The Conquerors Path

Chapter 1075: Chapter 1073 — The Pop-Up at the Edge of the Trench

We had left the suspended diamond cooking platforms and the weeping, celebrating crowds far behind us. High-Chef Vane was undoubtedly still being paraded through the volcanic terraces as a culinary deity, entirely oblivious to the fact that his masterpiece was the result of a highly localized, spatial hijacking.

“This will do.”

I murmured, my voice perfectly calm as I halted our ascent.

We touched down on a wide, remarkably flat plateau of cooling obsidian that jutted out directly over the open trench. It offered a flawless, unobstructed view of the dark water below and the distant, fading crimson glow of the city behind us.

“That was merely an appetiser,”

Luna corrected smoothly, not bothering to open her eyes.

“Austin promised a multi-course feast. He possesses the Crystalline Flame-Pepper oil, the Void-Truffle you acquired at the auction, and a net full of glowing spice-shrimp. I expect to be immobilized by the end of this hour.”

“She is entirely correct.”

I agreed mildly, stepping toward the center of the plateau.

“And a proper feast requires a proper kitchen.”

I did not need a forged stove or an abyssal-iron grill. The environment provided everything I required. I crouched down, placing my right hand flat against the smooth obsidian floor. I pushed my vision past the physical rock, analyzing the geological strata beneath our boots.

A few dozen yards below the surface, a microscopic, highly pressurized vein of liquid magma was slowly bleeding away from the main caldera.

I isolated the thermal signature. With a precise, surgical fold of space, I grasped the raw elemental heat and drew it upward, pulling it directly through the solid stone without fracturing the rock. I shaped the spatial pocket into a perfectly flat, rectangular grill hovering waist-high in the center of our air-pocket.

The invisible grill radiated a staggering, aggressive wave of pure geological heat. There was no smoke, no ash, and no open flame. It was simply a contained field of absolute thermal violence.

“Beautiful.”

Krave murmured, turning away from the view of the trench to watch the process. She reached into her own spatial storage, withdrawing a crystal decanter of dark pearl-wine and three silver goblets.

“Let the artist cook.”

“I am a chef,”

I corrected, manifesting a sleek, condensed blade of spatial energy in my right hand. I accessed my spatial storage, retrieving the ingredients we had systematically acquired over the last two days.

First, the net of glowing blue spice-shrimp. The crustaceans were the size of my forearm, their translucent shells pulsing with a bioluminescent defense mechanism designed to blind abyssal predators.

I didn’t bother boiling them. Boiling was an aquatic technique, a crutch used by the local chefs who lacked the ability to manipulate their environment.

I tossed the shrimp into the air. Before they could hit the obsidian floor, I caught them in a localized, hyper-pressurized spatial fold. I instantly increased the ambient pressure within the fold by a factor of ten thousand, while simultaneously dropping the temperature to absolute zero.

The sheer, instantaneous kinetic shock perfectly cured the meat in a fraction of a second, entirely bypassing the need for heat. The translucent shells shattered into harmless, glowing dust, falling away to reveal the immaculate, pearlescent flesh of the shrimp.

I plated the cured shrimp on a slab of conjured dark slate, placing it on a small, floating obsidian prep station.

Next, I retrieved the Void-Truffle. Krave had spent a small fortune of our stolen casino winnings bidding on this fungus at the phantom night-market. It did not look like food. It was a jagged, asymmetrical lump of pure, light-absorbing darkness. It seemed to passively consume the ambient illumination of the caldera.

I brought the spatial blade down, shaving microscopic, razor-thin slices of the truffle directly over the cured shrimp.

As the slices hit the meat, they instantly began to melt, creating a dark, incredibly rich emulsion that smelled of ancient earth, deep-sea salt, and raw umami.

“Course one.”

I announced quietly, levitating the slate platter over to where Krave and Luna were waiting.

Luna’s eyes snapped open. She didn’t hesitate. The wolf lunged forward, her jaws snapping up three of the massive spice-shrimp in a single motion. She chewed methodically, her silver eyes widening slightly as the flavors engaged her highly advanced palate.

