stonecrandall Chapter 413, Section 412: Never before have I been so deeply shocked.
Chapter 413, Section 412: Never before have I been so deeply shocked.
Chapter 413, Section 412: Never before have I been so deeply shocked.
The man struggled to open the box, and a strong chill wafted out.
Inside the box, pieces of frozen, dark-colored meat were neatly stacked.
The meat was packaged in very simple packaging, just a thick layer of yellowish grease paper, with blurry Cyrillic script and dates printed on it.
"?????? Are they trying to trick me into thinking I'm Japanese?" Ian had excellent eyesight; even from a distance, he could make out one of the dates—1923.
Ian's satisfied smile froze instantly, a sudden realization dawning on his mind. 1923? A symbol from the Soviet era?
Frozen meat? Combined with its unusually soft yet uniquely flavorful texture, a word suddenly popped into his head—zombie meat?!
This is not your average zombie flesh.
It is the king of zombie flesh!
In this day and age, the Soviet Union is only a few decades away from its collapse, yet the meat sold in this local restaurant is still from the early days of the Soviet Union!
Wizards do the things that Muggle capitalists do too!
This meat may have been stored for decades, kept from spoilage by ultra-low temperatures, but its nutritional value and safety have long been reduced, and it may even contain harmful substances!
"Damn it! A magical world version of Sibe!" Ian felt as if the delicious soup he had just eaten had turned into a heavy block of ice, stuck in his stomach. He had even used alchemical instruments to test the inn's food, but he never expected to be stumped by a "historical problem" from the Muggle world in this magical world market!
He watched as the waiter brought out another box of frozen meat of the same style, which the proprietress skillfully took and began to defrost to prepare for dinner.
I was completely stunned.
Ian Prince felt as if a dozen Billywig worms were churning in his stomach. He stared intently at the rusty metal box that the waiter had brought out, and the frozen, hard chunks of meat inside, their wrappers clearly marked "1923," his mind blank.
"This meat is probably older than my grandmother!" Ian muttered to himself, his face quickly turning from a satisfied rosy glow to an incredulous paleness. He quickly did some mental calculations; his grandmother, whom he had never met, might not have been born during the period when this meat was stored.
What is this?
A handsome young man from the future.
Did he end up eating a zombie king who was older than his grandmother?
I just ate a bowl of "historical artifact" with great relish!
A strong feeling of nausea welled up in his throat, and he quickly drank a large gulp of water to suppress it. He looked around and saw that the other diners in the shop were still eating enthusiastically, ignoring the waiter's actions of moving the "antique meat". There were even new customers coming in, looking at the same meat soup with practiced ease.
Nobody cares.
Everyone is eating and connecting with each other.
"I heard that 'Raytooth' shop has received another batch of AK-47s," a wizard whispered. "The Centaur Legion has ordered fifty, each engraved with 'armor-piercing' runes."
"Tch, if they can buy, we can sell," another sneered. "I've already contacted the 'Fire Serpent' tribe; they're offering three times the price for rocket launchers, specifically for attacking centaur camps."
"Three wizards died in Ghost Valley last month," an old woman interjected. "I heard they were scared to death by 'Earth-Bat,' and there weren't even any wounds on their bodies."
"Serves them right," someone nearby scoffed. "Who told them to touch the 'Ancestral Spirit Seal'? Even the Ministry of Magic wouldn't dare to enter that place lightly."
"My cousin works at the Silent Tower," a young man said mysteriously. "He said he recently captured a white wizard who was carrying a big box full of strange birds and flying snakes—"
The air was filled with the sounds of satisfied chewing and conversation. Ian's ears twitched—wasn't that Newt they talking about? Of course, he wasn't in the mood to care about the professor right now.
The fact that the people here so readily accept eating zombie flesh somewhat shocked Ian.
"No way!!!!" Ian's expression was incredibly interesting, his lips twitching slightly. "They've gotten used to this? Is the scarcity of supplies in Africa so severe that even this kind of 'aged wine' has become commonplace? No wonder these shop assistants don't even bother to hide it!"
"The guests don't care at all!"
Just as he was internally ranting and raving, the guy and another burly man carried in several more old-looking items through the back door.
The wooden box even had some rotten edges.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ian noticed that the seal on one of the wooden crates clearly read 1893!
