, she could take that excuse to rest in public.

As many of Furuta's meals before, she hardly questioned the nature of the ingredients or appearance before biting down. She had taken to enjoying the element of surprise to the food which was something that became rarer as the decades went on with a rich savory diet of wealthy royalty. Were there only a better time to savor such meals.

The sandwich she had in her hand was reminiscent of what Hekrel's supreme chefs had introduced to one of her ladies tea parties months ago, at her request for something new and exciting. "Ham Burger" was what it had been called, but no knowledge of what that alien word was or how it came to be. Melvin surmised that it might have been where it came from, this "Hamburgerland", it was his own research into finding that origin of the recipe that opened them to the existence of the God of Cookery. The stories of the man with a godly gift, the feat of gaining recognition by the Goddess Hardy, and the cult following that overtook Bruneberg in the following weeks. So controversial was this trend that Hekrel had been audited by the Temple to reaffirm his faith in the Forgefather. All over a hamburger. The more it was put into question, the greater the mysticism it conceived from thin air. If Furuta knew this, he must've felt ridiculous by the notion that they revered this popular urban street food he served to meet Zorzal's uncomplicated yet enormous appetite.

It was their actions that set about the interests in the God of Cookery to no avail for the priests. As they felt the threat of another religion emerge out of nowhere, and then, the worst was to come for the temple when news of Amarel happened. Rumours became fact when the Apostle confirmed it, the God of Cookery was no man mortal, but the real deal. Real enough to defeat Granham, to strike down Flare, to slay an ancient demon and emerge victorious.

She bit into the burger having some expectations of its flavour in which she had experienced but a replica attempt by the best chefs of Velduar, but this!-…

Suddenly, her mouth felt aflame and stimulated as she reached for the mug of drink to cool off that pallet of hers. She heard a snicker from none other than the cook who watched her indulge unwittingly, downing as much fluids to ease her tongue and quench that dry coughing.

"As if-(cough)….. to watch my weary self desperately seeking sustenance wasn't enough, you play these sorts of tricks as well." If this was his idea of a joke at a time like this, she was not enjoying it at all. Her subjects soon found her representing them in their united opinion as the burger proved too 'hot' for them as well.

"Her Majesty can't blame me for that." He said unapologetically but gave her another cup of the same refreshing drink to wash the spice which she could not stand, get instantly drunken by her like a thirsty sailor.

"You have low tolerance to spices for now, but you'll get used to it. I mean, the rest didn't complain so I assumed it was alright for everyone." Thranmilla began to realize that this was in fact part of the flavour.

"I see…. Forgive my outburst." Her apology had unfortunately ended any further thoughts to talk about in her mind that just seemed muddled up at this point from fatigue.

"Melvin told me that the people were introduced to hamburgers quite recently before I came here." So, Hitoshi had been told of how his name had traveled all the way up here. Perhaps he chose to make this burger aptly to correspond with the peoples' familiarity to this sort of food that would not make them question its peculiarities.

"Oakenspires' Head Attendant has always been particularly excited about such things that came from Furuta." In a way, Melvin was Hitoshi's number one fan in Velduar and by way which Hekrel and Bruneberg knew of him. He had even shown her his private hobby, a journal scrapbook that contained cut outs of recipes and the accounts from the people who had tasted said dishes and made mention of them in hearsay, detailed descriptions of almost every dish Furuta had conceived while in the Saderan Capital. As if their description of texture and taste alone was enough to sate Melvin's desires. Travelling over three thousand leagues towards the humble abode of the Dwarves. So it was only Melvin who would know how best to appease the crowd and share council to the God of Cookery on such things while taking delight in such things.

"Shall I tell you something special about these burgers than usual?" Furuta as usual, liked to toy around with her expectations with anticipation. Which he easily won from her unprepared self, much to her chagrin and that of her posse, as he leaned in as if to whisper conspiratorially close.

"There's not a single piece of meat in these burgers."

She now understood why he had been particularly secretive about this, knowing how much the Dwarves loved their savory meats and despised trickery no matter how trivial.

