Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 337: Chapter 22 “Roast” and “Test”_2

Sergei rubbed his eyes as he came over after a nap, yawning, he asked, “Is it ready?”

“No way, it’s still early,” Gerard replied.

Old Sergei fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pipe, sitting on a small chair, patiently packing the bowl with shredded tobacco.

He stuffed, tamped it down, and repeated the process three times before he took a piece of burning wood from the fire pit, lit the tobacco, and began to puff away.

“Haven’t had your fill of smoke today?” Gerard asked with a smile.

The strong scent of tobacco wafted through the smokehouse, detectable even from a great distance. Whether or not they were accustomed to smoking, everyone at the Mitchell’s estate had their fill of smoke that day.

Sergei yawned again, “Otherwise, I get sleepy.”

Winters heard footsteps nearby as Vashka and Pierre approached from the direction of the tobacco fields.

Sergei chided his son, “Little rascal, have you been slacking off?”

“No, just came to see if the meat was ready,” Vashka said with a grin.

“It’s still early.”

“Then we can help watch the oven too.”

Old Sergei snorted, “If you’re thinking of helping here, you two lads are still a bit green. Get back to work and don’t always be trying to slack off.”

“Then give us some meat to eat,” Vashka pleaded.

Gerard stood up and signaled for two little Dusacks to lift the lid off one of the roasting pits. He drew a small knife and sliced off two pieces of slightly charred pig skin around the pork knuckles, dipped them in salt, and handed them to the two young Dusacks.

After that, Gerard cut several pieces of meat from the ribs, sprinkled some salt on them, and handed them to a few others.

For Winters, it was his first time tasting such delicious roast meat. The meat wrapped around the crunchy bones was savory and juicy, melting in his mouth, and despite having quite a bit of fat, it didn’t taste greasy at all. And the only seasoning Gerard used was a bit of salt.

The two young Dusacks licked their fingers and asked for a few more pieces of meat before they were willing to leave, and Sergei, too sleepy to keep his eyes open, went off to sleep, yawning.

Then only Gerard, Winters, and Brother Reed remained by the roasting pit.

The old monk was in high spirits, “Lieutenant, did you know that over two thousand years ago there was a blind poet named Homer?”

“Though I never went to a grammar school, I’ve read ‘The Iliad’ and ‘The Odyssey,'” Winters said, unable to suppress a wry smile.

“Do you know what the heroes and demigods in Homer’s work ate?” the friar asked and answered himself, “Roast meat. When Odysseus paid a visit to Achilles, the latter served him pork and mutton. Animal flesh was ‘the repast of the heroes beloved by the gods,’ while ordinary people subsisted on grains. The heroes in the epics tasted the very flavor we are enjoying. Just like the bright moon above us, it’s the same moonlight described by the ancients.”

The old monk was showing off his erudition, Winters didn’t bother to pay attention, but Gerard was listening intently.

Seeing Gerard interested, the slightly tipsy Brother Reed began to recite large chunks of the epic in a rhythmic fashion. Winters didn’t know where the old clergyman got his memory from, but Gerard grew more and more admiring as he listened.

“The heroes and demigods of the epics all personally cooked and shared the meat,” the old monk said to Gerard with a laugh, “Mr. Mitchell hosting us with fine food is indeed a heroic role model among us…”

The excited friar, drunk on the liquor, used a great deal of ancient grammar and pronunciation, not caring whether others could understand. Winters was confused by it all, while Gerard just kept chuckling.

Suddenly, Winters realized, “This old man… he’s not raving drunk, is he?”

The jovial old monk was talking when he suddenly fell silent. Winters looked back to see another figure emerging from the night.

Mrs. Mitchell nodded her head in greeting and shook the wine bottle in her hand, “I’ve brought something to drink for the gentlemen.”

Gerard quickly stood up, “Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell.”

This couple still maintained their manners in daily life, referring to each other as Mr. Mitchell and Mrs. Mitchell.

Although Gerard Pleninovich Mitchell had the loud voice and quick temper of a Dusack,

Winters’s gut told him that the true master of Mitchell’s was the gentle and wise Mrs. Mitchell, just as at the Serviati’s, Kosa was the real head of the household.

Mrs. Mitchell delivered the drinks and then found a small chair to sit down on. Not just Gerard and Brother Reed, but even Winters involuntarily started acting a bit more properly.

In Winters’s view, Mrs. Ellen Mitchell was an out-of-place figure in Wolf Town.

This wasn’t to say she was unwelcome, on the contrary, Mrs. Mitchell was extremely popular. Everyone in town adored her, but everyone was also somewhat afraid of her.

The emotion was akin to plain mortals facing a beautiful and pure angel, feeling ashamed of their own ugly features.

Dusack women had a wild, vivacious spirit. They would dance exuberantly with the young men, roll up their sleeves to milk cows, drive large animals like the men, wielding whips, and respond to catcalls with the coarsest of words.

But Mrs. Mitchell was the complete opposite – Winters couldn’t quite describe it – it was a refined, demure but not arrogant quality that inspired awe and deterred disrespect.

Even the roughest Dusack would voluntarily remove his cap in Mrs. Mitchell’s presence, and the laziest worker became disciplined before her.

Mrs. Mitchell always spoke in a gentle and serene tone, her demeanor also always calm and composed. But the words that came from her mouth were more effective than a hundred shouts from Gerard, making everyone willing to obey.

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