"??????"
This looks even more outrageous.
"Pfft—" Ian almost spat out the water he had just drunk. 1893?! That's an ancient relic from the Victorian era!
Is this shop located inside a history museum?!
He finally lost his temper, abruptly stood up, and strode over to the waiter who had just put down the box. Suppressing his anger, he asked in as calm a tone as possible, but with a hint of accusation, "Is this what you serve your customers? This meat, who knows how many years it's been sitting there?"
The man was taken aback at first, somewhat bewildered by Ian's sudden action and slightly agitated emotions. But after looking Ian up and down, especially noticing his obvious foreign appearance and clothing, he immediately had a look of realization on his face, as if to say, "Oh, I see. No wonder he was making such a fuss."
Far from being alarmed or ashamed, the waiter explained in a tone of pride, using a mix of broken English and local dialect: "Honorable guest, you must be from out of town. Don't worry! Our shop has a unique, family-inherited craft!"
It can make this meat taste just like it was freshly slaughtered!
"Quality and freshness are both excellent! Look how much everyone is enjoying their food!" he said, gesturing to the customers around him who showed no reaction whatsoever.
It seems that this is the norm.
"—" Upon hearing this, Ian's expression went beyond speechlessness; he was practically stunned. Unique craftsmanship? Making the flesh of a zombie from over a hundred years ago look like fresh meat? Was this magic or witchcraft? No, this was supposed to be the magical world—but this was just too outrageous!
He couldn't help but blurt out, "Have you guys added some technology and ruthless techniques? Don't tell me you don't even have a proper cook in your kitchen, not even an open-flame stove! If you do, I'll start to doubt whether your lineage of 'culinary skills' will survive for another hundred years!"
Ian loved eating at that pre-prepared food restaurant before he traveled through time, and suffered greatly from it, so he still remembers it vividly. When he encountered a similar situation again, he immediately thought of that restaurant.
"Um, I don't quite understand what you mean?" The waiter clearly didn't fully grasp Ian's complaints, especially the words "technology and hard work." But seeing Ian constantly glancing suspiciously toward the kitchen as he spoke, he roughly understood that the other man didn't believe him and wanted to see for himself.
The waiter's eyes lit up. Instead of stopping him, he gave him a warm smile, stepped aside, and gestured for him to proceed.
"If guests don't believe it, they can come to our kitchen and see for themselves! Our cooking is absolutely clean and transparent!" This is an attitude that can only be expressed when one has absolute confidence in their own business.
But who knows?
After all, some former bosses had done similar things before, which was really just a case of misplaced confidence. Looking at the waiter's nonchalant smile, Ian became even more suspicious. Letting him into the kitchen so readily? Could there be some kind of trap? Like, getting me beaten to a pulp as soon as I walk in?
And then they threw me, this "fresh ingredient," into that 1893 box too?
However, this thought only flashed through his mind. With his strength, he wasn't afraid of these two minor figures. More than anything, he was driven by intense curiosity—he wanted to see what tricks these people were up to! Could there really be some kind of magical power that could reverse time and give zombie flesh a second life?
Even Ian, a legendary wizard, found this technique somewhat unbelievable. After all, to accomplish something like this, he would need to use his extraordinary shapeshifting abilities.
Not everyone possesses the extraordinary qualities of his Transfiguration.
"Okay, then I'll take a look around." Ian nodded and followed the waiter into the kitchen. Passing through a doorway with a dirty curtain hanging down, the kitchen came into view. To Ian's surprise, it wasn't as greasy, dirty, or cockroach-infested as he had imagined.
On the contrary, although the light was not particularly bright, with only a few floating magical orbs providing illumination, the kitchen was generally clean and tidy.
It's at least much cleaner than many of the takeout shops Ian visited before his time travel—but really, you can only know how dirty a takeout shop can be by visiting those shops.
Closer to home.
Other parts of Africa may be dirty and chaotic, but they are certainly much better than India, and the hygiene situation in the wizarding world has always been far superior to that of Muggles.
Therefore.
This small shop's kitchen could probably outperform over 80% of restaurants. The walls were solid mud, the floor was paved with stone slabs, and all sorts of kitchen utensils were neatly arranged. However, what surprised Ian the most was that he didn't see a traditional stove, fire pit, or a busy chef cooking.