-He actually did it!- She monologued in her mind, after all their brief light hearted talks on how to make the Dwarves eat greens before all this. The solution wasn't making them eat vegetables, it was making them believe it was something else. She could see his satisfaction in his incorrigible smile that had been earned through feeding thirty thousand at least with this unspoken formula. Which started to make more sense, as to feed tens of thousands, the protein rich food would have run out long ago. Furuta had tailored this recipe towards this situation and had still managed to satisfy the masses.

Hitoshi handed a fresh batch that was separate from the standard orders to Thranmilla's ministers and military advisors to eat as well which they found no problem as their Queen was doing the same. But kept an eye on him as he pulled the apron around him off and left the brewing and distribution to Hekrel's kitchen staff who were temporarily attached to the ship's galley.

Thranmilla had chosen a rather scenic spot to have to herself at the end of the starboard aft of a non-functioning hangar lift that was remodeled on the American carrier lifts. A curious place to chose for herself to eat in peace, but given that none of the other Dwarves liked looking down the long dropt to the bottom of the basin. Her lack of fear for heights was to her benefit. Hitoshi brought another two mugs of drink with him as he sat beside her.

"May I?"

"Of course, Furuta. Between us, you need not ask." Thranmilla replied cheerfully despite the situation they were still in. She continued to munch on her burger without even asking what it composed of. Although, she wouldn't understand what turmeric was, nor its health benefit. Not even the High Elves knew as they had traditionally used it as an additive to their fertilizer for crops and vineyards. Hitoshi bought as much as he could physically carry when he was still in Amarel at ridiculously dirt cheap prices as their was no demand for this unseeming root beyond agriculture and the occasional Trents' favourite snack.

As focused as Thranmilla was at finishing her meal in the quickest possible time, Hitoshi used a brush he had gotten from Melvin earlier and combed her dishevel hair undone from its braids. For a while, Hitoshi did not speak and let her eat. While she ate and did not question him doing up her braids or asking how he knew to do so. It seemed that all that occupied this small sanctuary was eating and silence aside from the sound of munching or sipping. There was not even a single notion of loud Dwarven atmosphere commonly found in the many beer halls and taverns of Velduar at after hours.

At half of the burger, Thranmilla felt that she could no longer keep her report on hold and told him of the outcome with the Lord Kyrill. Marden Mobkis had rejected her truce and had chosen to hunker down with the last vestiges of his bloodline and those remaining loyal to him to the end. Hitoshi listened quietly through the whole report as he redid her braids.

Thranmilla ended with an exasperated gasp as if to finally let her pent-up stress go.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"A couple of hours ago." But he could see that lie from a mile away, as easily as the darkening spots under her eye lips that were strained to keep open.

"…" He knew that telling her to get some rest would not be heeded at all, others had already tried to convince her but in vain. He exchanged a look with her subjects close by her said it all with but a glance that she was pushing beyond her physical and mental capacity.

The last time he saw her in anything remotely attired towards sleeping was when they received the news that the Expeditionary army had been beaten back by both Temple Guard Automatons and Gnolls. Hitoshi had received numerous survival trainings and meditation practices during his lifetime to allow him to go on without proper sleep for at most three days straight. But this Dwarven Queen, despite the lack of training had pushed forward by sheer will alone and fear of what lay ahead. It was impossible for her not to be that way in a situation like this as the last leading figure for what resembled a kingdom still.

"Today is the eve of the Winter Solstice." Hitoshi changed the subject to something that had caught her attention and surprise that she of all people had forgotten. Even her ministers were too preoccupied by the current crisis to consider this all-important event.

"I didn't realise…." She replied almost sluggish. But she already understood why her people were now so docile in behaviour.

What she was eating now, was a temple meal.

The Winter Solstice, the festival of the gods. A month of celebrations, fastings, and sacrifices. All to give homage to their patron deities, the period which all inhabitants of the continent shared in common. The Dwarves were no exception to this month and practiced a grander opening on the eve. Unfortunately, circumstances as they were made it impossible this year. Not that it was even possible without the Apostle as the annual celebrant. Perhaps this was the last time they would ever be able to do something like this for Duncan. It made Thranmilla's head spin and become lightheaded at the thought.

