Chapter 25: The Sacred Fire Ceremony
In a harmonious atmosphere, Melon Village reopened to the military.
George continued his unfinished procurement, bringing in a batch of melon wine, freshly baked bread, and ham.
Jima presided over the “Sacred Fire Ceremony,” purifying the malicious curse.
Naturally, the process began with the slaughter of livestock, and Jima gestured around, causing some reluctance among the participants. No one expected a harmless black-haired girl to know how to slaughter pigs, just as no one had anticipated that a sheltered girl could do so.
It wasn’t until the castrated pig nearly broke free for the second time that Jima, disapproving of the soldiers’ lack of professionalism, picked up a large stone and smashed it onto the pig’s head. Once the pig was stunned, she brandished a knife and stabbed it at the heart location under its neck, instructing people to catch the blood in a basin.
Before long, the pig twitched its limbs a few times and then lay still.
The entire process was smooth and efficient, leaving the onlookers stunned.
With an innocent look, Jima held the bloodied slaughtering knife and said, “What are you all standing around for? Pour hot water, clean it, and then strip off all the hair with the knife, washing it again afterward.”
The soldiers rushed in with hot water, surrounding the pig, using sharp blades to scrape off its hair.
Jima pointed to a few soldiers: “You, you, you, and you, go fetch a few buckets of well water from the village.”
At this, no one doubted her expertise, and the soldiers hurried off to collect water.
After scraping the hair and cleaning it, the pig was hung upside down. Jima sliced open its belly, instructing them to carry away the intestines filled with excrement, then she deftly cut into the pig’s body. The blade moved skillfully between bones and flesh, and in a short while, the pig was disassembled, the whole process taking no more than ten minutes, with not a single chip on the blade.
“What kind of girl is this? Is she really a succubus?” a soldier whispered to his companion, “She’s more professional than the old butcher.”
“Who knows? Maybe demons know how to cut open bodies too.”
“As long as there’s something to eat, that’s good enough, at least better than the commander,” another soldier said, “he just knows how to chop the pig into chunks or rip the legs off crudely.”
Jima directed the soldiers to put the cut-up pig into a basin, sprinkle it with spices, and pour in some malt wine for marinating.
A soldier carefully tossed a few whole nutmegs from a bag into the mix.
Seeing this, Jima hit him with a stick and shouted, “That little? You’re being stingy!”
The soldier glanced at the beautiful Jima, in a fit of frustration, decided to empty half the bag in, but accidentally tipped the entire bag in. He fearfully looked up at Jima:
“Miss…”
“Now that’s more like it, one basin to one bag, I’m treating!”
Thus, under Jima’s command, the entire military transformed into a professional slaughterhouse. There were clear divisions of labor for bleeding, scraping hair, dismembering, and removing excrement, each with specific responsibilities, operating in an orderly and hygienic fashion.
Before long, one livestock after another was transformed into meat in wooden basins.
The old man with gray beard, in gratitude, called a few people to bring over a load of firewood and vegetables. Seeing Jima using her slaughtering knife to dismember a lamb, tossing the legs into a basin, he praised:
“Your technique is very skillful, Miss.”
Jima replied, personally adding spices into the basin, “Of course, I’m a professional.”
“What is this?”
“Spices,” Jima said, “used to neutralize the evil power within the livestock.”
The old man was enlightened, remembering this lesson.
Jima took a leg of lamb prepared by a soldier and placed it on the burning charcoal, while brushing on her homemade barbecue sauce (all taken from the Dream Palace). The surface of the leg turned golden brown, with oil dripping into the charcoal, making sizzling sounds.
The aroma of the oil whetted the old man’s appetite.
Wait, why does it look more and more like barbecue?
He asked, “Why does it look quite similar to barbecue?”
“This is called the Sacred Fire Purification Ceremony,” Jima replied, rotating the leg of lamb and applying a layer of barbecue sauce, “to drive away the evil curse with sacred fire, feed the priest, and burn that pile of charcoal.”
The accompanying priest shook his head, very unwillingly sprinkling holy oil on a pile of charcoal. The soldiers eagerly lit it, and the pale flames quickly turned the charcoal red.
The old man raised his right hand, thumb up, and said, “Truly professional.”
“Of course, I’ve been doing this since I was six, for twelve years.”
The old man departed satisfied and said to the person supporting him as he walked, “Professionals doing professional work exudes a certain beauty; our village’s evil curse seems to no longer be a concern.”
“Yeah, just looking at it makes me want to eat.”
“Fool, what if the curse comes back? Only these soldiers who have served and believed in the God of Dawn can suppress it.”
“But it smells really good.”
At this moment, George was walking towards them and, upon hearing their conversation, felt a pang of guilt. Although the one who lied was Jima, he had commanded the whole army to assist her in deceiving the villagers, which, strictly speaking, was against the doctrine.
“Hey.” At that moment, Jima raised a straight wooden stick next to the charcoal, shouting, “Remember not to send people to be eaten by beastmen anymore; that custom is useless. If another evil curse appears, no expert can solve it!”
The old man and several villagers turned around, nodding their heads like chickens pecking at grain, “Definitely, definitely.”
George comforted himself, at least there was a good outcome; relying solely on honest words was not enough to make the villagers willingly abandon this evil custom.
George walked over and stood next to Jima, saying, “Jima, you actually know how to barbecue.”
Once the villagers had walked away, Jima replied, “I’m a culinary master.”
“I’ve always wanted to know how you learned to cook.”
Jima involuntarily recalled her dark past. She had heartlessly kidnapped chefs from various places, forcing them to cook and teach her the culinary arts, with only the best being allowed to return home. In that little dark room, half-elven chefs tightly bound cried as if they had been kicked in the butt by goblins.
