Chapter 975: It Smells So Good

“Huh, Galahad, you don’t use culinary magic? So you’re one of those hands-on types.”

Dorothy selected suitable ingredients from the pile beside the stove, glancing sidelong at the petite knight’s movements as she did so, then asked with slight confusion.

Galahad held a chef’s knife, carefully processing a segment of dragon tail meat.

Hmm, this is truly an excellent ingredient. Though Dorothy couldn’t immediately identify the dragon species, she instantly recognized it as an irreplaceable top-tier ingredient—the dragon meat’s marbling and texture were simply stunning, making her want to sigh in awe at its beauty.

Yet, despite the unnamed dragon tail’s striking appearance, what truly captivated Dorothy was Galahad’s extraordinary knife skills.

Slice, chop, mince, glide.

The chef’s knife danced in her hands like a butterfly, and with each motion, the premium tail meat was swiftly and perfectly prepared.

Hmm, such beautiful knife work.

Dorothy greatly admired it.

Knife skills are a chef’s fundamental skill; not every skilled knife-wielder is a great cook, but no great cook lacks exceptional knife work.

From Galahad’s flawless technique alone, Dorothy knew the half-elf witch head chef’s culinary ability was undoubtedly outstanding.

After all, that unnamed dragon tail wasn’t something mere knife skill could perfectly handle.

This was dragon meat.

Dragons possess formidable physiques and incredible defenses; even after death, dissecting their corpses is no easy task—ordinary blades cannot cut through dragon flesh, and even most divine weapons struggle.

And Galahad’s tail segment clearly wasn’t from an ordinary dragon—it would be even harder to process.

Yet the chef’s knife in Galahad’s hand, while of high quality, was no divine weapon—just a standard-issue kitchen knife already sitting beside the stove.

It should be nearly impossible to cut through high-grade dragon meat with such a blade, yet Galahad moved with effortless ease.

Beyond her own immense strength and peerless technique, the main reason was her deep understanding of the dragon meat’s structure.

Like the tale of Pao Ding dissecting the ox that Dorothy had heard in her past life—after slaughtering countless oxen, one learns their anatomy and muscle fibers so thoroughly that dissection becomes effortless, simply following the natural grain.

Of course, the theory sounds simple, but achieving such mastery is far from easy—especially with dragons, not common livestock like cattle or sheep. To know dragon meat this intimately, Dorothy couldn’t imagine how many dragons Galahad must have dissected in her past.

In short, her understanding of ingredients was evident.

Excellent knife skills, deep ingredient knowledge—half the qualities of a great chef were already there.

Yet, as Dorothy had asked, she was surprised Galahad was a hands-on chef; in a magical world like this, chefs who insisted on manual cooking were rare.

Dorothy glanced at the other stoves in the imperial kitchen and saw nearly all the imperial chefs were waving wands, casting culinary magic while ingredients and utensils moved on their own.

Hmm, magic—such a convenient tool, far more agile and effective than clumsy hands.

Dorothy agreed—magic was far superior to hands.

After all, she was lazy, and witch spells were invented precisely for laziness.

“No, I’m not purely hands-on—I usually use magic for cooking too. But for particularly important dishes, I prefer to work manually; it lets me pour my full heart into it. Of course, this is just my personal habit, Miss, you needn’t mind.”

Galahad finished processing the tail meat and smiled in reply.

Dorothy finally understood.

Hmm, she got it—this half-elf witch was also a “soul believer,” believing only handmade dishes carry true soul.

Dorothy, however, was a pragmatist; she didn’t think manual or magical cooking was inherently superior—both were merely forms; what truly mattered was the chef’s heart poured into the dish.

But since Galahad said she only worked manually for important dishes, and now she was doing so, it meant she considered this duel significant.

If Galahad respected her this much, Dorothy felt she must respond with equal respect.

Right then, she decided to go hands-on—after a long time.

But she didn’t have anything as premium as Galahad’s dragon tail; even if she did, her current strength couldn’t handle it—she couldn’t even cut through it if she tried.

So Dorothy didn’t stubbornly pick some overpowered ingredient just to save face.

After all, this was a culinary exchange, not a contest of ingredient rarity. An ingredient she could masterfully handle and use to perfectly showcase her skills was enough—forcing herself to use unmanageable high-grade ingredients would only backfire.

Though even the lowest-grade ingredients here were far from ordinary.

“Galahad’s preparing grilled meat? Then I’ll make grilled meat too.”

Dorothy suffered from decision fatigue; she’d been hesitating over what dish to make, but seeing the half-elf witch’s actions, she made up her mind.

Hmm, the same dish made communication easier.

So she selected a sea-dragon’s tail from the ingredient storage.

Judging by the residual mana lingering on the tail, the sea-dragon had been roughly 600,000 mana in power when alive—a formidable great demon beast, and precisely the upper limit of what Dorothy could now handle.

This was thanks to the Dragon King’s gift of Dragon Flame; before, without borrowing power from her senior, she could only manage ingredients with 300,000 to 400,000 mana.

After choosing her ingredient, she didn’t reach for the standard-issue chef’s knife on the stove.

She didn’t have Galahad’s strength to turn any blade into a dragon-slaying weapon—so a beginner shouldn’t pretend.

She stomped her foot, and a blood-red longsword rose from her shadow.

This was the demon blade, Chiying.

“Long time no see, Chiying—you’ve grown stronger.”

Dorothy sighed, gazing at her demon blade, whom she hadn’t seen in a while.

During this time, Chiying had been on Demon Mountain, undergoing modern witch literacy education alongside the Hundred Ghost Witch, since the Land of the Rising Sun had been too isolated from the outside world.

