The Heir Who Wouldn’t Drown
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 18: A Feast with Teeth
Julian feigned fascination while alarm bells rang in his head.
Unlike ordinary objects, this “cookbook” would not surrender its entire past to a single glance through [Echoes of History]. Clearly, it did more than record forbidden knowledge. It was also a wondrous item with supernatural power of its own.
His thoughts raced.
Oswald wants to reconcile his supernatural abilities with his illness. Conventional medicine can’t help him, so he’s turned to [forbidden knowledge] outside the Sequences.
That must be what gave him the confidence to cross the line and make his own kind his staple food. And the people most closely akin to him are probably cooks like me!
But the previous cooks disappeared quietly. They didn’t vanish on the spot in the captain’s cabin. This wondrous item must require certain conditions to take effect.
There’s no need to turn openly against him yet.
The [Logbook] did not record every secret Julian encountered. Once it did create a record, however, the matter was certain to have some vital connection to him.
A sailing ship was the most basic unit of survival at sea. Since they were all aboard the same vessel, anything threatening it concerned every life on board.
Julian tore his gaze from the cookbook as though it took a tremendous effort. With due respect, he set the tray holding three dishes and a soup before Oswald, taking care to apologize.
“As a cook, I can never resist collecting unusual recipes. Forgive my manners. Captain, sir, please enjoy the dinner I’ve prepared for you.”
Following aristocratic dining etiquette, Julian first uncovered the soup course: rich sea bream soup.
Oswald, who had been studying him with interest, immediately turned his attention to the food. As the cover came off, the [Gourmand] almost seemed to see a flash of light.
Fish flesh, skin, the gelatin from the bones ... everything had melted into the broth, leaving a bowl of pure, milky white. A vivid green celery leaf provided a pleasing touch of color.
The preparation was unlike anything he had seen. He eagerly picked up his silver spoon and tasted it.
His bloodred eyes lit up.
“The flavor! Such wonderful flavor!”
[Gourmands] gained the passive ability [Poison Identification] at Rank 1, Servitor, allowing them to recognize any food poisonous to humans. Even abandoned in an unfamiliar primeval forest, they would never die of poisoning or starvation.
It had never occurred to Oswald that his “curse” was simply the result of eating far too well, rather than an actual curse of wealth.
Once he began drinking, he could not stop. Moments later, he lifted the bowl and drained it, along with the enormous quantity of purines dissolved in the broth.
“Ha! Every fish soup I’ve had before relied on expensive spices to mask the fishy smell, but they buried the food’s own flavor too. And there’s no butter, cream, or egg yolk here to steal the show. This is what fish ought to taste like. My lips, my tongue, my stomach ... senses that were growing dull seem to have come alive again. Exquisite!”
Moisture glittered at the corners of his eyes. Abandoning dining etiquette, he uncovered the other three dishes himself.
The first held garlic-butter lobster: four or five lobsters, each split in half.
In the past, most members of the supposedly refined upper classes had refused to eat this seafood. Some even considered it a kind of insect. Almost everything caught had gone to livestock, the poor, prisoners, and servants.
Only after the king of the Kingdom of the Iris, a nation renowned for its cuisine, had lavishly praised lobster at a palace banquet had it begun to gain favor among the upper classes.
Even now, boiling was the only way anyone prepared it, offering little variety in flavor. Relatively few people ate it, so lobsters remained abundant along the coast. There were plenty around this uninhabited island as well.
Cooked to perfection, the lobster meat was plump and springy. Paired with garlic sauce, seafood’s ideal companion, it conquered Oswald at once.
The second dish looked rather strange.
Shell-like heads gleamed with bright enamel colors. Ruby-red flesh grew along stalks as supple as snakeskin, from which smooth, translucent tendrils extended. These too were vividly colored, their necks flesh-toned, marbled, and gray, their tips bright orange.
Once Oswald recognized what he was looking at, he paused.
“Are these ... barnacles?”
Julian wagged a finger with an air of profound expertise.
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