The transition from the Northern Forest to the shores of the Crystal Lake was a study in sensory contrast. The heavy, loamy scent of the woods gave way to a sharp, crystalline breeze that carried the scent of deep minerals and ancient water.
Before us lay Aquorion's domain—a vast expanse of turquoise water so clear it looked like liquid glass. But I wasn't admiring the view. My eyes were fixed on the white crusting along the southern banks.
"Salt," I breathed, the word sounding like a prayer. "The preservative of history. The king of seasonings."
"And the reason for that smell," Jasper grumbled, covering his sensitive nose. "It smells like... dead things that refused to rot."
"That, Jasper, is the scent of a Cure," I replied, adjusting my white toque. "The high salinity of these flats naturally mummifies anything that washes ashore. It's nature's way of saying: 'I've prepped this for you.'"
My Intelligence (150) was already scanning the shoreline. The Gilded Chain Consortium hadn't been idle. Five miles to the east, I could see the silhouette of a fortified trade post. They had been "harvesting" this salt for decades using debt-slaves, forcing them to stand in the corrosive brine until their legs were a mass of chemical burns.
"Sous-Chef One, Sous-Chef Two," I commanded. "Unpack the heavy pots. We aren't just here to mine; we're here to Refine."
As my skeletal crew began to set up a perimeter, a ripple disturbed the mirror-like surface of the lake. A group of Water Wyrms—non-sentient, serpentine predators with scales like jagged sapphire—surfaced. They weren't interested in diplomacy. To them, my skeletons were just oddly shaped chew toys.
"Ingredients have arrived," I said, drawing my obsidian cleaver. "And they brought their own garnish."
The Battle of the Flats
The Wyrms lunged, their bodies propelled by powerful tails. They moved with a terrifying, fluid grace, their mouths opening to reveal rows of needle-teeth designed to shred fish and man alike.
"Station Check!" I roared. "I want the front line in a Diamond Formation! Watch the tails—they're tough, we need to strike the soft underbelly!"
The mercenaries of the Consortium would have used nets and spears. I used Kitchen Logic.
"Sous-Chef One: The Filet maneuver!"
My lead skeleton didn't swing. It waited until the first Wyrm lunged, then stepped to the side with the grace of a matre d' seating a guest. As the Wyrm soared past, the skeleton's obsidian knife traced a perfect line from the creature's gills to its tail.
Zip.
The Wyrm hit the salt-crust already halfway "cleaned."
"Too much pressure on the blade," I critiqued, even as I parried a second Wyrm with my cleaver. "You're bruising the meat! Light touch, Sous-Chef! Imagine you're peeling a grape!"
I activated [Parallel Processing]. My mind split into twelve threads, each one micro-managing a skeleton. The battlefield became a blur of blue mana and silver scales. We weren't just killing; we were Processing.
"Jasper! Amber! Don't let the blood touch the salt-beds!" I shouted. "We don't want the brine contaminated! Collect the runoff in the ceramic jars!"
The werewolves, who had been prepared for a frantic struggle for survival, found themselves acting as Kitchen Assistants. They ran between the skeletons, catching the "harvested" Wyrm meat and stacking it on clean stone slabs.
Within twenty minutes, forty Water Wyrms lay "prepped" on the shore. Not a single skeleton had been chipped.
"Clean the blades," I said, wiping a drop of sapphire blood from my cheek. "We have a lot of protein to cure."
The Culinary Counter-Strike
As the sun reached its zenith, the Consortium's trade post finally noticed our presence. A horn sounded—a harsh, brassy note that signaled the approach of the Warden's Naval Scouts. Two shallow-draft galleons began to row toward our position.
"They're coming to protect their 'property,' Arthur," Jasper said, baring his fangs.
"No, they're coming to interrupt a Brine," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "And there is nothing a Chef hates more than an interruption."
I looked at the stacks of Wyrm meat. Then at the shimmering lake. Then at my Zombie Porters.
