hotmtlnovel Chapter 94 Purely Natural Delicious
Chapter 94 Purely Natural Delicious
Chapter 94 Purely Natural Deliciousness (Bonus Chapter)
The second dish.
An eyeball displayed in an exquisite crystal dish.
The eyeball of a large, mutated creature.
Each one was the size of a fist, with a cloudy grayish-white pupil surrounded by red blood vessels.
"Pickled eyeballs of giant rats infected with fever."
Bill grabbed an eyeball as if he were grabbing an apple.
"This is good stuff. It bursts with juice when you bite into it. The feeling of the juice exploding in your mouth is so satisfying."
As he spoke, he shoved the eyeball directly into the metal grille of his lower jaw for eating.
"Click."
A crisp popping sound rang out.
This was followed by a swallowing sound.
The murky juice flowed down the metal grille, but Bill ate it with relish.
Lowe picked up the glass in front of him and took a sip of the cloudy amasec.
The pungent smell of industrial alcohol washed over my esophagus, barely suppressing the urge to vomit.
This was even more unbearable for him than facing the Nurgle zombies.
Not only are the Nurgle zombies disgusting, they're also dangerous, but you can blast them to pieces with a bomb gun without hesitation.
However, the "delicious food" in front of you represents a distorted form of goodwill and a display of power, and you have to keep smiling throughout.
Luo Wei put down his wine glass, his face somewhat pale.
"Manager Bill, my stomach is a bit sensitive. You know, I come from an office background and haven't gotten used to this kind of high-energy food."
Bill paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Haha! That's true. You people from the eastern granary are used to refined, synthetic, mushy soups. This kind of hearty dish definitely requires a good set of teeth."
He wasn't angry; on the contrary, he felt even more pleased because his sense of superiority was satisfied.
However, he had no intention of letting the others present off the hook.
"The Buck Brothers!"
Bill's greasy hand grabbed a piece of "fried gland" that was still dripping with black oil and handed it directly to Buck, who was standing behind Rowe.
"You look like a strong man, not as fussy as your boss. Here, have a taste, this is very nutritious!"
Buck stared wide-eyed.
He instinctively wanted to refuse.
However, this was personally handed over by the head of the northern grain depot, and at this crucial moment when the alliance and cooperation had just been formed.
He glanced at Luo Wei as if pleading for help.
Luo Wei, however, was looking down, deep in thought, as if he hadn't seen what was happening.
Buck gritted his teeth, took the piece of meat, closed his eyes, and stuffed it into his mouth.
He didn't dare chew it and swallowed it whole.
Even so, the strange smell that hit him right in the head caused his scarred face to turn bluish-purple in an instant.
"Great, that's satisfying!"
Bill patted Buck on the shoulder, almost making Buck vomit.
"Glug."
Buck's Adam's apple bobbed up and down twice with difficulty.
That so-called "highly nutritious" fried gland didn't seem to want to stay obediently in his stomach; it was trying to crawl back up his esophagus.
The smell was like stuffing a skunk that had been dead for a week into a sock full of engine oil and then roasting it over a fire.
He had eaten cockroaches and dead rats, but he simply couldn't stand this.
He kept his mouth tightly shut, his cheeks puffing out and then deflating, forcefully suppressing the surging acid through his loyalty to the Emperor and his reverence for Lovi.
"Eating meat without drinking is a waste of good food!" Bill laughed, pushing the murky, muddy Amasek liquor in front of Buck. "Brother Buck, if you don't drink it, you're disrespecting me, aren't you?"
With no other option, Buck could only pick up his glass and drink it down with difficulty, under the watchful eyes of Bill's guards who seemed ready to devour him alive.
Suddenly, my stomach churned even more —
at the same time.
In the parking lot downstairs from the administration building, several troop transport trucks from the eastern grain depot were arranged in a defensive formation.
A cold wind, carrying acidic dust, swept across the armor plate.
The heavy logging turret on the roof of the vehicle never had a dust cover on the muzzle.
This is the ironclad rule of survival in the wasteland: a gun must be ready to fire at any time.
A man in a defense force uniform was crouching in a sheltered corner.
They did not relax and chat idly after the cooperation was reached.
Everyone stood with their backs to cover, fingers on the trigger guards of their laser guns, their eyes scanning their surroundings warily.
Even while smoking, their movements were filled with tension.
Take a deep breath, letting the bitter taste of the cheap tobacco roll around in your lungs to numb your tense nerves, then exhale quickly, never letting the cigarette butt's glow linger for too long.
However, their mental vigilance did not prevent them from casting almost reverent glances at the brightly lit windows above them.
The smell coming from upstairs is actually quite unpleasant.
However, to these soldiers who constantly risked their lives and whose stomachs were filled with nothing but sour water, this thick, greasy smell was like the fragrance of heaven.
"call."
A young private took a deep breath, his face, which had been stiff with the readiness to face death, now revealed a hint of ecstasy.
"My God, smell this! It's so rich. Just taking a breath feels like there's oil in my throat."
.
He muttered to himself, nudging the old soldier next to him with his elbow, "Is this the oil-rich granary of the north? Even the air blowing from the exhaust fans smells like meat. How big of a piece of meat must they be frying to produce such thick smoke?"
"Captain Barnacles, I wonder if you've had any yet?"