Now, seeing her again, the sharp aura radiating even before the blade was drawn proved Chiying had studied diligently.

“I am a sword. A sword cannot dull its master’s brilliance.”

In response to Dorothy’s praise, Chiying replied coldly—this child remained as distant as ever.

“Then, Master, where is the enemy?”

The cold demon blade, summoned again after so long, was ready to showcase her sharpened edge—but as she surveyed the surroundings, a question mark appeared above her hilt.

Wasn’t this… a kitchen?

Dorothy: “...”

Dorothy scratched her head, feeling slightly guilty—she had no idea how to explain that she’d summoned her not to fight, but to chop vegetables.

But she had no other suitable blade—without Chiying, she’d have to summon Yinchuiyong’s Tiancongyun.

Though Chiying was cold, she wasn’t foolish; after glancing at the dragon tail before her master, she understood her duty.

“...”

After a brief silence, she urged again.

“Master, draw your sword. I am ready.”

She spoke with solemn seriousness.

“Um...”

Dorothy hesitated, wondering whether to explain further.

But before she could, the two-meter-long greatsword’s hilt slipped into her hand on its own.

“You are my master. Your will is my purpose. Whatever you wish to cut—I will sever it.”

As the hilt settled, Chiying’s voice echoed in her mind.

In this state of sword and soul as one, Dorothy sensed Chiying wasn’t angry—she exhaled in relief, then her gaze turned serious and focused.

Dragon’s Breath, activate.

A crimson blade flash vanished instantly; on the cutting board, a red lotus bloomed upon the sea-dragon’s tail.

The flower bloomed and withered in an instant, along with the tail meat, now perfectly sliced.

Ingredient preparation complete.

“Thank you, Chiying—but don’t rush back yet. Take some food with you when you go.”

Dorothy sheathed her blade, stopping the demon blade as she tried to retreat into her shadow.

Chiying thought for a moment, then obediently took human form—not standing idly by, but quietly assisting Dorothy with chores.

Passing ingredients, wiping sweat, helping as needed.

Dorothy, meanwhile, fully immersed herself in cooking.

She pulled out the golden pot Aistros had recently given her; with a thought, it transformed into a golden grill rack.

She extended her right hand toward the stove, palm open; the Dragon King’s mark on her arm glowed, and black dragon flame surged forth.

Hmm, fully equipped—gear maxed out.

Dorothy glanced at Galahad, calmly grilling meat like an ordinary mortal, then looked at her own divine gear—and suddenly felt like the doomed side character in a novel about to be humiliated.

“Stop imagining nonsense. Fire up. Fire up.”

Dorothy slapped her own cheeks, then focused, manually turning the grill rack.

Thus, both began their quiet grilling.

Yet their activity gradually drew attention from others in the imperial kitchen.

Well, many had noticed them earlier, but out of respect for Galahad’s authority as head chef, they’d merely sneaked glances, not daring to overstep.

But now, it was impossible to ignore—the mouthwatering aroma of roasting meat had spread everywhere.

These were imperial chefs who’d tasted every delicacy under heaven; they should’ve been immune to culinary temptation—but now, they felt like children who’d just gotten home from school and smelled meat cooking, barely able to control themselves, desperate to reach in and grab a bite.

Whether it was the head chef’s dish or the unknown lady’s, both were the most exquisite grilled meats they’d ever encountered—so tantalizing.

Fortunately, those lacking self-control couldn’t survive long in the imperial kitchen; though saliva nearly flowed like waterfalls, no one dared interrupt the two cooks.

Finally, over an hour later, Dorothy lifted her grill rack and looked across.

“I’m done.”

“So am I.”

Galahad lifted her own grill rack in response.

They raised their racks toward each other, like two swordsmen presenting their blades.

Except these “blades” were golden, glistening, perfectly roasted meat—utterly irresistible.

"Hahaha"

Both of them were amused by the other’s gesture and exchanged a smile.

"Alright, let’s swap and try each other’s meat."

Dorothy tossed her grill toward the other, smiling like this.

"Mm, I’ve been waiting for this."

Galahad likewise tossed his grill to the House Witch, agreeing in the same way.

Yet, after swapping the grilled meat, neither immediately took a bite.

After all, the dragon’s tail meat was enormous—whether on Dorothy’s grill or Galahad’s, each was a massive object seven or eight meters long and three or four meters wide.

It wasn’t practical to bite into it directly; better to cut it first. Besides, such a large portion was meant to be shared.

Dorothy thought this way. She pulled out knife, fork, and plate, intending only to take a small piece to taste, then save the rest as the main course for Lord Long Wang’s table.

But Galahad stopped her.

"Just bite into it directly. This whole piece is meant only for you. My cooking is special, and so is this ingredient—you must consume it all for its effect to activate. If you want to share, use your own cooking."

The half-elf lady said this solemnly.

After all, this was a dish she had specially prepared for her sister—and it was Nidhogg’s tail meat. Not just anyone had the right to eat it; a regular witch would die instantly from a single bite.

Not figuratively—literally explode.

"Uh"

Dorothy was puzzled, but she still followed Galahad’s advice.

Though eating alone made her uneasy, if the chef had specifically instructed this way, she had no choice but to obey.

Thinking this, she took a big bite.

Then—

A terrifying hunger surged over her. The House Witch was instantly overwhelmed by this monstrous appetite and began tearing into the grilled meat with wild, voracious bites.

When she finally regained consciousness and came to her senses, she stared at her swollen, round belly in deep thought.

Oh no—I really ate all of it myself.

But—

"So delicious."

She patted her overstuffed stomach, thinking this.

Dorothy savored the aftertaste.

(End of Chapter)