Patrick Laplante
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PU Book 3 - Chapter 9: Good Fortune Soup
🕑 Added 2024-07-11 22:23:48 +0000 UTC
Between the North Parnassus Forest and Nightmare Forest, there lay a fifty-mile strip of fertile plains bisected by a stone road wide enough to accommodate two carriages. This road formed the inner rim of the Olympian Wheel Road, connecting the twelve provincial capitals to Olympia. These roads were considered critical supply routes and enjoyed regular patrols and fortified outposts that served as rest stations and trading stations.
Mildred Outpost was the station connecting Delphi to the main road. After spending two months in the wilderness and exhausting most of their supplies, Sorin and company were eager to enjoy the week-long rest that awaited them in the heavily guarded city. As two-star heroes, their team was able to bypass most security checks at the gate. Lorimer was a different story, but when Sorin revealed his God Seed status, the guards wisely chose to back off.
Though the outpost was home to many three-star adventurers, heroes and God Seeds were much fewer in number. News of their arrival quickly spread, and by the time they arrived at their accommodations, no less than ten influential merchants had stopped by to introduce themselves and inquire about goods they needed to replenish and any items they might have for sale.
Gareth was experienced in this regard due to the amount of hunting he did. With the team's permission, he sat down to negotiate fair prices for their lesser demon cores while keeping the most valuable items for sale in Olympia. Once finished, he joined Sorin, Lorimer, Lawrence, and Fenrig in the common room of the Adventurer's Rest, a small but exclusive inn located near the city center.
"Twelve million is all I could get for the lot," said Gareth apologetically. "There's a glut in demon products due to an unusually fruitful reproduction season. He handed each of his team members a bundle of gold cards certified by the Central Olympian Bank. As for Lorimer, he gave the rat a large bag of lesser three-star demon cores obtained from the merchant according to the rat's preferences.
"One-third shadow, one-third fire, and one-third metal, as requested," said Gareth. "The fire-aligned cores are a little lacking compared to the rest, so you'll need to make up the difference when we're out hunting."
"Ree!" squealed Lorimer. The cores vanished inside his personal void space, which doubled up as food storage for the ever-hungry rat.
Tired but clearly happy to have gotten administrative matters out of the way, Gareth helped himself to the small feast that had been laid out on the table. This included an entire Red-Striped Demonic Tuna harvested in Delphi and imported at great cost.
Sorin was too distracted to appreciate the food, however. The past two months had proven eventful. His collection of poisons had improved by leaps and bounds, and he'd made great progress in terms of corruption manipulation.
Most concerning Sorin was the lack of obstacles and pitfalls on his journey to controlling his corruption. The process was smooth to the point of feeling natural and rarely involved making difficult decisions.
Sorin cut a large chunk of tuna and placed it before the ravenous Lorimer, who was on his best behavior. The rat did not pounce on his portion as one might expect but instead pulled out a tiny knife and fork and took his time with the succulent demon meat.
"Are you sure you calculated my share properly?" Sorin asked Gareth, nodding at the pile of cards. "There's more there than we initially calculated."
"Like the demon ingredients, the appraisal on plant ingredients came in lower than expected," said Gareth. "And considering your contributions during this trip, I don't think anyone will haggle over this small amount." Sorin didn't just serve as a frontline fighter, after all. He was their team's personal doctor, and his care had undoubtedly saved them a small fortune in healing potions and purification potions. "By the way, I noticed that Astley didn't stick around. Where has our traveling scholar gone to?"
"She said she'd be going directly to the museum to see if there were items of interest, " said Fenrig, helping himself to a small roasted fish and directly biting off its head. "From one extreme to another, that one. I don't understand it."
"There's nothing wrong with doing what you love," said Lawrence. "Speaking of which, I might be sneaking out tonight for some… reconnaissance. Please don't rat me out if the city watch comes calling."
"I agree with Lawrence," said Sorin. "She might be a little too enthusiastic about pursuing historical artifacts, but that's what the Order of Phantasia does."
Gareth looked unconvinced. "Maybe. I just feel her temperament is a bit off. She's changed a lot over the past five years."
Sorin could see why Gareth thought this. Originally, Astley had been a confident and socially adept scholar. Thanks to her refined demeanor, she'd been able to enter social circles members of her order normally couldn't enter. The information she'd obtained had propelled her up the ranks in record time.
"There's nothing strange about wanting to resume your studies after spending two months in the wilderness," said Sorin. "Though I admit that she'd been a little more obsessive than normal."
"If by obsessive you mean compulsive bordering on derangement, then I agree with you," said Gareth. "Those are tell-tale signs of Madness, just without the corruption."
"I agree that her behavior is extremely strange," said Fenrig, helping himself to another roast fish. "Then again, I haven't spent as much time with her as you all have."
"So, we're going shopping after dinner, right?" asked Lawrence.
"Dinner? This is a late lunch at best?" said Sorin. "I'm not against shopping around for strange items. That said, I intend to save most of my gold for when we arrive in Olympia." Sorin's share of the loot was 900,000 gold coins. Combined with his original fortune of 400,000 gold coins earned in Delphi, he now had enough to buy a piece of three-star equipment, assuming he could find a competent craftsman.