Furuta had likely known that and played on this to calm the folks. If the situation was smooth enough that he would dare to cook en masse, then there really wasn't any reason for them to worry at all. And if there was any 'temple meal' that was worthy of eating before their gods during their fast, it was that made by the God of Cookery.

"I need you to do something for me, Your Majesty."

"Name it." Even though she was half-aware when she accepted his request, Furuta detailed what he intended to do which stimulated all the nerves in her body when he declared this and what he expected of her.

"… Very well." Hitoshi gave her a nod and a mug of freshly brewed herbal drink that helped wash away all the spiciness stuck to her tongue and lips at long last. But also had a calming effect to her racing heart that was currently hammering away in overclock.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty. After this, everything will be a lot easier on you." He said with a stupidly assuring smile. Thranmilla should've realized something from it but had merely figured he was trying his best to brighten the dire mood as it was.

Not long after sating their hunger pangs and thirst, the ministers and officers gathered near the main elevator winch that had previously taken them up to the ship. Some of the Dwarven Knights had gotten the soldiers at the keel below to form orderly even though they were at ease. The citizens aboard the vessel were asked to assemble by the deck and starboard openings that faced the elevator.

"Son…" Who should she find awaiting them, but Prince Mayre and his knights. Despite their general distaste for associating themselves with Furuta, they were here because of what he proposed that would motivate their people.

"Children of Velduar." These words reverberated through the hollow space, echoing throughout the dock and vessel deck, thus, it did not evade a single listening ear. Stout heads pivoted attentively towards the source of this voice, followed by a translation in the Dwarven Tongue iterated by none other than Thranmilla herself.

Voices began to quieten down and ask the same of those nearby to hear what the God of Cookery had to say. Words of encouragement? Words of assurance? What did Furuta have to say, she wondered herself?

"For your attendance on this eve of the Winter Solstice, I thank you from the bottom of my heart."

The traction that he gained from these words gave a sense that they were in good hands.

"I understand that under Dwarven tradition, it is customary for the Apostle to open with a prayer after the first breaking of fast." If disappointment could be expressed in expression and posture alone, the Dwarves were getting worn by the very second that the Apostle's betrayal had impacted not just the kingdom but the very culture of the Dwarves itself.

"So instead, if you would give me the honors….." Not even Thranmilla was prepared for what his alternative to the opening prayer was when she was asked to translate for him from Imperial to Dwarven tongue.

"Let me pray with you."

There was no word to describe what he had requested. Those who understood his words before Thranmilla rephrased them were perplexed that someone like him would ask to do something like praying to another god. As astounded as the ministers and officers on the elevator with him were, their Queen was the most confounded by this act. Furuta Hitoshi, the God of Cookery, who believed in no other God of Falmart or God of his own world, was asking to be the lead celebrant of this occasion in place of the Apostle. There was a silence in their air instead of response. And it continued to drag on because no response was given, uncomfortable and awkward.

Indeed, Furuta was considered the God of Cookery by some while a mortal to others. But could he really succeed the only qualified celebrant in such a matter? Who could approve of such a notion if not the temple of Duncan themselves, who had rebelled against them?

"Bezmadan vulridir! (Blessed be the Forgefather!)" Said Thranmilla as she adopted a kneel upon the platform she was on.

She would consent to it.

Her subjects were quick to follow, as they adopted their prayer posture and bowed their heads and binded their palms.

"Bezmadan vulridir!" The soldiers followed suit after Mayre did the same.

"""Bezmadan vulridir!"""" They said in unison to the call of their last commander-in-chief.

While the citizens above gradually warmed to the idea and accompanied them in this pray. Was he not the God of Cookery after all? Wouldn't his words reach closer than any other beings' would to their forge father than even their own apostle?

"Bezmadan vulridir! odror avor grethir oz bloth avor ornzar. (Blessed Forgefather! O'heart of precious jewel, blood of iron and banisher of inpurity)." Instead of Thranmilla repeating this opening psalm, Hitoshi pronounced it fluently and even completed its whole phrase.

"""Bezmadan vulridir!"""" Warming to the idea of him as acting celebrant, the people and soldiers as a whole, repeated the psalm to initiate the prayer as one.