“The texture is impossibl.,”

Luna projected, her tail giving a single, slow swish against the stone.

“The pressure-curing maintained the absolute integrity of the cellular matrix. It snaps perfectly. And the fungus provides a deep, earthy foundation that completely masks the iodine. It is highly acceptable.”

“It tastes like a midnight forest.”

Krave smiled, elegantly lifting a shrimp with two pale fingers and taking a bite.

“The sea-elves would weep if they knew you used their prized truffle to garnish raw crustaceans.”

“They are welcome to their bitter tea.”

I replied smoothly, turning my attention back to the invisible thermal grill.

“The appetizer was merely a demonstration of abyssal techniques. The main course requires a return to our roots.”

I reached into the spatial fold, retrieving the remaining twenty pounds of the hijacked Trench-Wyrm tenderloin.

The meat was already a masterpiece. The Crystalline Flame-Pepper oil and the Void-Leaf infusion I had woven into its cellular structure during the competition had perfectly rendered the dense abyssal fat from the inside out. The wyrm was radiating a dark, pulsing crimson light and a scent that was fundamentally intoxicating.

However, it was lacking one crucial element. It lacked the Maillard reaction.

In the deep ocean, true searing was physically impossible. The water instantly leached the heat, preventing the violent, aggressive caramelization of amino acids that created a proper crust. The local master chefs attempted to bypass this with localized magma, but the ambient moisture always ruined the execution.

We were not in the water. We were in a dry, perfectly heated air-pocket.

I didn’t slice the meat. I took the entire, colossal twenty-pound slab of wyrm tenderloin and dropped it directly onto the invisible, hovering field of raw magma heat.

The sound was instantaneous and deafening.

A violent, aggressive hiss echoed across the plateau as the rich, elemental fat of the wyrm hit the pure thermal energy. Thick, heavy plumes of violently aromatic smoke exploded upward. It smelled of spiced magma, roasted deep-earth, and the sharp, coppery tang of an apex predator.

“Oh, by the Gods.”

Krave breathed, physically leaning forward on the obsidian edge, her dark eyes completely locked onto the searing meat.

Luna stood up. The silver wolf abandoned all pretense of laziness, padding slowly toward the grill, her nose twitching frantically. She sat down precisely two feet from the searing station, her silver eyes completely dilated.

“That sound.”

Luna whispered into my mind, her telepathic voice trembling with profound reverence.

“It sounds like terrestrial violence. It sounds like a forest fire. I have not heard meat sing like that since we left the surface.”

“The ocean provides excellent fat.”

I observed, smoothly rotating the massive slab of meat with a localized telekinetic grip, ensuring an even, absolute sear across the entire surface.

“But the surface provides the crust. We are simply combining the best of both worlds.”

The Maillard reaction was flawless. A thick, beautifully jagged, mahogany-dark crust formed across the exterior of the wyrm tenderloin, locking the aggressively spiced, perfectly rendered juices inside.

I pulled the meat from the heat, cutting the magma tether and allowing the invisible grill to dissipate back into the earth. I levitated the colossal roast onto the center of the obsidian plateau.

Using the spatial blade, I carved the tenderloin into massive, steaming steaks. The interior of the meat was a vibrant, pulsing purple, while the exterior was a hardened shell of caramelized perfection.

I didn’t need to plate it.

Luna stepped forward, completely ignoring the sheer thermal heat radiating from the cut, and sank her jaws into the largest steak.

The crunch of the terrestrial crust shattering against her fangs echoed loudly in the quiet air-pocket. It was immediately followed by the wet, heavy sound of the rendered, abyssal fat melting across her palate.

The wolf froze. She stopped chewing.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only sound on the cliffside was the distant, muffled hum of the caldera below us.

“Luna?”

Krave asked softly, pausing with her silver goblet halfway to her lips.

Luna swallowed. She didn’t look at Krave. She slowly turned her massive, silver head to look directly at me. The clinical, deadpan detachment that defined her entire personality was entirely absent. Her silver eyes were wide, shining with a rare, absolute sincerity.

