The Possession-Spoon Chef Feeds the Empire - Chapter 70

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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 70
“Loren, we were wrong.”
Devron stepped between Sophia and Loren.
“No, my fault is worse. When I come back, I absolutely won’t——”
“Nonsense.”
Loren’s voice was ice.
“I told you—we’re done talking. You think I’m going to believe you? After all these years of marriage and you don’t even know what I want? Some man who——”
Just as Loren was about to unleash a barrage of curses she’d been holding back,
her nose twitched, catching something on the air.
“What…… is that smell?”
Wafting through the air was the aroma of freshly cooked roasted meat.
More precisely, meat—and specifically——
“Pheasant?”
Yes, that distinctive, wild richness of pheasant meat.
Heavier than chicken, with the gravitas that only long cooking over fire could give, layered with the richness of butter—it was that very scent from the Northern Region’s kitchen that she remembered.
“And…… roasted potatoes?”
Her keen nose caught another familiar aroma.
More precisely, the scent of spices used in potato dishes.
Not the thyme or rosemary that the Imperial Capital’s chefs favored.
Rather, the dried wildflowers of the Northern Region, which carried a harsher, sharper fragrance.
It was a scent you could never find in the Imperial Capital—touched by the very wind of the North.
“……and even moonberry?”
That distinctive fruit that grew only in the North, with its bittersweet perfume.
Too unique in flavor for other regions to use, a scent no one at the Bellaon Mansion had sought before.
“What? What have you two been doing? Don’t tell me you actually cooked?”
Only then did she take in their appearances, and she gasped.
“Yes.”
“You lost all authority in the Mansion this morning, and you had time for this?”
“This was more important.”
Devron nodded gravely.
It was around then that Loren spotted Luciel standing awkwardly behind the two of them.
When their eyes met, Loren’s expression grew even more confused.
Luciel offered no explanation.
She’d gone through tremendous effort to devise the recipes, endured even greater hardship teaching the two of them to cook, and then suffered greatly to prepare the dessert herself.
The persuasion was entirely their responsibility.
“You…… cooked with the chef here?”
“We studied hard and made it ourselves. This one is our teacher.”
“It’s true, Mother. It’s all the hometown food you love.”
“Ha! You think you’ll change my mind with something like that?”
Loren forced a hollow laugh, trying to steel herself.
“I only just returned from my hometown, and you want me to believe some Imperial Capital imitation——”
Gulp.
Yet even as she spoke, saliva gathered in her mouth.
Truthfully, even when she’d visited her hometown, she hadn’t tasted proper Northern cuisine.
For a time, she had no appetite thinking of Devron and Edwin; and when it returned, the cook had left.
A new cook had taken his place, but unfortunately one who chased the Imperial Capital’s fashions.
It didn’t suit Loren’s tastes at all.
“Just the meal.”
Devron said it solemnly.
“Just eat the meal. After you finish the dessert too, if your mind hasn’t changed, I won’t stop you.”
“……Really?”
Before Loren could even gather her thoughts, her mouth answered for her.
She was genuinely hungry, after all.
“I mean it—just the meal. I’m leaving right after.”
Her gaze drifted uncertainly through the air before settling on Luciel.
Come to think of it, that girl was the genius cook who had the Duke eating out of her hand recently.
When she’d worked solely as Bael’s private chef, there’d been no chance to taste her work, and later she’d only heard rumors of some magnificent dessert that earned her an invitation to the Imperial Palace.
Loren, in truth, had wanted to taste Luciel’s cooking.
Even if the actual cooking had been done by those two fools, if Luciel had been the one guiding them, then she had to at least try it.
“Well, I’ve caused the chef enough trouble. It’s only right I look at her face and eat what she’s taught them.”
Leaving the gratified father and son behind, she seated herself at a simple table in the kitchen.
Somehow it had already been prepared—tablecloth, silver cutlery, fine wine all arranged.
“Of all the——”
Before her, muttering all the while, Devron and Edwin set down several plates.
Nearest to her was a steaming soup, golden as butter—by its aroma, it seemed to be butternut squash.
The roasted pheasant in the center had a golden-brown exterior that gleamed appetizingly with oil, flanked by plump hexagonal cuts of roasted potato.
In a small bowl beside them lay fresh salad.
The moment she saw the red sauce drizzled over it, she knew it had been moonberry all along.
Gulp.
Loren gazed at the plates for a moment, then picked up her spoon.
Of course, the soup comes first.
As she took a spoonful of soup, sweetness and softness filled her mouth, then warmth spread through her belly.
Her appetite stirred further, and she carved into the pheasant.
Slice.
The meat parted cleanly along its grain.
The moment she placed it in her mouth, the roasted crust sang first, then the juices flooded her palate.
There was no separate sauce. The spices were restrained, allowing the meat’s own flavor to shine.
It was almost the same as what she’d eaten in her hometown kitchen—no, actually, slightly better.
Eagerly,
Loren speared a roasted potato with her fork and brought it to her mouth.
The crisp exterior and fluffy interior melted across her tongue, sending a bright joy through her.
The sharp bite of Northern wildflower herb blended perfectly with the richness of butter.
The salad was excellent too—sweet with a bitter finish, that distinctive Northern taste. It was a truly satisfying meal.
Loren’s fork moved faster and faster.
“Really……”
She finished in barely a moment, and turned to Luciel with parted lips.
“Did those two really make this? You didn’t do all the work yourself?”
“There’s no way. If I’d made it, it would have been far more refined.”
She shook her head with a faint tone of offense.
Looking back at the plate, the presentation did indeed look rough—notice the crude way the potatoes had been cut.
Yet for that very reason, it radiated an enormous amount of care.
“Everything on that plate was made by those two.”
Luciel nodded.
“They were kind of ridiculous, but they followed instructions well. Turns out they had unexpected perfectionist tendencies—they remade the dish five times, and eventually I got tired of it.”
Five times.
Loren was inwardly amazed.
Only then did she notice the small cuts and scrapes on the hands of the two men standing like penitents.
She could picture them fumbling—cut by blades, burned by flames.
“……Hmph.”
Loren steeled her expression and spoke.
“It’s just cooking.”
She let out a hollow laugh.
Yes, just one well-made meal.
Coming back here wouldn’t solve the fundamental problem—those two not listening to her.
Which was evident from the fact that there was no dessert in sight yet.
“I told you before. A meal without dessert isn’t finished.”
The moment she finished speaking with full confidence,
the most beautiful dessert Loren had ever seen appeared before her.
What Devron set down was a long white plate with what looked like a barrier formed over its surface.
Laid across it horizontally was a single rose—or rather, a rose-shaped sculpture made of ice.
With its deep green stem and petals of blood-red frozen delicately, it resembled a Northern rose that had bloomed through the cold and finally frozen solid.
The thin, intricate petals caught candlelight in a soft glow, their vivid crimson contrasting against the snow-white porcelain beneath—breathtakingly brilliant.

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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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