"I ask not as your believer, but as one who shares faith in the possibilities that lie with your children to hear these words." From here, Thranmilla translated his words. Here, Furuta prayed not for them but with them.

"Long have they prevailed in the trials ahead. Let them see that what lies ahead are not dead ends but higher mountains to climb." He became strangely metaphorical, yet everyone understood his words without complications.

"Let those worn and eager take heart, let those who still stand endure." Tiredness disappeared from their eyes and backs straightened at these words.

"Let the old remain still to share their past feats and sagas, while the young to reach out to forge their own."

"Let the men be the foundation in which rests the fate of Velduar."

"And that the womenfolk will continue to have the spirit to henpeck their husbands." To his mischievous call, his congregation couldn't help but laugh and snicker as much as they tried to hold it back. But in this light humor, their minds were freed from worry.

"Let the children sleep soundly, so that they may yet dream of a better….. brighter future." The masses were now beginning to accept this prayer wholeheartedly than just a formality for the sake of having one.

"Let these warriors march out with love in their hearts from those who cherish them always."

"That they may take to what lies ahead with a steadfast and growing confidence. That they will not let down their brothers-in-arms or themselves." Whatever doubts the soldiers had of their fate were now put aside, the stakes were there, but it no longer weighed on their minds like the before.

"Let Mayre Brightshield's sword remain sharp and his senses keen as he rides the vanguard of his knights through this maelstrom." As keen as the Iraemite sword on his scabbard would remain against otherwise superior Adamantite, Mayre did not scorn Furuta's words this once.

Then, as he paused for a moment to take a breath, he turned to Thranmilla and said to her…

"Let Thranmilla Mithram Brightshield close her eyes and awaken at the resolution of this war…"

What he said confused her, but not as much as her eyesight was beginning to get groggy and her vision started to spin all of a sudden.

"What-… Furuta?….." Hitoshi caught her by the shoulders as all the strength left her wobbling legs.

"I'm sorry, but I lied when I said what you had was the same as everyone else." As it became clear at least to her waning cognitive senses that he had spiked her food in order to sedate her. She noticed that none of her ministers or officers were that surprised, but what was most unbelievable was that neither was Mayre who stood beside them.

"All of you-…." She realized that they had collaborated on this, all of them. For once, Furuta and Mayre saw something in common.

The Queen of Velduar could not be allowed to work herself to death and join her liege before this crisis ended. Or the significance of the crown will not be as it once was. And so, Hitoshi added sleeping sedatives to her second mug of chamomile tea. With her back rested upon his arm, Thranmilla looked up to Furuta who whispered one more part to his prayer for her.

"…. And that she will still remain true to herself."

She fought the weight of her eyelids that seemed to want to close on their own, disobeying her commands now that the concoction had taken root. Attendants took over and gently rested her onto a stretcher. With the elevator reaching the bottom floor, Hitoshi, Mayre and all the Dwarven officers stepped off, as their stop had arrived.

"Mayre….. Furuta…" Even though this betrayal transpired, her hand reached out to them. Yearning for them to take it even as the elevator was hoisted up to the safety of the vessel once more. And yet as these strange appearances happened during his prayer, they did not happen without reason. As Hitoshi continued with the prayer with…

"Harden their spirits but not their hearts. Clear their sorrows, their anxieties. But look up…" In lieu of Thranmilla, a clear spoken minister conveyed his words in their tongue.

"For what lies beyond the horizon is not an end, but a new beginning." Even with this, they all understood that there was a possibility for not only survival but victory, they only had to believe in it, in themselves.

"So let sound the war horns! Let the Gnolls come! For there are none fearful of such odds!" Hitoshi boomed and jumpstarted their vitality.

"To Duncan's folk, I say, until tomorrow! To the Warriors, I say, fight well! And to all else, I say-…." In an almost instinctive manner, they all knew what he had expected of them as he said the words that closed the prayer.

"Hja Klavram!"

"""Hjaaaa Klaaaavram!""" There would never be a louder cheer that would be bellowed at the eve of the Winter Solstice nor one so deeply meaningful.

