Chương 136: Chapter 109: Calories Over Glory

I recognised the ceiling after the third breath. New boards crossed the old gaps above the bed, lighter than the original timber and fitted too neatly to belong to the room I remembered. The plaster around the window had been repaired in three shades, while a square-headed nail occupied the wall where Orven's coat had once hung. My old room in the Cataract had survived by becoming someone else's work. Lysa sat beside the window with both hands folded across her apron.

Flour marked one sleeve, although she had washed the blood from her hands before coming upstairs.

"How long?" I asked.

"Since yesterday afternoon. You woke twice."

"I do not remember."

"You complained about the blanket and attempted to stand."

"That sounds useful."

"It was not." I found the bandage around my ribs before testing anything else. The wound pulled beneath a deep breath, and the bones seemed to have accepted a position without deciding it was correct. Ironheart Body distributed the discomfort broadly enough that no single injury carried the full burden. Sanguine Aegis remained inactive. I was grateful, although gratitude towards an ability waiting for near death felt like thanking an empty grave. Lysa watched the movement beneath the blanket.

"Bellan said you are not to lift anything."

"Bellan says many things."

"Fewer than most people. That makes ignoring him harder to defend." The Cinderline stood in its sheath beside the chair. The broken Woodsman's Axe rested beneath it, the split head wrapped in cloth. I had once owned so little that everything could be checked by touching my belt. Now a Bronze weapon sat beside a ruined axe while something under my skin knew how to drink blood.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Cooking help." I waited for the rest.

"That is all?"

"There is a frost-deer downstairs larger than Pell's confidence and almost as difficult to divide."

"How did it arrive?"

"Jory and Garron found it near the southern road. It broke a leg after the scattered herd passed. It was dead before they brought it in."

"You need Beastcraft."

"I need someone who knows which pieces can turn above a fire without becoming boot leather."

"That is Cooking."

"Yes."

"I am injured."

"Yes."

"Bellan said not to lift."

"You will not lift the deer." The sequence closed before I found an opening. Lysa folded the blanket away and offered her arm.

"Slowly."

"I can walk."

"That is why I offered an arm instead of arranging a stretcher." Wade had repaired the Cataract stairs with darker timber, replacing the two lowest treads and adding a rail around the narrow turn. The building smelled of boiled grain, damp stone, old smoke, and too many people sleeping beneath one roof. The lower hall had been cleared except for two benches and folded bedding. Someone had scrubbed the blood from the floor, although the joints between the slabs remained dark.

The deer hung in the yard behind the Cataract over a shallow trench of coals. Ironwood braces, antler forks, and one salvaged shaft formed a spit large enough to hold the cleaned carcass. Even without the head, it could feed most of Dunmere for a day if no one became generous. Fat ran from the back towards the heat and struck the coals in small angry drops. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"You started without me."

"You were unconscious."

"That is becoming an excuse."

"It remains persuasive." The body hung forward of centre, leaving the shoulder too close to the fire while the hindquarter remained pale. Basic Cooking showed the heat moving unevenly through the carcass, where fat would burn before deeper muscle became safe, and where cutting early could improve the result at the cost of final yield. Lysa wiped grease from the handle.

"I turned it twice. The third attempt nearly turned me."

"The weight sits forward. Brace the shaft before lifting."

"I discovered that after the first attempt." No one else worked inside the yard. Dunmere made noise beyond the walls—hammers, carts, the kitchen bellows, and timber being dragged towards the Cataract—but Lysa had arranged the space around the fire for two people. She could have brought Mörk or Garron. Instead, she waited beside my bed. I wrapped both hands around the spit handle. The shoulder had rotated below centre and pulled the carcass towards the trench.

I shifted my stance, set one foot against the stone lip, and lifted only enough to clear the groove. Ironheart Body distributed the effort around the damaged ribs. The adjustment felt sensible, which was the danger. Any work could appear affordable if the body learned to hide the cost across enough places. The deer turned one quarter. Fat crossed the flank and hissed into the coals. Lysa watched my face.

"Too much?"

"No."

"That answer lacked evidence."

"The carcass moved."

