The Possession-Spoon Chef Feeds the Empire - Chapter 7

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 7
Lucielle ran her eyes across the kitchen implements and swallowed hard.
Whether Cain’s claim that she’d been examined by a physician while unconscious was true, she couldn’t say, but the sensation had returned to her fingertips.
“Let’s see what we have here…….”
After washing her hands with the water provided, Lucielle rummaged through a heap of butternut squash piled in the corner of the kitchen and selected one that was small but substantial.
“I’ll make Butternut Squash Soup.”
From that moment, Lucielle’s movements quickened.
She rifled through the shelves above and below the counter, locating the pot and cutting board she needed.
She scraped the seeds from the squash in a flash, placed it in a steamer, and simultaneously began caramelizing onions in butter on a pan, drawing out a sweet fragrance.
Schwick—
In that instant, Lucielle drew a deep breath and pulled forth Mana from deep within her body.
“Buff.”
A small, translucent Status Window flickered before her eyes and vanished.
Compared to the Status Window her mother could summon, it was a meager interface with few functions, but it was all that Lucielle, being only half-Possessed, could manifest.
How proud she’d felt when she’d managed this at age two.
[You cast the skill ‘Buff: Serene Repose’.]
Those who consume the prepared food gain immediate mental stabilization and Mana recovery. Due to the current state of Mana depletion, the caster’s duration of consciousness is limited to ’60 minutes’.
Warm, gentle power flowed through her fingertips and seeped into the dish.
Sixty minutes.
‘That’s shorter than usual.’
Lucielle decided to work faster.
“Activate special function.”
The Status Window flashed again.
[Special Eye Function: ‘Gourmet’s Compass’ has been activated.]
Marks optimal ingredients within the kitchen. ※Warning: Excessive Mana consumption will reduce consciousness duration by an additional ’10 minutes’.
“Ten whole minutes cut off…… that’s harsh.”
Lucielle murmured her complaint but continued cooking nonetheless.
She tore through the kitchen as if it were her own home, finding ingredients with unerring precision.
Among the ingredients the kitchen staff had yet to organize, her hands moved without hesitation, selecting only the freshest.
Glub-glub—
She mashed the properly softened squash into a fine pulp, then poured rich milk and fresh heavy cream over it.
The orange squash mingled with the white liquid, transforming into a warm, luminous golden hue.
With precise heat control, she stirred the base with a wooden spoon, and the soup gradually took on a texture as smooth and dense as velvet. At the same time, an intoxicating aroma began to spread throughout the entire kitchen.
“What…… what is this?”
The sous-chef and several other cooks instinctively sniffed the air.
“The butternut squash soup smells…… did it always smell this good?”
“It’s something we eat all the time, but…… could we just be hungry?”
“The heavy cream—she picked the freshest batch that came in today. The richness, the way it pairs with the squash, just right…….”
Cain, watching from one side, inhaled the soup-laden air.
He swallowed and deliberately set his expression firm.
Was it possible for a scent to feel comforting?
But it was true.
This aroma that now caressed his nose was like cotton wrapping around his body on a cold day—deeply, unmistakably comforting.
Meanwhile, Lucielle glanced around the kitchen, then located in the pantry a bottle labeled with the seal of the Golden Olive Merchant Company—the empire’s finest provisions purveyor—and immediately uncapped a container of Concentrated Chicken Stock.
“Oh, how did she……!”
Jerome muttered in bewilderment.
“We received that as a gift from the company but never had the chance to present it to the Duke. It hasn’t even been released to the market!”
The other cooks around him wore equally shocked expressions.
A small child, and she’d unerringly found the most expensive, most precious ingredient in the kitchen.
Moreover, that stock’s concentration differed from standard chicken stock, making its proportions difficult to balance.
The sous-chef himself had yet to discover the correct ratio and was still experimenting, only to ruin dishes every time he tried—it was becoming a source of frustration.
Lucielle’s unfaltering touch somehow struck at their pride.
She gave the stock a single sniff, made a pleased sound—’There it is’—and then, without measuring, simply drizzled it into the soup.
It was a reckless move, but Jerome instinctively understood.
Her measure had been perfect.
The moment the Golden Olive Merchant Company’s Concentrated Chicken Stock met the soup, the fragrance elevated a tier.
Jerome found himself swallowing hard.
Lucielle smiled as she watched the soup deepen to a rich golden brown.
‘Of course a wealthy household would have something of this caliber.’
To find chicken stock with a consistency matching what she’d made alongside her mother.
She combined several herbs and added them to the soup. With each ingredient, the depth of the fragrance permeating the kitchen grew.
Whoosh—
Finally, she drew a small bottle from her pocket and sprinkled a pinch of MSG into the pot.
“Ah……”
Everyone in the kitchen drew a sharp breath again.
Where the chicken stock and MSG powder met, the aroma in the air became almost violently intense.
“Almost done.”
Lucielle set down the ladle she’d been stirring with and turned toward the oven to remove the bread.
