Chapter 66: Placing an Order for Tools

The Teriyaki Burger tasting was a resounding success.

Spira and Lowell both seemed to enjoy them, and even Halfa—who had tried them before in the Wingfolk village—looked satisfied. No problems there. Shiroru, however, took a particular liking to them; she demanded second after second until Lowell, who was doing most of the heavy lifting, was practically exhausted.

To be honest, I’d originally hoped to solve our production issues with magic. I’d picked out a few promising scrolls at the Mage Guild to learn the wind spells Wind Cutter and Shredding Storm, but repurposing combat magic for culinary use turned out to be a tall order.

I tried Wind Cutter first. It was a low-level wind spell that sliced through targets with a pressurized blade of air. I thought I might be able to tweak it to manifest multiple blades at once, but in the end, it was a no-go.

Maybe my magic skills were too raw, or maybe I just lacked the necessary visualization. I wasn't sure of the cause, but the "feel" of the spell told me that no matter how much I practiced, it simply wasn't suited for mincing meat. I had to scrap the idea.

The other spell, Shredding Storm, was an intermediate wind attribute attack. It generated a localized gale over a wide area, shredding everything inside to ribbons. This one felt like it had potential for modification, but narrowing the effect down to the immediate vicinity of a slab of meat proved far too difficult. For now, it was a failure.

That was why I’d ended up asking Lowell to handle the mincing. Perhaps because he was so accustomed to blades, his work speed was beyond anything I’d expected. He’d used a pair of kitchen knives to mince the meat with a rapid-fire, rhythmic drumming, but even then, it looked like backbreaking work. He ultimately suffered a total defeat at the hands of Shiroru’s relentless appetite...

And so, here I was in the Artisan District of Garond. My goal: to have a blacksmith forge the tools we needed to produce minced meat—namely, a mincer and a grater. I hadn't quite given up on using Shredding Storm for the job eventually, but mastering that kind of control would take time. It would be a disaster if the day of the contest arrived and I still couldn't get the magic to work.

I didn't have any personal connections in the district, but I’d made sure to ask Miss Luranna at the Merchant Guild for a recommendation, so I was well-prepared.

The others were taking the day off to do their own thing. I didn't want to crowd a forge with a large group, anyway. Halfa and Shiroru had decided to tag along with Spira; they’d mentioned something about "scouting the enemy" by touring the local food stalls, but I suspected it was mostly just an excuse to play around. The Cooking Contest was still a while off, so most participants were likely still in the middle of developing their recipes.

While the Artisan District housed all sorts of craftsmen, the blacksmiths were clustered along the city’s outer edge. Apparently, they were kept in one spot because the constant clanging was too noisy for the residential areas. Sure enough, as I approached the forge zone, the air rang with the discordant harmony of hammers striking metal from every direction.

My destination was the Zardan Workshop, tucked away in the furthest reaches of the district. It was a forge run by a Dwarven master. As I stepped through the entrance, a boy only slightly older than me looked up. Most likely an apprentice.

"Hello. I was referred here by the Merchant Guild."

"Huh? Oh, hello... Wait, the Merchant Guild?"

"Yes. Miss Luranna sent me."

"...Hang on a sec."

The boy left it at that and disappeared into the back. Miss Luranna had given me a letter of introduction, but he was gone before I could even pull it out.

After a few minutes, the boy returned with a man in tow. He was short but incredibly broad—not fat, but built like a solid block of muscle. He was the textbook definition of a Dwarf. This had to be Master Zardan.

"You're not a... Grassfolk, are you? Why’s a brat like you coming here with a guild referral? And from Luranna, no less... Is it another headache of a request?"

The Master grumbled, his voice laced with a hint of exhaustion. It sounded like Miss Luranna had a habit of dumping unreasonable tasks on him. Still, that only proved he was trusted for his skill and flexibility.

"I don't know if it'll be a headache, but I do have something I’d like you to make."

I got straight to the point, explaining the grater and the mincer. The grater was easy enough; he’d made similar things before and accepted the order immediately.

The mincer was the real hurdle. The problem was that I didn't actually know the internal mechanics of a mincer myself, making it incredibly difficult to describe. To help, I’d brought along some samples: a slab of meat, some manually minced meat, and a finished Teriyaki Burger. I started to lay them out to explain their purpose, but—

"Hmm? I’ve never seen a dish like this before."

The Master was suddenly staring at the Teriyaki Burger with intense interest.

Now that I thought about it, Dwarves were a race famous for their love of food and drink. They weren't exactly "gourmets," per se; rather, they were stoic and singularly focused while working, abstaining from alcohol and distractions. But once a job reached a stopping point, that pent-up energy supposedly turned into an incredible greed for a good meal.

"I don't quite follow the mechanics yet, but you need tools to make this, right? In that case, I’ve got to confirm what the end product is supposed to be!"

The Master made the declaration with such booming confidence that I almost found myself nodding along... though logically, he only really needed to understand the "making things into small bits" part.

Well, I’d brought several, so I figured letting him have one wouldn't hurt.

"Uh, sure. Go ahead."

"Ooh! Don't mind if I do!"

Master Zardan took a massive bite of the burger. Teriyaki sauce immediately smeared into his magnificent beard, making a total mess of it, but before I could say a word, he let out a roar.

"This is... delicious!"

He definitely liked it. That was a relief, but then things took a turn.

Lured by the Master’s shout, a parade of Dwarven craftsmen began filing out of the back room. They swarmed the Master, demanding to know what he was eating. Honestly, it was a little terrifying.

And then, the Master pointed right at me and told them he’d gotten it from "that kid."

Things went south fast. They didn't quite mob me, but the silent, overwhelming pressure of their collective gaze—all of them asking Is there none for us? without saying a word—was immense.

How did a simple tool order end up like this?