"So does a falling wall." I settled the shaft into the next groove and waited for the pull in my side to ease. Heat needed reducing below the ribs and increasing beneath the hindquarter. I used a long rake to draw coals from the centre, then added two narrow pieces of split wood at the colder end.

"You have more coin than anyone sleeping in the Cataract," Lysa said while watching the fire.

"Most of it is bars."

"Most people do not have bars."

"They belong to the bridge."

"And the town."

"And the forge."

"And whatever arrives afterwards." The list had no useful end. Enough material did not reduce need; it allowed larger needs to introduce themselves.

"I turned down twenty Iron a day once," I said. Lysa smiled faintly.

"You complained about it for a week."

"It seemed insulting."

"It was."

"I might take it now."

"You would calculate what else the day could earn."

"That sounds worse."

"Different." The ability tracked heat through colour, smell, tightening muscle, and clear fat. Iron (mid) made the choices visible without making the equipment better. The fire remained shallow, the animal too large, and the salt too coarse to enter the deeper cuts without help. I opened narrow channels beside the spine and packed them with rendered fat, salt, and herbs while Lysa held the bowl.

"You think more now," she said.

"I always thought."

"You used to hide it better."

"I spoke less."

"Those are different claims." The knife followed muscle seams supplied by Beastcraft, opening the carcass without wasting the weight. The deer made sense where people did not. Heat entered from outside. Fat softened before muscle. A mistake remained where it was made instead of becoming a story someone carried for years.

"You came back different," Lysa said.

"I had a demon inside me."

"That is not what I meant."

"I know." She waited without demanding an answer, which made avoiding it harder.

"The world became larger," I said.

"Dunmere did not."

"No."

"I thought leaving would show me what we needed."

"Did it?"

"It showed me how much we lack."

"That is still useful."

"It does not feel useful."

"Most useful things do not." The line resembled something Orven might have said if he had been more tired. Lysa scraped the remaining herbs together and did not seem to notice. The next turn required more force because the hindquarter shifted the balance. I bent to adjust the retaining pin, and the movement pulled sharply beneath the bandage. My right side failed before pain warned me. The yard tipped towards the trench. Heat struck my face, and one sleeve passed through the smoke.

Lysa caught the back of my shirt and hauled sideways. My knee struck the stone lip, while the handle dropped into the groove and shook grease from the carcass. I remained bent over the fire for one breath, unable to straighten while the ribs locked around the mistake. Lysa kept hold until I reached the bench.

"You said you could do this."

"I can."

"You nearly entered the meal."

"The fire is too low."

"That is your defence?"

"It remains relevant." Her face tightened. Instead of arguing, she knelt and checked the bandage, where a thin stain had begun spreading.

"Bellan will notice."

"He notices whatever leaks."

"He will notice I brought you downstairs."

"You did not bring me."

"You make every choice sound like weather." She retied the outer wrap without calling him. Ordering me upstairs would only have converted the remaining work into an argument, and Lysa preferred outcomes over victories. We lowered the fire and turned the carcass more slowly. I remained seated for most of the afternoon, directing the rotations and cutting each exposed section as it finished. The flank came away first, dark outside and pale enough inside to show the heat had reached without drying it.

The shoulders took longer, while the hindquarters required thick strips cut from the bone and returned towards the coals. Basic Cooking stopped showing only what was wrong and began offering choices between losses. More heat would finish faster and waste fat. Less would preserve moisture but leave the deep cuts unsafe. Early carving reduced total yield but fed people before dark. A town meal did not permit perfection. It required deciding which waste could be afforded.

ABILITY ADVANCED Basic Cooking has advanced from Iron (mid) to Iron (late). You now better understand large-carcass roasting, heat distribution, batch carving, fat retention, portion timing, and the conversion of uneven cuts into reliable meals. Food prepared under constrained conditions retains more value when equipment, fuel, and time remain limited. The system notice carried less weight than the tray in Lysa's hands. I read it once and returned to the knife.

The ability had not required blood, only attention, patience, and the admission that people needed eating more often than they needed glory. By evening, the deer had become covered trays. On the final trip inside, Lysa stopped beside the bench and examined the shoulder pieces, checking the colour near the bone and the fat remaining along the edge.

"Orven would have been proud," she said. The knife remained in my hand. Lysa adjusted the cloth over the tray.

"My father too."