The Possession-Spoon Chef Feeds the Empire - Chapter 88

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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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Chapter 88
Bael’s lips moved toward the cup again, drawn by instinct alone.
One sip, then another.
The softness of cream against his tongue, the nutty crunch that scattered pleasantly, and the deep, rich sweetness created by the mingling of syrup and milk.
As though determined not to miss a single note, he swallowed each taste carefully, deliberately.
With every sip, muscle by muscle seemed to unwind from his body, and his once-rigid expression grew languid.
“Luciel.”
At last the cup emptied, and he spoke her name softly.
At the same moment, his arm rose slowly to enfold her, drawing her close.
Soft.
What he felt next was his warmth spreading between them.
Bael held Luciel tight, resting his head against her shoulder.
“I’m home.”
He murmured it, eyes half-closed.
……
Luciel gazed down at him, draped so languidly against her shoulder.
‘He pretended he wasn’t exhausted.’
Only after drinking had the tension left his body; now he released a long breath against her, still leaning into her warmth.
“It was hard.”
He spoke again.
“Five years listening to what you asked of me. Not able to come once.”
“You did beautifully.”
Luciel slowly reached up, stroking the fine texture of his hair.
“Welcome home, Bael.”
……
The nineteen-year-old rumbled with satisfaction like some great feline predator, pleased by the touch of her hand.
Beautiful.
Warm.
And above all, now they were ready.
Luciel stroked his hair once more and smiled gently.
Ready to bring down an opponent who had seemed unbeatable.
* * *
The competition began four days after Bael returned to the Mansion.
The Emperor’s words about wanting to restore relations with the nobility proved no jest—he had poured considerable effort into the occasion.
The lavish welcomes and gifts for the returning heroes of the triumph were merely the beginning.
In truth, it was only natural.
For decades, the Torgard Forces had nibbled at the Northern Region’s borders whenever opportunity arose, and now their complete surrender had been secured.
The Emperor commended everyone, then singled out for particular praise Bael, Elion, and Arnen, who had lent timely support at the crucial moment.
All while casting sidelong glances at the Duke of Bellaon’s face, which had grown rigid as stone with each visit to court.
Yet what truly amazed was the Imperial preparation for a culinary competition celebrating the triumph.
The Central Hall, ordinarily used as the great banquet chamber, had been lined with dozens of cooking stations, and behind them lay a pantry brimming with fresh ingredients for the chefs to use.
Numerous great house chefs had entered under Imperial encouragement, and among them were chefs whose names had become legend.
“Oh, oh! That person! I think I know his face!”
The eyes of nobles seated around the cooking stations darted about restlessly.
“Isn’t that Chef Melick, the ‘Golden Blade’ who set the entire Empire talking? The one who completed that legendary repertoire of 9,999 banquet dishes!”
“Good heavens, and the next station is even more impressive. Isn’t that Chef Aloy, the head chef of the Marquess of Cardis’s household? I heard he belongs to the Direct Line of Rabello, the ‘Master of Flame’ who served as the very first Emperor’s head chef.”
“Goodness? I thought those house recipes couldn’t be seen even for a price!”
“How in the world did such masters all gather in one place? It seems the Emperor’s promised reward—one Wish of the winner’s choosing—must be quite considerable indeed.”
The arrival of these seasoned masters, boasting decades of experience, sent the spectators’ fervor soaring in an instant.
Each house’s chefs, positioned confidently among them, wielded their own pride as a weapon while checking their stations, their eyes burning as they studied their competitors.
“My!”
That was when Luciel made her entrance.
“There! The chef of Bellaon! The master of Venison Stew, symbol of triumph! The one who made Green Tea fashionable!”
“Isn’t she the one who handles Maestel’s desserts? My wife torments me constantly to procure them for special occasions……!”
“I still haven’t tasted the new Fruit Shaved Ice that came out last summer!”
“She’s so young? I would have thought she’d barely come of age.”
Under the storm of confused gazes, Luciel stepped into the hall.
‘It’s been a while.’
She looked upward, recalling the moment she had first entered this place.
Bael and the other members of the Duke’s household were seated near the front of the spectators’ section.
The four royal family members, exactly as before, sat in the highest front seats, observing the competition from above.
Luciel’s eyes swept across those four.
The Emperor and Empress, their eyes bright with passion now that they had found something to pour their enthusiasm into.
To their left was Prince Arnen, who winked as though waiting for their eyes to meet.
‘That one has grown too.’
Even at an age nearly adult, Arnen possessed features that somehow seemed innocent.
A face where drooping eye corners could, if he wished, paint an expression of fear and vulnerability.
But Luciel knew better.
She knew how many layers lay hidden beneath that face.
Sense of justice, fear, confidence, the cunning intelligence of a sly fox, and a tenacious will to live.
All of it was Arnen.
His true self, which neither his father nor his mother knew.
Gulp.
The boy swallowed as their eyes met.
‘He said he envied the Hot Chocolate.’
Bael, when he had visited the prince days ago, seemed to have shamelessly boasted of that drink she’d made.
All the more so because it was based in dark chocolate, Arnen’s favorite.
Perhaps because of this, the boy’s eyes burned with longing as he looked at her and her station.
And on the opposite side—to the right of the Emperor and Empress——
Luciel slowly shifted her gaze to the final member of the royal family.
As expected, he was there.
The Crown Prince, Serion Esselred.
Luciel examined him slowly.
With a gaze far colder than the one she’d turned on Arnen.
Eyes that had deepened over the years into a shade close to crimson-red.
Limbs elegant and long, towering above even the Emperor’s height.
An arrogance and crookedness that seemed to emanate from a nature born to rule the world itself.
Eyes of gold grown yet more vivid.
In that instant, Luciel’s gaze locked with his.
He had been watching her from the moment she entered the hall.
Persistently, with a gaze impossible to read as either hostile or fond.
Luciel recalled the brilliant and terrible epithets that had been attached to Serion over this time.
The one who records screams.
The one who contemplates death.
He was accumulating both honor and infamy in equal measure.
As he grew, Serion had gained authority to command a portion of the Imperial Army, and thereafter he led forces in several battles waged in the Western Region.
Kept to the rear because a dead Crown Prince would be inconvenient, he exposed a unit of the Imperial Army defenseless to enemy assault in the first battle, then watched with fascination as they were slaughtered to the last man.
The result was horrific, yet ultimately he achieved victory.
By observing that first battle and applying the knowledge he’d gained of the enemy to the next engagement.
There were similar victories obtained through similar methods, but the Emperor summoned him back.
The results were excellent, but the methods had been abhorrent.
It was likely from that point that Serion began using the power of command he held in his hands to drive Bael and Arnen to the brink of ruin.
He did not waste the cards he held.
He always used them to bring someone down.
At that moment, the corner of Serion’s mouth twisted upward as he gazed at Luciel.
‘Is it my turn this time.’
Luciel did not flinch; she met his eyes and returned his smile gently.
She could not know what he was thinking, but his gaze did not frighten her.
She had not entered this competition lightly.
She had something she wanted from the Emperor.
Her green eyes glinted as she looked down at her prepared station.
Though called the Imperial Palace, this place had become an arena where culinary skill would be tested.
Whether Crown Prince or Emperor, there was no one here who could surpass her.

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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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