The Conquerors Path

Chapter 1071: Chapter 1069 — The Weight of the Empire

We drifted downward in perfect, undisturbed silence. I slipped my hands into the pockets of my heavy coat, watching the dark water slip past our invisible perimeter.

It provided an excellent environment for reflection.

The deeper we travelled, the more the true shape of the oceanic hierarchy revealed itself. It was a staggering, highly volatile pyramid of power, built almost entirely on localised violence and ancient intimidation.

“Where exactly are we going?”

I asked, noticing a subtle, ambient shift in the water temperature outside my barrier.

The freezing, absolute zero of the aphotic zone was slowly beginning to give way to a faint, radiant warmth. It wasn’t the artificial, magical heat of a city dome. It was raw, geological power.

“Trench-Spire, it is an ancient, fully submerged volcanic caldera. And, more importantly, it is currently hosting the Abyssal Grand Prix.”

Krave announced, her voice dropping into a smooth, deeply enthusiastic register.

“A race? Does it involve chasing prey? If there is running involved, then. it’s been some time since I saw a good one.”

Luna asked, her ears pitching forward slightly.

“Not a race, a culinary tournament. Once every decade, the absolute greatest master chefs from every localised realm, oceanic kingdom, and abyssal trench gather in the caldera to prove their superiority.”

‘Oh? That sounds very interesting.’

Krave grinned, turning her attention downward as a faint, glowing red light began to pierce the darkness below us.

I looked down.

Through the pitch-black water, the jagged, towering basalt rim of an active super-volcano slowly came into view. The caldera was easily five miles across. It was not sealed by a golden dome or an air-pocket. The city of Trench-Spire was built directly into the inner walls of the submerged crater, entirely exposed to the crushing deep-sea pressure and the boiling, violently turbulent water rising from the magma vents below.

“The environment looks incredibly hostile for cooking.”

I noted, analysing the chaotic flow of thermal energy.

“That is the entire point; they don’t use wood, coal, or basic localised fire magic. The chefs here tap directly into the earth’s mantle. They use the raw, highly pressurised thermal vents as their grills. It requires a staggering amount of elemental control just to sear a piece of meat without instantly vaporising the surrounding water.”

Krave explained, her eyes practically glowing with anticipation.

As we descended past the jagged rim of the caldera, the visual spectacle of the culinary metropolis revealed itself.

The inner walls of the volcano were honeycombed with thousands of massive, open-air kitchens and bustling market terraces. Glowing veins of pure, liquid magma pulsed behind heavily warded obsidian grates, illuminating the city in a fierce, aggressive crimson light.

Even through the dense, heavy water and even through the flawless perfection of my spatial barrier, the sheer kinetic energy of the place was palpable.

I adjusted our perceptual filter. The aura of the ‘terrifying royal auditor’ and the ‘wealthy surface monarch’ would not serve us here. This was a city built on raw talent, aggressive trade, and the violent clash of egos. I smoothed our conceptual weight into something sharp, wealthy, and deeply discerning. To the thousands of aquatic beings swarming the terraces below, we would register as elite gourmands—critics who possessed the palate and the platinum to destroy a chef’s career with a single word.

We touched down on a wide, polished basalt promenade near the upper lip of the caldera.

The moment I anchored our gravity, the sensory input of the city hit us. I lowered the absolute isolation of my thermal barrier just a fraction, allowing the ambient scents and sounds of the environment to filter through, while still maintaining our dry, comfortable air-pocket.

The noise was a chaotic, rhythmic symphony of culinary violence.

The heavy, metallic clang of massive abyssal-iron cleavers shattering bone echoed across the terraces. The violent, hissing roar of highly pressurised water flash-boiling against redirected magma vents sounded like a continuous thunderstorm.

‘Richard would have thrived here; I feel like this would have been a home to him.’

I mused as I thought of that grumpy old man who had taught me cooking, the days of the first time I came into this world flooding me for a moment, the plans I had to make to survive, the confusion and sadness that had followed me around for what I had lost, the terror I hid of how I would die in this world.

Suddenly I had a big nostalgia about the past, and for a moment I felt the need to meet that grumpy old traveller.

He had left the duchy and set up his location in a new place, when I had got power, I always kept an eye on him, making sure he is safe and sound, just like Eleanor he is a teacher to me, though he felt more like a teacher, with Eleanor there was always that desire to conquer but guy to guy there was always a sense of stablity from Richard.

‘I will go see him after all this.’

I missed cooking with him, and I should also spend some me time like this more too.

I like sex, and I am indeed falling in love with them all, but as any married man would say, sometimes you gotta have some me time too, but that comes from getting away form you long time goal.