Upon hearing this, the veteran spat out a mouthful of ash-tinged saliva, carefully stubbed out the cigarette butt, which was now only the size of a fingernail, and put it into his shirt pocket.
This is so as not to leave any traces, and also so that I can have a sip next time.
He remained vigilant, only slightly tilting his head back to gaze at the halo of light on the top floor, before replying with a knowing, knowing look, "Captain Buck definitely got some. Don't you know who our captain went up with? It was Supervisor Lowe, the Governor's favorite!"
The veteran solemnly explained to the young soldier, "That fat guy named Bill, to curry favor with our superior, must have brought out all his best stuff. I've heard that these Yankees never serve real, shredded meat to truly honored guests."
"What should we serve you?" The young soldier's eyes widened in surprise.
"Purebred Grox's thigh meat, freshly slaughtered, the kind that's still twitching." The veteran made an exaggerated gesture, "No mutations whatsoever, no hormones injected, just sliced into palm-thick patties and sizzled on a red-hot iron plate—"
"Gulp."
A series of swallowing sounds rose from the surrounding area, all in unison.
"That meat must be so tender, right? It must be bursting with juice when you bite into it?" The young soldier swallowed hard, his eyes glazed over. "It's definitely not like our compressed biscuits, which taste like chewing on bricks."
"Absolutely!" The veteran vividly described the scene he had never seen before in his life, as if he were sitting hidden at the dining table right now.
"Captain Barnacles is probably sitting in a chair right now, drinking crystal wine from a clear glass in his left hand, and eating a juicy bone with his right hand—"
"Tsk tsk tsk."
A collective sigh of envy, almost bringing them to tears, filled the crowd.
"Captain Barker is really lucky to be able to go to such high-class occasions with his supervisor and broaden his horizons."
"Yes, we can only stay here and drink the acid rain from the northwest wind, while others up there are eating fish and meat. That's just fate."
"I wonder if the captain can finish it? If he could bring us some bones down, we could suck on them and get some flavor—"
'
Just then, a muffled sound came from upstairs.
"Thump!"
It felt like something heavy had slammed onto the table.
Immediately afterwards, there seemed to be a low growl of pain being suppressed.
"Did you hear that? Did you hear that?" The veteran's face lit up with excitement. "That's Captain Buck, he's banging on the table with joy. It must be because the meat is so delicious, he's praising the Emperor!"
The young soldiers gazed out the window, their eyes filled with longing and admiration. "I really want to see the captain's expression right now. He must be beaming with happiness, his mouth drooling with delight—"
upstairs.
Buck certainly looked "happy," with his mouth greasy.
However, his face was ashen, his eyes bulged, and the veins on his neck throbbed like earthworms.
He slammed his fist on the table, while covering his mouth, desperately trying to prevent the cheap industrial alcohol he had just drunk and the "fever rat eyeball" that was still gushing out of his esophagus.
If looks could kill, Buck would have dragged out and shot those brats downstairs who were gossiping about him.
In the early morning in the northern granary, the acid mist from industrial waste gas is much thicker than in the eastern granary.
Twelve hours had passed since the nauseating banquet.
For the past twelve hours, Lowe has barely closed his eyes, sitting by the window of the guest room Bill arranged, watching the screen of the bird aviator glow.
He kept an eye on the restless Chimera chariot number 1 downstairs.
They also kept watch over every little movement within this steel fortress.
Bill was a smart man, but also a butcher.
A wise person will weigh the pros and cons, while a butcher will be tempted by money.
These two traits are not contradictory in a dictatorial warlord like Bill, and often appear alternately.
During those twelve hours, Lowe's biggest worry was Butcher Bill, who might change his mind or back out because of the alcohol.
He might even kill him in a moment of impulse and seize Chimera Tank No. 1 for himself.
On this wasteland of Plenty II, the so-called "covenant" is sometimes more fragile than toilet paper.
In fact, apart from a few key positions appointed by the Governor-General's Office, the rise to power of most granary managers is a bloody history of patricide.
Just as the Holy Terra doesn't care who the governor is.
The governor also hardly cared who was in charge of the granaries.
The most important thing is whether or not the tithe target can be met.
Until a row of grayish-black dots appeared on the horizon, accompanied by the distinctive roar of heavy engines.
Luo Wei's nerves, which had been tense all night, finally relaxed a little.
Old John's convoy arrived.
More accurately, it was a heavy logistics fleet that poured out of the eastern granaries.
Leading the way were six Goliath-class grand land transport vehicles.
These industrial behemoths, typically used only in mining areas, have wheels that are taller than an adult.
Behind the truck, a convoy of articulated trailers, each consisting of five double-decker, fully enclosed cargo boxes, stretched for hundreds of meters.
Following closely behind were twelve modified heavy-duty chemical tankers.
Their massive tanks still bear traces of acid corrosion that cannot be washed off.
Originally intended for transporting highly toxic waste liquid, it has now been urgently requisitioned for cargo transport.
In order to seize the supplies in Warehouse No. 19, Old John urgently mobilized the main heavy transport capacity of the Eastern Grain Depot.
These steel monsters, each weighing hundreds of tons, raced across the wasteland all night.
The mud on the car body had hardened into a crust.
The heat emanating from the hood distorted the surrounding air.
Even from dozens of meters away, you can smell the burnt lubricating oil from an overloaded engine.