Flames and Mud

After the Chieftain left, the Witch Doctors discussed their respective insights into spell research for a while longer before dispersing as well.

Back in his room, Blade Tusk did not study spells as usual. Instead, he once again carefully considered the problem of food storage.

In his previous life, as a city youth, he had truly had little opportunity to encounter smoked meat or air-dried meat beyond eating them, much less learn how they were made.

So now, he had no choice but to approach the problem from the angle of possible techniques.

The main cause of meat spoilage seems to be microbial growth, right? What conditions do microorganisms need to grow? Air, moisture. Those are the only two I can think of. Why didn't I read more books on this stuff?

"The only method I can think of is comparison. Forget it. I'll try it myself tomorrow."

With that thought in mind, he slowly entered his usual meditation. It was a daily compulsory lesson, and unless it was a matter of life and death, he had no intention of interrupting it.

Only after roughly one lamp-hour did he end his meditation and fall asleep amid mental exhaustion.

It was another morning. Blade Tusk finished his meditation early before heading out.

He called over several youths and instructed them to bring some pre-made mud bricks, then mix up more mud. He guided them in stacking layer after layer of bricks and mud to build several simple square clay stoves.

He then had the youths gather branches, leaves, and vines, telling them to pick the driest ones they could find.

Meanwhile, he and several other youths used mud to make containers resembling pots and bowls.

By the time they had painstakingly shaped the mud pots and bowls, the youths who had gone to gather branches and leaves had returned as well.

After sorting through the materials, Blade Tusk placed the relatively dry ones at the bottom of the clay stoves and ignited them with a Flame Spell.

He planned to dry the stoves out first. Though he was not quite sure whether that was a necessary step, the damp mud layers were rather unpleasant to look at.

Lighting the fire was not easy. Even after several rounds of selection, the wood still contained far too much moisture. Thick smoke was much more conspicuous than the flames, drawing over a large group of guards who had never seen such a thing.

After sending away the startled tribesmen who had rushed over at the sight of the smoke, Blade Tusk turned back—and nearly cried out, Holy shit.

Beside the stove, the youths were already staring wide-eyed at the tongues of flame that occasionally flickered up. One little Troll seemed utterly captivated by the fire. Seeing that the Witch Doctor had gone to deal with the adult Trolls, he foolishly reached his hand into the stove.

Only then did Blade Tusk realize how stupid he had been. These little Trolls had never seen fire before.

When he hurried over and yanked the little Troll's hand away, the frightened expression on the child's face stunned him once more.

Is that the expression someone should make when they're in pain? When they've been burned? What's going on?

Hesitantly, he slowly moved his little finger toward the flames.

One palm's width away.

Mm, no feeling.

Half a palm's width away.

It's a little hot, but not very noticeable.

A tongue of flame licked across his hand. Blade Tusk instinctively wanted to pull back, but the sensation in his palm stopped him.

It's only a little hot?

He began to question his life. Was the fire not hot enough? Or was Troll skin simply too thick?

He hoped it was the latter.

"W-Witch Doctor. I'm sorry."

The little Troll's cautious voice woke Blade Tusk from his doubts. Turning around, he saw that it was the child he had just pulled away.

The little Troll still wore a frightened expression. After giving him a smiling pat on the head, Blade Tusk comforted him.

"It's fine. I was only worried that you'd get hurt."

This was clearly a smart child. His attempt to probe the flames showed curiosity, courage, and a desire to explore. And knowing to apologize at least showed that he had a decent grasp of language.

Blade Tusk thought he might be promising material.

"What do you want to do in the future?" he asked.

"I want to become a brave warrior."

It slipped from his mouth—a dream born from what he had constantly seen and heard. But a flickering tongue of flame at the corner of his eye made the little Troll hesitate.

"What is that? Is it the Witch Doctor's power?"

"No. That is the power of knowledge. Witch Doctors are merely the 'agents' of knowledge."

Upon hearing the answer, the little Troll wore a tangled expression. His blue skin wrinkled into a crumpled mess, making the fangs that had only just begun to grow from his lips all the more conspicuous.

The child's ugly little face instantly dampened Blade Tusk's interest. He had intended to laugh it off and continue with his work, but then another thought struck him. Younglings were generally cuter than mature individuals. Didn't that mean he himself was even uglier now?

At that thought, he restrained his disdain and forced out a somewhat stiff smile as he offered encouragement.

"It's not time for you to choose yet. Before long, the Witch Doctors will add more things to your studies. Work hard when the time comes."

The facial skin of nearly adult Trolls had already taken on a somewhat keratinized texture, so a "stiff smile" and a "sincere smile" were not all that easy to tell apart.

Thus, the little Troll happily accepted Blade Tusk's encouragement and resumed his career as a child laborer.

After sending the little Troll away, Blade Tusk looked at the finger that had just been licked by the flames and fell into thought. After trying to "touch fire" several more times, he gradually figured out his limits.

The outer layer of skin has a certain degree of fire resistance. Only after being scorched by the outer flame for a relatively long time will obvious damage appear.

This was good news. He still hadn't figured out what he could use this trait for, but being immune to fire to a certain extent was always a good thing.

"Besides that, there's all this smoke."

At first, the always-damp, hard-to-burn "firewood" in the Black Forest had given him quite a headache. But as he watched the thick smoke continuously rise, a new guess came to him.

Could this so-called "smoked meat" be smoked with this kind of smoke?

After quietly noting down that fleeting thought, he felt that using all that smoke and fire merely to bake the stove was far too wasteful.

So he set up a crisscrossing rack over the stove and placed the roughly shaped clay containers on top, intending to see whether it could speed up their "drying."

The soil used for kneading clay was mostly sticky earth the warriors had casually dug up and stored away, originally intending to make mud bricks. Depending on where it had been taken from, the finished products differed somewhat in their properties.

Blade Tusk intended to pick out the kind of clay best suited for making cooking utensils.

Specifically, while ensuring fire resistance, it also needed a certain degree of thermal conductivity.

At the very least, it had to be able to boil water.

Earlier, Blade Tusk had led the youths in building three earthen stoves and shaping more than ten crude cooking vessels. By the time they finished everything, a long while had already passed.

The little Trolls were tired and hungry again, so Blade Tusk planned to roast some meat to reward them.

He fetched the meat, washed away the blood, skewered it on branches, and casually laid it across the rack, in the gaps between the cooking vessels being baked.

Golden fat gradually seeped out and dripped into the flames below with bursts of sizzling. The distinctive fragrance of roasting meat also slowly grew richer.

The little Trolls had never smelled anything like it before. Their saliva flowed uncontrollably, even trickling from the gaps between their fangs and lips.

Truly—a river of drool.