She had even intruded into dwarf city-states and snatched a half-elven head chef, infuriating the dwarf king, who recorded the event in the Book of Hatred with blood.
Such an evil past, looking back on it now…
How interesting it was.
Jima replied:
“I won’t tell you.”
George didn’t pursue the matter further. Previously, Jima’s first-day performance clearly indicated to him that her bottom line was “the past”; no one could inquire into her history.
Ignoring the scorching charcoal, Jima leaned closer to the leg of lamb and poked it directly with her finger—being a demon, she wasn’t as afraid of flames. The lamb’s leg was somewhat soft, and she picked it up with a stick, pulling it out and handing it to George, saying:
“Here, try a bite.”
The surface of the leg was golden brown, sprinkled with some cumin powder, emitting an aroma.
George grasped the leg, reminiscent of a battle axe, and took a bite; it was slightly hot, but that was fine. The lamb was very tender and juicy, carrying the unique smoky flavor of barbecue along with spices. Even the natural gaminess of the lamb meat, under the exquisite cooking technique, became one of the many delicious flavors.
George took a bite and, before he could swallow, took a second bite.
“How is it?”
“Delicious.”
“I mean, is it cooked?”
George lowered his head and saw a shade of red where he had bitten.
“Not bad, a bit undercooked, but it’s okay.”
Jima snatched the leg back, looked at the bite mark, “Still raw, grill it a little longer.”
“I thought it was for me to eat.”
“Dream on.” After grilling for a while, Jima raised the roasted lamb leg and, right in front of George, took a big bite, saying, “Mmm~~ it’s delicious, just perfect; don’t look, you don’t get any. The ‘maiden barbecue’ is reserved for this chef.”
Not far away, Eve Frostleaf was leaning against a tree, gazing at the two.
She felt a pang of jealousy. During Jima’s “Sacred Fire Purification” ceremony, almost everyone was busy, but she was given no tasks at all. Eve Frostleaf could naturally understand that as a noble and powerful elf guest, who would dare to make her a servant?
Yet, she couldn’t help but feel isolated. She thought of that shabby rabbit, feeling a sense of embarrassment.
Clearly watching the two, she felt uncomfortable, but strangely, she couldn’t move her feet.
At that moment, Jima noticed Eve Frostleaf and immediately ignored George, waving to Eve Frostleaf, “Sister Frostleaf, I saw you had rabbits in your tent, bring them over and help us grill the meat!”
Eve Frostleaf did not respond and turned to leave.
George said, “Maybe she’s upset; after all, she’s an aristocrat of the high elves.”
“That’s a shame.” Jima had wanted to invite Eve Frostleaf, intending to develop an improper relationship through shared labor.
Before long, the snow-white Eve Frostleaf, like a flower on a high mountain, brought over two rabbits without heads or skins.
Jima didn’t recognize them at first and asked, “What’s this?”
“Rabbits.”
“Where are the heads?”
Eve Frostleaf slightly lifted her chin and said, “They fell off during skinning.”
Most likely, she had forcibly pulled the rabbit skin off with brute strength.
Jima found it hard to imagine the icy beauty, Eve Frostleaf, tearing off the rabbit skin with her own hands.
Narrowing her eyes, she was sure the other had developed a sense of competitiveness, not wanting to be outdone.
Jima smiled and said, “Well, that’s convenient. I didn’t expect you knew how to skin.”
Eve Frostleaf handed over the headless rabbits and said, “Easy.”
…
…
The Sacred Fire Ceremony reached its most critical moment.
The soldiers lined up neatly, holding plates in front of Jima to receive the roasted meat, which were large pieces, at least the size of a palm, fearing anything smaller would seem stingy.
The soldiers who received the meat enjoyed it along with melon wine, forming small groups to guess the wine, having a great time as laughter filled the entire military camp.
Only a few soldiers who hadn’t received meat felt quite awkward; they had been punished with whip for not saving the horned child, but George had ultimately lifted the punishment, prohibiting them from receiving food at the feast.
Thus, they could only eat dry bread and jerky that night.
But as everyone else feasted on roasted meat, surrounded by its tempting aroma, who could still eat?
They could only shamelessly approach their comrades to beg for scraps of meat that others didn’t want. Their complaints about the unfair punishment received no agreement from anyone, leaving them huddled together, gnawing on the bones of lamb that others had taken bites from, talking to themselves.
The soldiers who were full and satisfied gazed at the horned child running around the camp, finding him more and more pleasant to the eye.
After Jima personally finished grilling the first cow, sheep, and pig, she allowed the soldiers to help themselves to the barbecue. She took the sumptuous roasted meat she had set aside for herself and joined George and the others for a meal.
Present were Eve Frostleaf, the intrusive maid, and George, all waiting for Jima.
Eve Frostleaf picked up a knife and fork, cut a piece from the roasted leg of lamb on her plate, took a small bite, and said, “Not bad, a little worse than what the palace serves.”
The elven maid also took a bite and said, “Succubus, you should feel proud; not everyone can compare to our elves’ long-standing culinary heritage.”
Eve Frostleaf said nothing, sprinkling a layer of chili powder to cover the entire piece of lamb, cutting off another piece and stating, “Very good, better than what the palace serves.”
Jima looked at Eve Frostleaf in surprise and said, “You actually like chili, that evil seasoning.”
Eve Frostleaf didn’t glance at Jima, flipping the roasted lamb leg over and sprinkling another layer of chili powder, grabbing the leg and biting into it directly.
