Chapter 10: 9-The Daily Life of the Immortal Peasant (II)

”...you know how to cook?” Grisella sounded positively vexed.

“You don’t?” I, for my part, couldn’t quite believe my ears. I didn’t really know exactly how old the witch was but, from her own admission, her age could be measured in centuries. How could anyone fail to gain such a basic skill in such a long time? “How- What?”

I found myself a bit too surprised to articulate a proper sentence. I knew for a fact she didn’t have servants to do the cooking for her, either.

For a moment, her vivacious eyes gave me a silent, even stare, then she just shrugged.

“After opening Femar, most practitioners don’t really need physical sustenance anymore. We still can partake, of course, and some folks in the big cities do, just for the sake of it. But, I’ve always been on the road, or on small hamlets like ours, where getting my hands on anything fancier than plain tubers was too annoying to ever bother.” A surprisingly girlish, toothy grin curled her lips. “Although, I do indulge in the occasional drink.”

“When-” I started, before gulping, somewhat dreading the answer to the question I was about to ask. “When was the last time you ate anything?”

“Hmm...” The witch frowned. “Probably last time I was in Zabala? So before settling here...” She nodded. “Yeah, sounds about right. An old flame of mine I was visiting insisted I just had to taste the capital’s famed spicy lamb skewers. I have to admit she wasn’t wrong! Actually, if you ever get the chance to visit the metropolis, I recommend you try them too. Provided it’s still their specialty after a century... Hey, don’t look at me like that! You don’t have to worry, Lina said she'd be bringing enough food for you every day.”

Hearing her words, I couldn’t help dumbly staring at her, mouth agape.

“Oh come on! What’s with the face?” She scoffed. “You aren’t doing yourself any favors, you know? Even for a brat, you don’t look particularly smart, to begin with. No need to make it worse!”

A century.

Throughout my lives, I’ve met ascetic monks, several times. Hell, I’ve lived as an anchorite, at least twice that I can remember. Yet, never, not in my wildest dreams, even had there not been the obvious biological restrictions we had on Earth, would I have believed that it was possible for a human to forego food for even half of that time...

“Cream!” I suddenly demanded.

“What?” Grisella frowned.

“Eggs!” I continued, blatantly disregarding her confusion. “Honey! Also, salt, butter, lard, vinegar, flour, those tubers you spoke of, and whatever manner of meat you can get your hands on! Bring them to me, as soon as you can!”

“Honey is not exactly common around here, you know...” The witch’s frown deepened. “Well, I don’t really mind. I could get you all of that; ‘been a while since I last lived with anyone else so let’s just call it your welcoming gift... Even if you sort of forced me into it. Anyway, what are you going to do with it?”

“Oh, nothing much.” I grinned, pleased that, for once, the witch was proving particularly cooperative. “I’m just going to show you how badly you’ve wasted most of your life.”

 

---

 

“Hey.”

“Fhat?” I asked, or tried to, half-choking on a piece of sour-honeyed, breaded mystery meat. There was no real mystery to its origin, of course, -in fact, I’d done the slaughter with my own two hands-, my mind simply refused to think about the creature it came from. As it turned out, while for whatever reason most animals that existed on Earth could apparently also be found on Zabal or the other Realms, the most common kind of cattle the locals raised, at least in our cozy little hamlet, had the unfortunate occurrence of looking like the unholy fruit of an orgy involving a sea cucumber, an iguana, and a bald sloth. The locals’ preference was not particularly surprising, though. As I had learned from an amused Grisella, despite their disgusting appearance, Ghordls were fast-growing, hardy creatures, easy enough to handle due to their inherent passivity and small size, and able to graze on pretty much anything. Their meat surprisingly reminded me of chicken, though.

“I have to admit,” Continued the witch, oblivious to my inner conflict. “when you asked me to make you some ice, I was a bit skeptical. But, this- what did you call it again?”

“Crème-” I inhaled yet another piece of meat.“brûlée.”

“Yes... that.” Grisella scrunched her nose, before her expression softened as she relished a spoonful of golden goodness. “Anyway, I thought using Breath on something as pedestrian as cooking was borderline sacrilegious, but- Yeah, I was wrong.”

“Don’t let it get to you, we all make mistakes.” I shrugged. “I, for one, used to think the world was flat!”

