10 — Chapter 10

“You—where on earth did you get such a thing?!”

A giant tuna. And not just a piece—a whole one.

Its weight was estimated to be equivalent to five grown men. It was a size that could be called legendary, the kind that usually requires a fleet of veteran fishermen working in unison to land.

Its eyes were dark, its fins remained taut, and its body possessed a wet, shimmering luster. It was incredibly fresh.

“Yesterday was my day off, so I went out to the nearby waters to fish. It didn’t take long for it to bite, but due to its weight, it took a five-hour life-or-death struggle to haul it up. As a result, I arrived slightly late to this venue, for which I offer my humblest apologies.”

“Elma… you…”

Having the baseline of their expectations blown straight out of the atmosphere from the very start, the crowd was left speechless.

However, Juliana’s smooth cheeks seemed somewhat flushed with excitement.

‘Mother, that isn’t the part you’re supposed to find heart-throbbing,’ Lucas wanted to tell her.

Ignoring the surrounding chaos she had caused, the silent maid proceeded with her preparations with clinical detachment. After rolling the tuna onto the prep table with a dull, heavy thud, she pinched the hem of her maid outfit and performed a graceful, silent bow.

“Maid Elma. Though I am unworthy, I intend to borrow the strength of Head Chef Georges Ramadier’s spirit to create a dish with all my heart and soul. I pray it suits the palates of the nobility.”

“I… I permit it. I expect much from your loyalty and skill…!”

“…Just prioritize safety above all else,” Lucas added, his true feelings leaking out.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me…’

Georges, who had been watching the exchange, was also stunned for a moment.

‘In my thirty years as a chef, I’ve never seen a tuna that huge. …But I see. If it’s fish, as long as it’s fresh, serving it as-is will taste ‘good.’ Clever thinking.’

In Luten and Montaigne, they didn’t serve fish as sashimi, but dishes like marinated fish or carpaccio tossed in vinegar and oil were well-liked. Even lightly searing it and sprinkling it with salt would be delicious. With a fish that large, even if she botched the butchering, she could try again as many times as she wanted—and using only the most exquisite cuts from that massive body would make for a high-impact performance.

‘…Not bad.’

But he wouldn’t lose. He was terrible at the “inner palace games” of power struggles, but he knew his craft. His career, which involved impressing the infamously gourmet royalty and nobility of Montaigne, was no fluke.

Georges adjusted his chef’s hat, braced himself, and set to work.

Befitting the early summer heat, he would prepare a chilled potato soup—Vichyssoise.

Potatoes were the national food of Luten. He intended to show these Luten people, who knew no better than to steam and eat them, the very essence of Montaigne’s culinary culture.

He sautéed two types of specially selected onions in plenty of butter before adding uniformly thin-sliced potatoes. The heating method that drew out the sweetness of the ingredients without burning them, the secret bouillon deepened over time with chicken and aromatic vegetables, and the top-tier sherry added as a secret ingredient—these were the pinnacle of technique and flavor that only someone who had refined their skills in Montaigne could achieve.

The gallery let out a collective breath of awe at the brilliance of his movements and the faint, appetite-whetting aroma that began to drift through the air.

…But that was short-lived.

“You there, the stable hand in the brown vest. And the guard with the brand-new breastplate. Yes, you. Could you step a little further to the right? It’s dangerous.”

The people let out confused murmurs at the mysterious command issued from the left kitchen. There was a considerable distance between the cooking area and the spectators.

While feeling dubious, they were swallowed by the strange pressure radiating from the maid. The moment they moved, it happened.

“Now, I shall begin the butchering.”

Slash!

The moment after Elma pushed up the bridge of her glasses and slowly raised a large-bladed kitchen knife—which might as well have been a sword—a terrifying wind erupted!

“Eek!”

The wind disheveled the women’s clothes and whipped the men’s hair violently. Part of it became a vacuum blade, cracking the cobblestones. Behind Elma, the water from the fountain that had been shooting straight toward the sky collapsed as if sliced by a blade.

A moment later, with a massive splash, the water fell, leaving the surroundings in dead silence.

“Wh-what just happened…?”

Someone thought they heard a distinct shick! sound, but Elma’s knife-work had been so fast that it was impossible to tell if it was the sound of the blade or the roar of the wind.

However, despite her saying she would “butcher” it, the tuna still lay before Elma with its head and torso seemingly connected. The crowd whispered in bewilderment.

“L-Lucas? Did Elma just… well, create a gust of wind? The fish looks unharmed.”

“No… it’s likely that her strike was so sharp that the tuna doesn’t even realize it’s been cut yet.”

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?!” (What is that?!)

In her agitation, Juliana’s mother tongue slipped out. But Lucas’s assessment proved correct, for a split second later—

The tuna began to… wobble.

As if the tuna had suddenly remembered the flow of time, its form began to collapse.