It seemed that after this prayer, spirits had been restored to their fullest. Both civilian and military and would stay that way at least till the war ended.

Hitoshi turned to Mayre, amidst the vocal chorus of a victorious outcome. For they both knew that this situation was anything but hopeful in truth. But it was necessary. Mayre understood that the God of Cookery title still had a part to play even if he didn't admire what Hitoshi did that meddled in the affairs of the Dwarves that should be handled by them alone. He was taking a stake in their moment of glory or fall.

Surrounding Mayre, was the vanguard of his knights and their captains who were all awaiting the word to move from their commander.

"You don't have to like me. But your assistance will be the difference between life and death. For all of us." Hitoshi said no more, as there was nothing more to be said that could convince them otherwise. But it seemed to be enough for them, at least the field officers and the knight captains who made the bulk of what remained of the Velduarite Army.

That was until Mayre tossed something Hitoshi's way and the latter caught it. As mundane as the scroll-like object he had received appeared, it was in fact the single most important document within the Dwarven Military. The Baton of the Office which Hadric had recovered from the late Marshal Blackwyr. Effectively giving him complete control over the entirety of Velduars' military might, or what remained of it.

"I don't approve of your methods, but….. for her, you have my thanks."

If anyone knew who stubborn Thranmilla was towards what she thought mattered, it was Novar and her sons. But few could change her opinion even if they knew how.

"Pray, prince. That we might still return to receive an earful from her." For once, the knights and officers shared an unrestraint laugh as Mayre did too.

(Rumble)

But that was all the time they had left for rest and recuperation for everyone, the troops most of all. For their most pressing opponent, the Gnolls had found a way across the molten moat it seemed and had begun to besiege the Isle of Kyrills' defenses which stood between them and the remainder of the Dwarves in the Royal castle isles.

"Warriors of Velduar!" Hitoshi called the attention of the soldiers with the baton raised on high, that answered his query with a stout yet collective shout of confidence.

"By my provisional authority as the Marshal of Velduar, I bid you stand! Defend this city! Fight for its people and your brothers!" The response to his command was not just compliance but a roar of triumph and valor that had occupied those hearts previously empty and hollow from the prolonged fighting decaying their battle strength and waning provisions.

"All battlegroups! Move out!" Mayre ordered the commander of the clusters to mobilize their forces to defending their previously established strong points and flanks. Before, he mounted his steed aside his own contingent of mounted knights to take the vanguard. Passing Hitoshi he gave respect when respect was due, and gave a curt nod which was returned by the former before riding off.

Hitoshi was now part of a command staff that was attached to him for the duration of the campaign and would position himself at the centre of their instantaneous communication dispatches to coordinate their defense efforts. For he was sure that the Gnolls will play a different kind of game from the last time they attacked the city. A different chieftain, a different tribe with newer powers and unspeakable tactics from the last. Forced to play the defensive game, he had could only react to their offense strategies and was limited within the confines of the city.

Hitoshi turned around as troops force marched by him on rekindled spirits, glancing towards the elevator that continued to rise gradually under the substantial weight of the numbers crowded on to get loaded onto Dominion. Including the addition of one Queen of Velduar whom they had drugged against her will so that she would no longer put her life on the line any further. This was the deal that him and Mayre agreed upon. He would ensure that Thranmilla would not be involved in the fighting and the Kingdom would survive by her and the younger adolescent prince. Only then, would Mayre play by his rules in fighting the Gnolls on his terms.

"You're wrong." He spoke to the invisible figure that occupied the front of his sight, sitting on the ledge of the elevator with her red robes dangling down as she stared back into his soul with a smug grin on her face.

"I'm not a wolf amongst men." He said to Aka no Teika, his phantom of persuasion. As he barred his fangs at her metaphorically.

"I'm just a wolf."

---

Author's Notes:

I've been quite busy since my graduation last month. Looking for jobs in my graduate discipline. So far, one's looking up to it. But requires that I move interstate for a duration, to new south wales country. My mind has not been on story writing for some time, as I have been spending time with the friends I have here in Adelaide as well as for myself. Giving myself a pat on the back for finally finishing a very grueling uni course.