It was at that moment Jerome did something he himself couldn’t quite understand.
Entranced by the smell of a dish not yet finished, he approached the counter like a thief, moving silently.
“……Mmm.”
He scraped up the soup clinging to the ladle with a spoon and dropped it into his mouth.
“Ah, wait——”
“Sous-chef……!”
The cooks had no time to stop him.
Jerome only realized what he’d done after the soup had slid down his throat, but by then it was far too late.
“……!”
In the next instant, his eyes went wide as saucers.
The deep sweetness of the butternut squash, the silken note of butter caressing his tongue, the subtle harmony of herbs elevating the profile, and…….
“What…… what is this? Could it be the stock alone……?”
A dense, profound depth—as though thousands of chickens had been reduced to a single drop—pressed against his palate, and then an explosive umami bloomed.
A texture so minutely intricate, so abundantly rich, as he’d never experienced before.
No, no matter how exceptional, the stock alone couldn’t account for a flavor of this magnitude.
Then it must have been that strange powder she’d added midway?
He savored the remnants of soup still in his mouth.
This time, he perceived a texture of wonder.
Through some manipulation of heat and timing, it flowed across his tongue silken-smooth, yet occasionally, a fine, floury particle of squash would catch between his teeth.
These fragments maintained their form, yet the instant they met his teeth, they melted away like honey.
Jerome treasured each dissolving morsel too much to swallow, rolling them carefully across his palate instead.
It was a remarkable dish.
It fulfilled every expectation one could harbor toward butternut squash soup, while simultaneously cradling a freshness, a shock of flavor he had never encountered.
Jerome understood clearly.
The essence of this soup was not some magical ingredient. It was Lucielle’s ability to unite all those ingredients into a single, harmonious dish.
This simple bowl of soup resonated with a depth and magnitude beyond any dish he knew.
His pride—earned as an imperial culinary competition champion and senior chef of the royal kitchen—crumbled with a single taste.
The surrounding cooks murmured as they watched his reaction.
“Sous-chef, how does it taste……?”
One by one, they picked up spoons and crowded around the pot.
“Ah, no…… how is this possible!”
“Good heavens, it’s like something wrapping me in warmth, like a blanket…….”
“If I could eat this soup for the rest of my life…… I’d have no regrets in death.”
Jerome whipped his head around toward Lucielle.
She held a piece of bread in one hand, her expression one of utter exasperation.
“You all tasted it already?”
“…….”
“I made plenty on purpose, and there’s barely half the pot left now.”
“…….”
“Would you mind stepping aside? I need to plate it up.”
“You…… how…… how did you make this?”
Lucielle waved her hand as though shooing flies, trying to drive them back, but Jerome grabbed the hem of her apron with a desperate expression.
“Yes?”
“Please. Teach me.”
His eyes held something approaching reverence.
“Even once would be enough. I want to create something like this with my own hands.”
Amid her annoyance, Lucielle felt a secret relief.
The taste would be wonderful, certainly.
‘But they haven’t realized the Buff effect.’
Well, they were cooks—of course they’d fixate on taste and texture rather than the magical potency.
“……Does this mean I pass?”
“Pass? Unnecessary! If a child like you could stay in our kitchen……!”
Ha.
Lucielle’s eyes narrowed at Jerome’s dramatic reversal.
“Hold on. I never said I’d place this child under your employ.”
Cain, apparently thinking the same, raised a hand to separate Jerome from Lucielle and let out a hollow laugh.
“I was arrogant, sir.”
Jerome bowed his head deeply in apology. The other cooks hesitated, then lowered their heads as well.
“This wasn’t a test—it was a lesson. No, a desire to learn: the use of that stock, the nature of the powder you employed, the unorthodox herbs, the precise heat control, and…….”
Jerome spoke his request for instruction with genuine fervor. Nigel of the Lord’s Castle flashed through Lucielle’s mind.
That wretch, who’d sought to gaslight and exploit her through every means imaginable.
By comparison, Jerome seemed quite honest. And his passion as a cook was evident.
“Later. I’m in a hurry right now.”
She ladled the golden soup into an elegant bowl and accompanied it with bread fresh from the oven, its butter aroma still trembling in the air. It was a perfect presentation.
“Let’s go.”
She waved off the troublesome cooks a few times, then grabbed the sleeve of Cain, the only one still exercising restraint in this kitchen.
“It looks splendid…… wait.”
Cain was about to savor the dish when he noticed Lucielle’s complexion and his brow furrowed.
Her face was pallid, drained of color, much as it had been when he’d first found her in the forest.
“Your color is poor.”
“…….”
“Where does it hurt?”
He leaned forward, examining her face closely.
She clamped her lips shut and shook her head.
“We need to hurry. The soup will get cold.”
“…….”
“Quickly.”
Lucielle spoke firmly.
If what the Status Window said was true, within an hour—no, within mere minutes—she would no longer even be able to stand.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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