Gareth agreed with Sorin. "Humanity's best craftspeople are based in Olympia. If you're looking for S-Tier gear, that's where you'll find it. Though I'm sure you're excited about returning to civilization, Lawrence, I suggest you hold back."
"It's not about the spending," said Lawrence. "It's about the experience."
Fenrig grunted. "Shopping is overrated. I prefer to just delegate such matters."
"So you're not coming?" asked Lawrence.
Fenrig relented. "I don't have anything better to do, so I might come to take a look."
"Reee!" said Lorimer.
"What do you mean I caved too easily," said Fenrig, swiping at the taunting rat.
"While I'm at it, I'll see if I can find a good spot to set up a clinic," said Sorin. "I believe most of the city's physicians are located around the Merchant District. Might as well stop by and speak with each of them while I'm at it."
Gareth raised an eyebrow. "You want to talk to your competitors?"
Sorin snorted. "I don't have any competitors in a backwater place like this, only potential referrers. There's no point in my snatching cases they can handle."
"I see two months in the wilderness has done nothing to rein in your arrogance," said Gareth, shaking his head.
"He's not arrogant," said Fenrig. "He's confident! That's how competent men should be. Ah, I see the chef is coming out to deliver the last dish personally."
"What else did you order?" asked Gareth, looking over the menu.
"A secret item most people wouldn't think to ask for," said Fenrig with a grin. "Good Fortune Soup. A must-have tonic whenever you happen upon a wandering Matron."
Sorin had never heard the term Matron before, but looking at the woman in a pointed cap lugging a small but heavy cauldron their way, he guessed that it was an honorific barbarian used when referring to witches. Sorin didn't know much about the owner of the Adventurers Rest, only that her name was Madeline Trousseau and that she was a retired three-star adventurer and a qualified three-star gourmet.
The witch looked youthful despite her advanced age—as evidenced by her white hair—and exuded a certain pressure that reminded Sorin of Elder Marik, Elder Simon, and Elder Marik. An expert, he thought as the witch cheerfully poured a golden soup into five small bowls. She could destroy us all without batting an eye.
"Greetings, honored guests," said Madeline, handing Fenrig a bowl first. "I haven't cooked up a cauldron of Good Fortune Soup in a long time. How did you recognize me?"
"It was the dream net on the window near the fireplace," said the smug-looking Fenrig. I take it you left it intentionally?"
The witch chuckled. "How else will people know to look for me? Otherwise, they'd think me an ordinary Curse Mage."
Fenrig directly accepted the bowl and drank it down. Something flickered in Sorin's vision, prompting him to embrace Strife and directly observe the web of causality connecting them. The witch was unfathomable, but Fenrig's threads were clearly visible. To Sorin's surprise, they were rapidly changing and rearranging themselves.
"Blessings of the mother be upon you," said Madeline to Fenrig.
"And may her fruit ever bless your gardens," answered Fenrig. "Well? Aren't you all going to drink up?"
Gareth pushed his bowl forward and shook his head. "A witch's brew? I'll pass."
Madeline cackled. "I should have known better than to waste a bowl on a Hunter like yourself. Brave of you to come to Mildred, by the way." Her words instantly attracted the attention of a nearby table of adventurers. Judging by the looks they shot Gareth, they did not like Nighthawks.
She looked to Sorin next. "What about you? Are you also too good for my soup?"
Sorin pushed his bowl over to Lorimer, who'd already finished his soups with little effect on his karma. "The bowl would be wasted on me. I might as well give it to someone who enjoys the taste."
The witch tsked. "If a single helping didn't help your rat, a double helping won't either." She looked to Lawrence, who was heartily slurping up his bowl of golden soup. "That's right, dear. Drink it all. I can tell your luck will be anything but normal."
Sorin frowned when he saw Lawrence's karma shifting many times faster than Fenrig. In addition, he began glowing with a soft golden light. It's an aura of good fortune, explained Azrakul. A rare phenomenon but not unheard of.
"Do I ever feel good," said Lawrence, standing up and stretching. His back gave off a satisfying crack, and like magic, his muscles and spine realigned themselves. "You know what? I feel like we should head to the market right now before it gets dark out. If we wait too long, we'll have to compete with all the other adventurers coming back in."
"Then let's waste no time," said Fenrig. The barbarian ceased eating even though half the feast remained. "We can always order more food. Good luck, on the other hand, is hard to come by."
Having seen the effects on Fenrig and Lawrence's karma, Sorin was in favor of caution. "He's not cursed. Almost the opposite." He looked to Gareth. "Thoughts?"
"I'm thinking that this witch is pushing her luck," said Gareth.
"This witch could send you flying off the city with a sweep of her broom, love," said Madeline. "Besides, would I really try anything against a God Seed and a bunch of two-star heroes so close to the Governor's Manor? He's not the strongest demigod, but he's no slouch."
Upon hearing these words, Garreth relaxed considerably. After all, Madeline and her inn were well-known and highly recommended by all the merchants he'd interacted with. "It should be fine," he said.
"I'm also curious about what effects the soup had," said Sorin. "When's the last call for dinner, Madeline? I'm asking for a friend." Lorimer was extremely opposed to ending dinner early and would likely pitch a small fit if the dinner situation wasn't clarified."
"For your group, love, any time you like," said the witch. "Though I suggest you don't dawdle. It's not often that my soup has such a pronounced effect."
