The Slime Farmer - Chapter 130

Turq, nestled in his hair, adjusted to the movement almost grumpily.

Defi was browsing through several stalls, rounding off his store of winter supplies. He doubted there would be much of a dawn market tomorrow. The children’s eager description of the feast expected the activities to last well into the night.

“What, you’re going back now?” Jerac heaved the last of the baskets into the cart and tied them down, looking quizzical as Defi started to unfasten the boarlizard’s reins from the post. “You’ll miss the eel breakfast! Grilled eel, Defi! Sauce-soaked salmon in bread, venleaf juice!”

Defi pointed to the small basket of grilled eel, salmon-stuffed bread that he saw one of the aunties dunk in a red-colored sauce that dyed the outer shell of the bread prettily before wrapping, and the jars of what he now knew as ‘venleaf juice’. “I have all those already.”

Three times over, in fact. The things had been stuffed into his arms nearly the moment he stepped on the dock, by various people.

Jerac tsked skeptically. “It’s your first festival, right? You have to experience these things properly!” He grabbed the reins from Defi, retying them firmly. “Let’s go. We have to hurry or all the good things will be gone.”

Defi hesitated before hurrying after Jerac. His experiences with country feasts made him slightly reluctant. No-one knew him here, he reminded himself. Jerac looked back and urged him into a queue of cheerfully waiting people.

Defi smiled reflexively at the greetings the others threw at him and the dockworker who pushed him into the queue.

No-one expected anything of him here, he told himself, as he laughed at the now familiar joke aimed at his ‘skinny’ physique. His clothes weren’t prescribed and he was not required to lead anything. He was just another person.

His smile brightened at the thought. ;

“Defi,” called another newcomer, teasing. “So serious so early in the morning?”

“Jerac said I have to experience a proper festival,” he turned to see the baker Reon slot himself into a nearby line of people. “And it apparently means a lot of standing around.”

“It’s your first harvest feast?”

“I’ve gone to others before. But nothing so early.”

“Of course!” Jerac thumped his chest. “Our Lowpool feast is unique! Where else can you find eel like this in winter?”

“Tonblad,” said someone in the crowd. It triggered a cascade of similar replies from the nearby crowd.

“Romtown.”

“Ervold.”

“Basically anywhere on the rivers.”

“It’s somewhat known, actually,” Reon mused. “You have no idea how surprising it was to see that there were people advertising ‘Lowpool-grilled’ eel in the streets of the city.”

“Bah,” was the general response around them to that.

Defi wanted to giggle. Only in this world was it common for him to be part of a conversation where everyone in earshot would respond like it was normal, even the ones he wasn’t having a conversation with in the first place.

“What do they think ‘Lowpool-grilled’ is, anyway?” muttered a young woman. “It’s just ordinary grilling!”

“Marinated in pure starcherry sauce.” Reon answered promptly while looking like he was anticipating the reaction.

There was a silence around them. Disbelief.

“You mean…it’s sour?”

“Mmh,” Reon smirked. “Delicious.”

There was a burst of noise as everyone tried to argue with him. Turq dropped to Defi’s shoulder, surprised by the sudden loud sound.

Reon winked at Defi and Jerac, slinked forward quickly, grabbed the food a confused server was holding out but no-one was paying attention to, and quickly ran away to shouts of outrage.

“Who eats sour things in winter?!” Jerac howled after the escaping Reon. He wasn’t the only one to do so.

Defi laughed.

He’d already noticed that the Lowpool always mixed sour food with something else – sour and sweet, sour and hot, sour and salty, but never sour alone. Even the most common starcherry sauce was liberally diluted with sweetgrass or other fruits and condiments.

How interesting. Sour things were always prized when he was growing up.

Possibly the difference in taste was the climate?

He’d went north once, but he’d never lived through a winter, and never went north again since his mother died.

The line quickly moved after Reon’s departure. Jerac ushered him through the gauntlet of collecting food through and to one of the tables that were set up around the public areas.

“Jerac. Defi.”