‘I have a lot of options.’

The air within our bubble was instantly flooded with a staggering complexity of aromas. I smelled slow-roasted trench-boar glazed in fermented deep-tide honey. I caught the sharp, acidic tang of bioluminescent ghost-peppers being seared over open cobalt coals, mingling with the rich, heavy scent of clarified leviathan butter.

Luna’s entire body tensed on my shoulders.

The silver wolf rose from her lethargic, food-coma slump. She stood up on my collarbone, her nose twitching violently as she systematically analysed the millions of microscopic scent particles flooding her highly advanced olfactory receptors.

“Well? I told you I would find a place that respects meat.”

Krave asked, looking at the wolf with a smug, expectant smile.

Luna did not immediately answer. She closed her eyes, her ears swivelling independently to track the exact locations of the various roasting spits and thermal grills operating in the terraced kitchens below.

Then, her eyes snapped open. Her irises narrowed into slits of profound, absolute judgment.

“They are amateurs.”

Luna declared flatly.

Krave blinked, her smug smile faltering.

“Excuse me?”

“They are masking their inefficiencies with aggressive heat; that one is attempting to sear a cut of abyssal wyrm flank. He is using a raw sulfur vent. The ambient toxicity of the sulfur is completely overpowering the natural, earthy undertones of the venom-sac. It will taste like burnt ash and disappointment.”

Luna projected, her telepathic voice ringing with the uncompromising authority of an apex predator. She raised a single paw, pointing toward a massive, four-armed triton chef operating a magma-grill three terraces down.q

She turned her head, pointing her snout toward a group of frantically working sea-elves on a suspended obsidian platform.

“Those supposed masters are boiling deep-sea ghost-crabs; they are failing to account for the pressure differential. The meat is seizing. It will be rubbery. It is a fundamental disrespect to the crustacean.”

Luna continued, her tone dripping with aristocratic disdain.

I let out a soft breath of amusement.

“You possess a highly refined palate for a creature who, just two days ago, attempted to eat a living, neurotoxic delivery boy simply because it was shiny.”

“My standards evolve based on my environment, Austin. In an alleyway, a courier is a snack. In the supposed culinary capital of the ocean, I expect perfection. And I am surrounded by aggressive mediocrity.”

Luna countered smoothly.

The wolf looked down at me, her eyes entirely serious.

“You must fix this.”

She demanded.

“Fix what, exactly?”

I asked mildly, sliding my hands into my pockets as a squad of heavily tattooed forge-goblins hurried past us, carrying a massive, writhing net of glowing blue spice-shrimp.

“Their ignorance, I have tolerated your financial terrorism. I have tolerated Krave’s obsessive need to tour historical vaults. I have patiently allowed you to fold space, manipulate reality, and terrorise the local nobility.”

Luna stated simply.

Luna leaned down, her face inches from mine.

“You are a world-class chef; your mastery of localised thermal manipulation and spatial precision far exceeds anything these loud, sweating mortals can comprehend. You must enter this tournament. You must prove your culinary superiority, and more importantly, you must feed me something that does not insult my ancestors.”

The wolf projected, her voice thick with absolute, unwavering expectation.

Krave stared at the wolf, then slowly turned to look at me. A slow, wicked, impossibly bright smile began to stretch across the divine kraken’s face. The idea of watching me casually dismantle the egos of the ocean’s greatest culinary masters was clearly entirely too appealing for her to resist.

“She makes an excellent point, Austin, I didn’t know you could cook but since Luna said so, you can’t just come to the Abyssal Grand Prix and simply watch. It would be a waste of your talents. Besides, I have two per cent of the global gold reserve burning a hole in my pocket, and I want to buy the most lethal, highly unstable ingredients in the city just to see what you do with them.”

Krave purred, linking her arm through mine.

I looked out over the sprawling, magma-lit terraces of Trench-Spire. The sheer, chaotic arrogance of the master chefs working the thermal vents below was certainly an invitation. They were attempting to conquer the deep sea through raw heat and brute force. They possessed absolutely no concept of subtlety, and they had no idea what true, absolute control looked like.

“Well, a god entering a cooking contest and bullying others sounds fun.”

I murmured, my voice perfectly calm as I effortlessly adjusted the weave of my perceptual filter, fully embracing the aura of an elite, unapproachable culinary master.

“We require a kitchen, and I require you to humiliate that triton who is currently ruining the wyrm flank.”

Luna declared, settling back down across my neck with a deep, vibrating purr of satisfaction.

“One thing at a time, Luna; first, we need to go shopping.”

I smiled faintly, stepping forward into the roaring, spice-choked chaos of the market promenade.