“Austin,”

Luna projected, her voice quiet, carrying the heavy weight of an undeniable truth.

“I have complained endlessly since we descended into this sunless abyss. I have insulted their architecture, their prey, and their utter lack of culinary logic.”

“You have,”

I agreed mildly, sliding my hands back into my pockets.

“I withdraw the complaints,”

the wolf stated, bowing her head slightly.

“The crust is a masterpiece of terrestrial engineering. The interior fat is a profound achievement of abyssal pressure. You have taken a creature of the deep and forced it to submit to the laws of the surface. This is not just the best meal I have consumed since we left the forest.”

She took another slow, deliberate bite, her eyes closing.

“This is the best meal I have ever consumed. I am forced to respect your methods.”

I let out a soft breath of amusement, the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding slowly bleeding out of my shoulders. A compliment of that magnitude from a creature entirely governed by her stomach was a culinary triumph on par with destabilizing the central bank.

“I appreciate the review, Luna.”

I murmured.

“Eat your fill.”

Krave let out a bright, ringing laugh, walking over to retrieve her own massive portion of the seared wyrm. She took a bite, her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a soft, highly inappropriate moan of sheer culinary bliss.

“He really is insufferably good at this.”

Krave beamed, returning to the edge of the plateau and sitting down. She sliced off another piece with her conjured dagger, washing it down with a heavy sip of the dark pearl-wine.

I took my own portion, leaning against the invisible boundary of the spatial barrier, looking out over the fathomless drop of the trench.

The flavor was, without exaggeration, perfect. The aggressive, elemental heat of the Flame-Pepper lived entirely within the meat, balanced by the deep, earthy bitterness of the Void-Leaf. But the true achievement was the crust. The violent, land-style sear provided a textural contrast that the ocean’s master chefs couldn’t even conceptualize.

We ate in a deeply satisfying, incredibly heavy silence.

Below us, the massive, crimson-lit terraces of Trench-Spire began to dim. The Abyssal Grand Prix had concluded. The millions of aquatic spectators were dispersing, the roaring magma vents were slowly being capped for the night cycle, and the chaotic, violent energy of the culinary metropolis was settling into a quiet, pulsing rhythm.

Luna, having completely demolished her portion and a significant fraction of mine, collapsed onto her side on the warm obsidian. She let out a long, rumbling burp that carried the faint scent of spiced magma, curled into a tight silver ball, and instantly fell into a profound, immovable food coma.

Krave watched the lights of the caldera fade, swirling the remaining pearl-wine in her silver goblet.

The manic energy that had driven her through the casinos, the vaults, and the tea ceremonies had finally burned itself out. In its place was the comfortable, ancient stillness that I had come to recognize as her true baseline.

“They try so hard, Austin,”

Krave murmured softly, her dark eyes reflecting the fading crimson glow.

“The Mermaid emperors. The Dukes. The master chefs. They build these massive, arrogant cities in the dark, and they pretend they have conquered the abyss. They lock garbage in diamond vaults and call it power.”

“It is the nature of life,”

I replied smoothly, finishing my cut of the wyrm.

“They seek control in an environment designed to crush them.”

“And then we arrive.”

Krave smiled, a genuine, warm expression that entirely lacked her usual predatory edge.

“We ignore their laws, we break their math, and we cook their prized leviathans on a cliffside just because the wolf was hungry.”

She raised her silver goblet, holding it out toward the dark, open expanse of the trench stretching endlessly before us.

“To the deep-tide empire,”

Krave toasted, her voice ringing softly in the quiet air-pocket.

“May they never figure out how the apple got into the vault. And to whatever ridiculous, heavily warded city we decide to ruin next.”

I raised my own goblet, gently clinking the silver against hers.

“To the next meal.”

I added mildly.

We drank, standing at the absolute edge of the world, perfectly veiled from the fading lights of the caldera, entirely content to watch the deep dark wait for our next descent.