Those who bristled at every turn were only trying to assert their authority, to soothe their fragile, twisted psyches.
But Lance didn't need to; he simply nodded with a smile.
"Let's go, ti to eat."
He hadn't had much of an appetite in the Beast Lair, but in reality, Lance could eat a lot, and the energy his body required was also imnse.
He, too, could enjoy the best treatnt Hamlet had to offer.
Fishern sent whatever good things they caught his way. This wasn't just because Lance paid; more importantly, it was a matter of pride. The Lord choosing their catch proved theirs was the best—sothing to boast about.
The freshest and finest vegetables and fruits were also delivered here. Berries arrived plump, naturally ripened, and delectably sweet and sour.
If he wanted at, the farms had chickens, ducks, cows, sheep, and pigs ready to be slaughtered anyti he wished, guaranteeing absolute freshness.
However, the problem was that the cooking techniques here were rudintary. Spices, which were expensive imports, were lacking, not to ntion there was no cooking oil.
Anyway, for Lance, it ant eating seafood every day, either boiled or grilled—steaming was a cooking thod he had taught them.
In his past life, he had watched the wealthy eat delicacies like lobsters, crabs, and various shellfish, and had longed to live like that.
But here, those shellfish with little at were food for the poor, while fatty, at-rich fish were more popular.
Because it was cheap, Lance now feasted on it daily. But no matter how tasty, it was becoming a bit much.
Lance bit into a freshly peeled lobster, taking a large mouthful. The plump at, like a clove of garlic, burst in his mouth, its sweet freshness filling his entire palate.
As a Lord, eating what only the poor would every day... he was truly pitiable.
Normally, a few other people would co to freeload als. But since he had just returned today without causing much fuss, and even Boudica was hospitalized, Lance could only reluctantly finish his al; wasting food was shaful.
"Go check on the kitchen, see if the fish porridge is ready. I'll go visit Boudica, and also prepare a lighter portion to send to the Scholar."
"Yes," Susan imdiately went to make arrangents.
After finishing his al, Lance took the fish porridge and went to see Boudica, who was still recuperating.
It was unclear what Grendel had done, but after half a day of peaceful recuperation, Boudica's condition had clearly improved significantly.
The sores and rashes on her body had already been smoothed over by Lance's Flesh Reconstruction. If not for her weak limbs and slightly pale complexion, one might not even have noticed she had been ill.
"Boss..."
"It's all right, I'll feed you."
Seeing her like that, unable to even sit up by herself, Lance decided not to force her.
He helped her sit up and then brought the porridge over to feed her.
The fish porridge they were used to was made by throwing chunks of fish into the pot to cook until the flesh fell apart; the refugees always ate it that way.
This porridge, however, was different. Boned fish slices were added after the base congee was cooked. Fish liver, intestines, and roe were poached along with them. The fish slices remained intact, allowing one to appreciate the texture of the at fibers, and it was finally seasoned with a bit of salt.
This kind of fish porridge, too, was sothing Lance had taught them; using different fish yielded different textures.
Alas, without ginger and pepper, this bowl of porridge lacked soul.
"You don't know, if you added these two ingredients, this fish porridge..."
Lance chatted with her while feeding, easily losing track of topics when it ca to food. He always felt hosick when eating...
It wasn't clear if she was hungrier or if Lance's descriptions were too appetizing, but Boudica ate with relish, finishing an entire pot without feeling satisfied.
"Boss, I'm still hungry..."
"Eat, eat, eat. To be able to eat is a blessing," Lance said with a smile, feeling that Boudica's weakness was more from hunger than anything else.
...
The sumr dusk lingered, delaying the arrival of night. Through the window, the fading light revealed a simply furnished room.
It was sparsely decorated. Aside from simple, solid wood furniture, the only other prominent feature in the room was a person.
That person lying in bed was Amanda, who had just returned today from the Beast Lair.