In the blink of an eye, the fish had separated into head, torso, bones, organs, and meat—all beautifully arranged in neat blocks.

“What is this?!”

Juliana’s scream happened to speak for every single person present.

But Elma’s momentum didn’t stop there.

She swiftly mixed flour, milk, oil, and salt in a giant bowl, kneading it with such blinding speed that the dough balls flying from her hands—sh-pa-pa-pa!—looked like cannonballs firing from a barrel.

Next, she shredded cabbage at a non-human pace, tossing it with salt and lemon to soften it. Then, she ground the hard bread into fine breadcrumbs. Humanity learned that day that when an object is ground in an instant, it doesn’t make a “crunching” sound; it makes a sharp “vzzzzt!”

She then sliced the tuna into fist-sized pieces, seasoned them with salt and pepper, dipped them in egg wash, and coated them in the fresh breadcrumbs.

The crowd finally realized her intent when they saw her heating oil in a massive pot that looked like a cauldron from the depths of hell.

Fried tuna!

With a flick of her arm—whoosh!—she tossed in a mountain of tuna. While it fried to a crisp, Elma stayed busy crushing boiled eggs and mixing them into a pale sauce made of eggs and vinegar.

At the same time, she was baking a massive quantity of what appeared to be bread on a rolled iron plate.

“What is that? It’s far too flat for bread.”

“That is Naan. I read in a book once that it’s a type of bread widely eaten on the Southern Continent.”

Juliana, well-versed in geography, picked up on Lucas’s mutterings. Only Gerda and Irene, standing nearby, noticed that the conversation had unintentionally turned into a pun, and both quietly lowered their faces to hide their smiles.

In the midst of this, the tuna finished frying.

One might have expected her to scoop it out of the oil, but the naan had finished baking at the exact same moment. If she prioritized one, the other would burn.

What now—?

This was no longer cooking. It felt like watching a championship match; the nearly one hundred spectators held their breath in unison.

But the bespectacled maid made yet another unexpected move.

In one hand, she gripped a spatula; in the other, she drew a saber—a saber! Taking a forward-leaning stance, she quietly crossed them in front of her chest.

The next moment.

“—Ha!”

With a sharp, dignified cry, she spun in a circle.

The wind danced. Her black maid uniform and white apron fluttered, leaving afterimages. Simultaneously, the crisp-fried tuna and the perfectly browned naan were launched into the air as if flicked by her spatula.

“She tossed them up at the same time?!”

The gallery erupted. Before their eyes, the fried fish and the naan—their weight and trajectories calculated to perfection—aligned in a flawless row at a specific point in mid-air.

And then—

Slash!

“She cut the fried fish and the naan all at once…!”

The saber roared as it swirled, slicing every floating object in half.

Eat. Kill. Cut.

The skill was breathtaking. Furthermore, the girl quickly tossed aside her spatula and grabbed a large spoon instead. She scooped up the shredded cabbage and “fired” it toward the falling naan.

The clumps of cabbage, struck with tremendous speed and wind pressure, forced open the sliced cross-sections of the naan like pockets. Then, as if finding their proper home, they settled themselves neatly inside.

Next, the fried fish—struck by the girl using her saber like a bat—flew in after them.

“Impossible…!”

In the blink of an eye, the fried tuna and cabbage naan sandwiches were formed. Only Lucas, with his superior kinetic vision, could comprehend the process, and he let out a gasp of astonishment.

Supernatural strength. A sword technique that was far too brilliant. Throwing ability that didn’t miss by a hair’s breadth.

She looked like the legendary Berserker who was said to have once annihilated an army of a thousand men single-handedly.

I want this girl.

As a knight and a leader of men, Lucas couldn’t help but groan. This was the first time he had ever craved a woman, not sexually, but from a purely professional standpoint.

Ignoring the excitement and the burning stares of the crowd, Elma waited until the very last moment before the sandwiches hit the ground to fire “bullets” of tartar sauce.

Splat-plat-plat-plat!

After confirming with a distinct sound that the tartar sauce had landed unerringly in the center of each sandwich, she quickly spread out a clean cloth and caught the falling sandwiches all at once.

Fwump…

Finally, with a quietness that made the previous fierce assault seem like a lie, she lined the sandwiches up on the prep table.

“—It is finished.”

Standing before the steaming naan sandwiches, the maid pushed up the bridge of her glasses and made her announcement.

“Oh…”

Someone gulped. The skill was too magnificent. The dish looked incredibly delicious. And—there was clearly enough for about a hundred people.

The gallery, which had been fixated on her abnormal cooking process, suddenly realized something. Despite being presented as a dish for the nobility, this quantity meant…

“Lady Juliana, and Prince Lucas. And for everyone else present here today, I have prepared these. Please, everyone, take one and enjoy.”

“WOOOOOOOO!”

The moment Elma bowed, the servants thrust their fists into the air and cheered in unison.