“What do you mean ‘used to’?” Grisella frowned, stopping her hand right in the middle of its newest quest for sugary bounty. “It is flat! Sage Kerimanthos the Younger famously demonstrated as much, over a thousand years ago, by using his Gift of instantaneous movement to measure the variations in length and relative angle of the shadows cast by a gauged instrument in a radius of three hundred leagues around Zabala. His calculations were even later supported by Bamngoroth the Astromancer in his ‘On the Nature of the Empyrean’, and that entire book was publicly endorsed by the Oracle of Kermai, whose Gift of Prophecy was said to only be matched by that of the gods that rule over that Aspect!”

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...No fucking way!

“Are you sure about that?” I coughed, my throat still somewhat sore after its recent encounter with a tiny, deliciously fatty terrorist. ”'Cause I seem to remember otherwise, you know? I could have sworn things were a bit rounder...”

“Luminous Source above, give me the strength to tolerate senile old coots!” Grisella scowled at me. “Yes, I’m pretty sure! I’ve even been to the world’s Edge myself! ‘Seen the Void beyond with my own two eyes! Don’t give me that look! For the living, journeying through the Bereftlands is dangerous, true, and we could probably have made better use of our time but, back when I was still an apprentice, my master insisted I couldn’t graduate from her tutelage before getting to see it!”

I pondered the witch’s words for a moment, and ultimately found that I could only acquiesce. Why not? Even if the physics of how something like that worked completely escaped me, a flat world, realm, or whatever, wasn’t any less strange than having magic and some sort of video game-like system apparently ruling over it. For all I could tell, instead of gravity, this new reality of mine maybe had a bunch of magically-propelled, invisible demons holding everything in place.

Well, there goes what little was left of my brains, so much for trying to make sense out of anything! Let’s just forget about all of it, and rather focus on getting some of that custard before the greedy witch wolfs it all down.

Normally, really old people tend to have a poor appetite, but Grisella’s century of fasting had apparently granted her the voracity of an entire horde of barbarian raiders. Never mind that also even just a month of fasting would normally bar people from consuming anything more than a light meal, the likes of thin soup. And no, my description of her gluttony wasn’t much of a hyperbole, either.

Under me very own eyes, she had casually moved from devouring at least six kilograms of sweet and sour meat, accompanied by an equally generous serving of fried not-quite-topinamburs, to over thirteen servings of crème brûlée. Exactly where all of that was going, given her almost skeletal frame, was beyond me. Mind you, of course, I hadn’t initially planned to make anywhere near as much food, but needs must, as they say...

Even if I had spent most of it slaving away in front of the stove, the day had hardly been unproductive, though, as far as my immediate and future goals were concerned. As a matter of fact, Lina and Munok had needed surprisingly little convincing from Grisella to release me from their dubious supervision. The fact that the witch was apparently pretty much Lina’s adoptive grandmother, and that the couple had another, smaller child to worry about, was probably not unrelated to that.

Also, preparing all that meat had unwittingly given me a piece of rather vital information. Which, I admit, was not unrelated to my suddenly found willingness to prepare quasi-industrial quantities of food. And I’m not talking about the fact that, since she lacked a food-dedicated knife, the witch had casually gifted me a short dagger that I could only think of as made of Damascus steel. On that note, for the nth time that day, I mentally recalled the notifications I had received while slaughtering the surprisingly tasty Ghordls. Just to make sure they were still there.

 

Congratulations! By plundering the essence of your fallen foes, you have improved your own standing.

Congratulations! By plundering the essence of your fallen foes, you have improved your own standing.

Congratulations! By plundering the essence of your fallen foes, you have improved your own standing.

 

Congratulations! After repeatedly interacting with Pneuma, your Skill Terribly Primitive Pneuma Manipulation has significantly improved.

Congratulations! Your Skill Terribly Primitive Pneuma Manipulation has reached a Major Threshold.

Congratulations! You have acquired the Skill Primitive Pneuma Manipulation.

 

Skill: Primitive Pneuma Manipulation [Passive]

“-Magic? Hmm...

-I know, right? But, I swear on me mum, the lad could fly and his arse was shining!”

Vriya, 319 B.G.E.

Effect: Enhances control over Pneuma and reduces expenditure while casting.

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