Instead, three pots of different sizes were placed side by side in the center of the kitchen!
That's right, they're the kind of cauldrons wizards use to brew potions! Only these three cauldrons look much heavier and more ancient, seemingly made of some kind of alloy of black iron and bronze, their surfaces covered with intricate, faintly glowing magical runes. There's no firewood or gas burning beneath them.
Instead, a stable source of heat is provided by a magic circle embedded in the floor.
"Cooking like a potion?" Ian understood why he thought it tasted good; potion masters definitely had a better grasp of heat, temperature, and the properties of food than chefs.
but.
He still felt that zombie flesh was too zombie-like, and even if it was processed using the method of boiling magic potions, it would not change the fact that it was zombie flesh.
"I'd like to see what kind of secret recipe you have."
Ian fixed his gaze on that direction.
Three people dressed in grey wizard robes, rather than chef's uniforms, were each standing in front of a cauldron. They were not holding spatulas, but long stirring rods, also covered in runes, slowly and attentively stirring the thick liquid bubbling in the cauldrons with a specific rhythm and trajectory.
Ian's gaze fell upon one of the cauldrons in use. There, the old piece of meat, frozen solid and dark as charcoal, marked "1893," which the worker had just brought in, was casually tossed into the boiling cauldron by a wizard. What happened next made Ian's eyes widen.
"What's going on?"
There was already some water in the pot, which looked like clear water, but it emitted a faint magical fluctuation. After the piece of old meat was put into the pot, it did not need to be stewed for a long time to soften like ordinary meat.
It underwent a strange change in an instant.
The meat began to change at a visible speed—its dark color faded rapidly and turned bright red; the shrunken meat expanded as if inflated, regaining its plump elasticity; it even faintly emitted a bloody scent similar to that of freshly slaughtered meat!
In just over ten seconds, that piece of old meat that looked like a historical specimen actually turned out to be no different from a piece of fine fresh beef!
Then, the wizard retrieved it from the water, placed it on a cutting board, and began to chop and process it. At that moment, Ian understood completely. It wasn't some "unique skill," nor was it "technology and ruthless work," but magic! Alchemy! A field he had never explored before!
The key to the problem lies in those magical crucibles! They are not ordinary kitchen utensils at all, but some kind of specially made, powerful alchemical artifacts! Their function is likely to reverse or neutralize the effects of time on objects, or more precisely, to temporarily restore matter to an earlier, "fresher" state!
Because it has not been studied up close.
Ian could only speculate.
Those intricate runes must be controlling and guiding this magic that reverses time! The "ancestral craftsmanship" the shopkeeper mentioned probably refers to how to properly operate and maintain these alchemical cauldrons, as well as mastering the rhythm of stirring and the input of magic to ensure the safety and effectiveness of the "restoration" process!
"No wonder they dare to use zombie flesh so blatantly," Ian muttered to himself, his nausea dissipating considerably, replaced by amazement at the wondrous application of magic. "This is truly using alchemy in unexpected ways. Although it sounds a bit strange, from a magical perspective, meat treated this way might really not be much different from fresh meat."
"Perhaps it even has a unique flavor because of its 'long history'?" Ian thought of the texture of the meat. Clearly, this kind of technique still has some flaws.
But there might be some people who love the taste caused by this defect—he remembered that there were more children and the elderly eating out before.
Heaven knows if these people came specifically for that taste. He looked at the three focused "wizard chefs," then back at the satisfied customers in the restaurant, and suddenly felt that this world was truly full of wonders. Using priceless alchemical cauldrons to "preserve" century-old zombie flesh.
This is probably a unique feature of the African magical world.
At least in terms of food safety, this restaurant seems more reliable than many seemingly clean, upscale restaurants? Ian thought with mixed feelings.
This is actually a form of self-comfort.
but.
Compared to what he had already consumed, Ian was now more interested in this technology, believing it would greatly benefit his alchemical endeavors.
The current problem is how to acquire these technologies that are considered core technologies.
Ian stared at the shop assistant.
He knew, of course, that the shop assistants couldn't make such a decision, but after looking around, he still couldn't find the shop owner. Perhaps he would need to make some inquiries.
Thinking about this...
Ian's hand naturally reached for the robe.
Prepare to unleash the power of money.