The two turned to see Boone waving at them from a long table that was only half-full. There was a half-eaten hunk of bread before him, and an open jar of juice.

Defi recalled that Boone was a dockworker too. It wasn’t so surprising that he knew Jerac.

Jerac sat down. “Not with Vesen today?”

Boone looked resigned. “We’re not tied together, you know.”

“Sure,” Jerac bit into his bread. “Where is he anyway?”

“He was planning to sleep in before accompanying his sister around.”

Jerac smiled triumphantly as Boone realized he’d fallen into a trap. ;

Boone glared, then turned to Defi, ignoring the other dockworker. “I know you said you’re stopping lessons soon. It’s fine dropping by if we have questions?”

At the homestead? Defi wouldn’t really recommend it. The river was dangerous now. And the only other option was walking several hours through the cold – he wasn’t forcing anyone to do that, let alone his students.

“You’re all doing well with the movements; as long as you practice well, we can start with blades in the spring. I’ll be coming down to the orphanage most mornings for the next week still. It’s dangerous to come to the homestead now.”

Boone smirked at him. “It’s no problem. This amount of cold is invigorating.”

Defi, who was bundled up in layers and a thick scarf, groaned good-naturedly. “As you like, then. If you freeze into an ice sculpture on the way, don’t blame me. My delicate southern blood will only laugh at you for no more than three months, I promise.”

“You’re really teaching weapon techniques?” Jerac looked between Defi and Boone, surprised. “I thought those were just rumors.”

Defi nodded, bit into his breakfast.

Boone looked at him, baffled. “We meet at the docks all the time. How could you not know?”

“I was busy!”

Defi hummed in appreciation at the bite he took, focusing on his food as the other two sniped cheerfully at each other. Ascharonians really knew how to bake soft breads.

The outer shell of the bread crunched pleasingly under his teeth and a warm puff of air wafted up from the freshly-baked warm insides. The scent cradled his head pleasantly and entwined with the taste of smoked salmon and tangy savory sauce on his tongue.

“It’s been months. Months.” Boone emphasized.

“No one just came out and said it to me!”

“Did you trip over the witchpools as a child, maybe?”

“Hey!”

Defi put Turq on the table and scattered chunks of the harder crust before it. The slime started to eat as well.

“Can you believe this guy?” Jerac turned to Defi. Boone looked at him with the exact same sentiment on his face.

“This salmon bread is excellent,” was Defi’s only answer, which derailed the argument the others were having.

“Try it with the juice,” Boone advised.

“No, you have to shred the grilled eel with the sea paste first,” Jerac demonstrated with his own plate. The smoky grilled eelmeat was scraped off the thin skin and mixed with the dollop of condiment paste that was on the same plate. “Then break open the salmon bread and slather the mix all over. Then try it with the juice.”

He tore a piece of the even more stuffed bread off, popped it into his mouth, took a swig of the juice and grinned contentedly.

Boone pointed at Jerac’s demonstration silently, nodding in agreement as he turned to his own food.

Before he could try it, someone sauntered up to the table, deliberately bumped into it. The things on the table wobbled, to the protest of the people eating.

“Sorry.” The voice was young, deep, and not sorry at all.

Defi saved the drinking jar of juice from tipping over, calmly thumbed the cork off, and drank a mouthful.

He patted Turq reassuringly, then glanced at his companions. ;

Jerac started to frown at the person who still wasn’t moving away after bumping into them, and Boone was eating slowly with seemingly casual manner.

“So, you’re the outsider who thinks he can teach weapons better than the soldiers in the actual combat school?”

Defi looked up, bit into his eel-adulterated salmon-stuffed bread. “Me?”

“Of course you!” roared the man who looked a few years older than him.

Defi could see from his face that he wasn’t going to be placated with words.

“I’m flattered. How can I help you?”

Inwardly, he mourned. He wanted to savor this seafood bread, alright?

Why was this happening so early in the morning?!

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Hi, this is Jin Daoran. If you see this work on other websites, know that I post exclusively on the Webnovel site. If you like the story, please support this misfortunate author by voting on webnovel.com. Thanks!