Although she used to cover thousands of miles on missions, she had then enjoyed the luxury of a carriage, her only responsibility being to dabble in fortune-telling gas.
But this trip had relied mostly on her own two feet, under harsh conditions: eating poorly, sleeping poorly, and constantly facing attacks from various creatures.
So of the monsters she had faced were terrifying. If she had confronted them alone, she would likely have broken down instantly, with no choice but to flee. All of this confird the divination before the mission—an on of great misfortune! But she had returned; that nightmarish experience should have ended.
Yet, at this mont, Amanda, lying in bed, was far from calm. In her sleep, one could see her delicate features furrowed in a frown, her forehead beaded with tiny drops of sweat. Her clothes were mostly damp with perspiration, clinging to her alluring figure.
Her limbs twitched restlessly, and she tossed and turned but did not wake up, as if her consciousness were trapped in so indescribable nightmare.
Moreover, as ti passed, Amanda's condition worsened. Her expression, initially a frown, had contorted into a mask of utter despair, far beyond re fear.
And it was at this mont that a strange floral scent began to spread.
The next second, Amanda woke up abruptly, bolting upright in bed.
She showed none of the languor of awakening but looked rather bizarre.
The terror on her face had not yet faded. Her heavy gasps did little to calm the rapid heaving of her chest. Large beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks, landing on her skin and glistening in the sunset glow.
Upon her return, she had taken a brief rest after so rudintary care, never expecting to be drawn into that peculiar Void even in her sleep. The horrifying impact brought by the Void Demons did not fade with their death; it was still capable of inducing terrible nightmares. Although she was as powerful as Tamara, she had always envied Tamara's inspiration. But sotis, too much inspiration wasn't necessarily a good thing. She had returned from this trip, but Amanda felt as if sothing had latched onto her... If it hadn't been for that sudden floral aroma, Amanda didn't know how long she would have remained lost.
Having sowhat regained her composure, Amanda couldn't help but turn her gaze to Grendel, who had entered unnoticed and now stood by the bed.
"I thought of inviting you for a al, but when I knocked, there was no response, so I figured you might be in a bit of trouble," Grendel said, eting her eyes without a hint of panic, a gentle smile on her face.
As Grendel withdrew her hand, the floral scent gradually thinned with the movent of the air.
"Thank you," Amanda replied, not bothered by Grendel's intrusion.
Whatever the reason, if it hadn't been for Grendel, she might not have escaped the nightmare so quickly.
"I have a recipe for a calming dicinal bath; would you like to join ?" Grendel offered.
Hearing Grendel's invitation, Amanda hesitated briefly but still accepted.
After all, she was to integrate herself into Hamlet; there was no reason to refuse kindness from others.
Social interactions are usually accompanied by sothing additional, be it places or items. The older generation gathers around the dining table, while younger people have more options. But in reality, they all have one thing in common: they occur in places of leisure and entertainnt. Sotis it's unclear whether the venue is primary and socializing rely an adjunct, or if socializing is the main event and the venue simply supportive. Or perhaps both are encapsulated in a single word: life.
In a sufficiently private room, Grendel had invited both Paracelsus and Catherine. Boudica would have been there too, had she not been ill.
Once everyone beca familiar with each other, any awkwardness dissipated. However, when Amanda made her entrance, Paracelsus was profoundly shocked.
It wasn't just n who found her hard to resist; even the won couldn't tear their eyes away from her, their faces betraying their astonishnt.
She was voluptuous, yet without an ounce of superfluous flesh. It was hard to imagine how she maintained such firmness. Only one word could describe it.
That is—supple!
Compared to her, Paracelsus and Catherine could only be described as "withered"; only Grendel could hold a candle to her.
Amanda, for her part, hardly minded their stares. She even seed to stand a little taller, a hint of pride in her bearing; she had always possessed an arresting beauty.
When she subrged herself in the cerulean waters of the bath, she couldn't help but exhale a long breath, emptying her mind.
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