"Goblins! To me!" I signaled to the Curiosity Goblins who had followed us from the forest. "I need a heat-exchange system. We're going to use the volcanic stones we brought from the forest to flash-evaporate a section of this cove. I want a Supersaturated Brine."
The Goblins, eager to prove their worth, began constructing a stone "stove" along the waterline. We fed it with mana-rich wood and the fat we'd rendered from the Great-Wolf.
As the Consortium ships closed within five hundred yards, I gave the order.
"Sous-Chefs! Cast the salt!"
My skeletons began hurling massive blocks of raw, unrefined salt into the water directly in the path of the galleons. Simultaneously, the Goblins activated the "Heat-Exchange," pumping searing steam into the water.
[Skill Activated: Rapid Dehydration (Rank E)]
The water around the galleons didn't just boil; it thickened. The salinity spiked to impossible levels.
"What's happening to the oars?" a mercenary shouted from the lead ship.
The wooden oars, dry and thirsty, absorbed the supersaturated brine. The salt crystals expanded inside the wood's pores, causing the timber to crack and shatter with the sound of pistol shots. The hulls of the ships, treated with cheap resin, began to "cure" and warp, the planks pulling away from the ribs.
"You're too salty, boys!" I yelled across the water. "You're drying out! You need a rest!"
The ships groaned as they began to take on water—water that was so salty it burned the skin of any mercenary who touched it. They weren't sinking into a lake; they were being Pickled in a giant vat.
The First Alliance
From the deeper waters beyond the salt-flats, a new presence emerged. These weren't monsters. They were the Merfolk of Aquorion. They surfaced slowly, their skin the color of pearls and their eyes wide with disbelief as they watched the Consortium's "invincible" naval scouts crumble without a single arrow being fired.
The Merfolk Elder, a male with a beard of flowing kelp, swam toward the shore. He looked at the pile of cleaned Wyrms—the predators that had plagued his people for generations—and then at me.
"You... you use the salt not to hurt, but to change," the Elder said, his voice like the shifting of pebbles on a beach.
"I use the salt to preserve," I replied, stepping onto the wet sand and offering a bowl of Wyrm-Crudo with Lemon-Herb Salt. "The Consortium uses it to chain you. I use it to make sure the harvest lasts through the winter. Eat. This is the first meal of the Crystal Lake Treaty."
The Elder hesitated, then took a bite. His eyes lit up. The salt didn't burn; it enhanced. It brought out the sweetness of the Wyrm meat, a flavor his people had never been able to enjoy because they lacked the means to "cure" the gamey predators.
"The Gilded Chain demands our labor," the Elder whispered. "What do you demand, Chef?"
"I don't demand labor," I said, looking at my tireless skeletons who were already beginning to bag the refined salt. "I demand Quality. Help me harvest the salt-beds efficiently, and I will ensure that every Merfolk village is fed, fortified, and free from the Consortium's debt."
[System Notification: Faction Relation: Merfolk of Aquorion — 'Allied']
[New Title Earned: The Salt-Cured Sovereign]
[Level Up: 14 -> 18]
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Salt-Fortress was no longer a dream. It was a reality. We had the wheat from the north, the salt from the west, and an army of the dead to manage it all.
But as I looked toward the Eastern horizon, I saw a faint, crimson glow in the sky. It wasn't the sunset. It was the aura of a "Hero" whose ego was starting to burn.
"The service is going well, Skrit," I said to my head skeleton. "But I think the next course is going to need a lot more heat. Tell the porters to pack for the mountains. It's time we talked to a Dragon about a Smokehouse."
Nova Roma: The Eternal Service
Current Population: 1,200 (Migration increasing).
Current Staff: 12 Skeletons, 4 Wraiths, 6 Zombie Porters.
Current Menu: Sea-Salt Cured Water Wyrm with Wild Lemon and Kelp.
Next Objective: Ignivar's Crater — The Quest for the Eternal Smoke.