Iron Powder and Spellcaster

The first method of processing food mastered by the ancient ancestors who drank blood was undoubtedly "roasting".

Roasting is closely related to fire, as long as there is fire, it can be roasted. In other words, fire is obtained for roasting.

For the ancestors, barbecue was not only a way of processing ingredients, but also had a ritual-like meaning.

In Winters Montagne's day, cooking was considered the work of a lower class, a woman. Men of status would not enter the kitchen, and families who could afford it would hire a maid to take care of the cooking.

But in those "savage" tribes where ancient traditions still exist, in the lands of the Hurds and Northlanders, it is men's responsibility to slaughter animals and roast meat.

The distribution of meat represents the power of the head of the clan, and only the tribal leader can control it.

This understanding has even penetrated into language and has been passed down from ancient times to today. Exploring the etymology, many words representing power today are closely related to slaughtering and dividing meat.

The strong man standing in front of the fire sharing the precious meat with others in the tribe is a picture that symbolizes power and honor.

Understanding this, it is not surprising why Gilad Mitchell, the most senior man in the entire estate, would personally be responsible for roasting the pig.

Girard didn't come to the job because grilling was easy. It's because barbecuing is more laborious than harvesting tobacco. It requires a lot of mental effort, and only the strongest men can do it.

Taking on harder work is not a punishment, it's an honor.

If Winters knew the past of the Dussars in Wolf Town, he would be surprised to find that the old Dussars who are now cooking barbecue with Gilad were all once the strongest, most courageous and fighting Dussacs.

Only Dusak, who had proven himself on the battlefield, was worthy of standing next to Gilad and helping with the barbecue.

Invisibly, Girard, Sergei and Dusak also sanctified barbecue.

Because there is no air circulation, the charcoal fire smolders most of the time. The fat dripping from the barbecue onto the charcoal fire made a squeaking sound, and fragrant green smoke came out from the gap in the lid.

The whole process is more like smoking than grilling.

It is indeed a tiring job. Too much fuel cannot be filled in at one go, so the person responsible for the barbecue cannot sleep and must keep an eye on the pit to prevent the flames from stalling.

That night, Winters and Old Dussac took care of the six baking pits. From time to time, they used shovels to fill the bottom of the pits with firewood and coal, opened the lid to check the heat, turned over, and sprinkled some on the golden meat. Salt and spices.

When there is no need to add firewood, everyone sits on the small chairs next to the barbecue pit, watching the flames dancing in the brazier, drinking and chatting.

The air is laid back and comfortable, with a bit of a "boy gang" atmosphere. The old Dussacs happily talked about past events, told jokes, boasted, and passed around a bottle of strong wine.

The mendicant monk Rhett actually knew the history of Dusac very well. He blended seamlessly into the conversation of the Dussaks, occasionally spouting a few witticisms that made them laugh.

It is a pleasant and beautiful thing to sit by the fire and wait for the meat to be slowly cooked. Sweet wine, laughter, warm fire, faint smoke, the smell of barbecue, the sound of peeling wood...

Winters was infected by the atmosphere. After the wine bottle was turned around in everyone's hands for a few times, the spell caster, who rarely drank alcohol, also became a little tipsy.

Unknowingly, the young Veneta forgot for the first time that he was in a foreign country thousands of miles away from home, and was enjoying everything like an ordinary Wolf Town person.

Time is not forgiving, and the old Dusaks gradually dozed off. From time to time, some people couldn't bear it and slipped to sleep on the grass nearby, and from time to time, some people woke up and came back.

Others left and came, came and left. The only ones standing by the roasting pit were Brother Girard, Winters and Brother Rhett.

Girard enthusiastically taught Winters the secrets of barbecue, and Winters listened while occasionally asking questions of his own.

"Why not just use high heat? It will cook faster?" Winters asked.

Gilad explained with gestures: "You can use high heat to roast small pieces of meat. If you use high heat to roast a whole pig, the outside will be burnt and the inside will still be raw. So only use high heat to roast the outer skin at the beginning, and use low heat for the rest of the time. .”

"Barbecuing is not as simple as putting the meat on the fire. Not only the heat, but also the type of wood used." The old monk did not feel sleepy at all, his eyes were brightly illuminated by the fire: "The taste of meat roasted with different woods is also different. "

"Is that so?" Winters looked at Gilad.

Girard picked up a piece of tree trunk that was split in half and handed it to Winters: "Father Rhett is right. This is walnut, you smell it."

Winters took the firewood and put it to his nose. The core of the wood exuded a faint sweet smell.

"I smell something," Winters said.

The old monk pretended to be angry: "Can I still lie to you?"

"When roasting on a low fire, the aroma of the wood will also enter the meat." Girard said to Father Reid with admiration: "I didn't expect you knew so much about barbecue."

"I don't know, I've just eaten a lot." The old monk clapped his hands and laughed. He patted Winters on the shoulder: "Don't underestimate the barbecue. Mr. Mitchell's barbecue is the best anywhere in the world. , even if it is put on the royal table, it is the grand finale. It is an honor to taste such delicious food."

"I don't dare to take it, I don't take it, I'm sorry." Gilad's face smiled like a flower.

Sergey, who had slept a good while, rubbed his eyes and walked over. He yawned and asked, "Is it baked?"

"No way, it's still early." Gilad replied.

Old Sergey rummaged around in his pocket and took out a pipe. He sat on a small chair and patiently filled the bowl with crushed tobacco leaves.

After stuffing and compressing it three times, he took out a burning stick from the brazier, lit the tobacco, and started smoking.

"Haven't you smelled enough today?" Girard asked with a smile.

There is a strong smell of tobacco wafting from the tobacco curing room, which can be smelled even from a distance. Whether they were regular smokers or not, everyone in Mitchell Manor had a heavy smoking habit today.

Sergey yawned again: "Otherwise I'll be sleepy."

Winters heard footsteps not far away. Vashika and Pierre were coming from the tobacco fields.

Sergey asked his son: "You brat, are you lazy?"

"No, I just came to see if the meat was cooked." Vashika said with a smile.

"It's early."

"Then let's help look after the oven, too."

Old Sergey sneered: "You two guys are a little green if you want to help here. Get back to work quickly, don't be lazy all the time."

"Then give us some meat." Vashika begged.

Girard stood up and asked two young Dussac to lift the lid of a baking pit. He took out his knife and twisted off two pieces of slightly charred pig skin from the roasted pork knuckle, dipped it in some salt and handed it to the two little Dussacs.

Afterwards, Gilad cut off a few pieces of meat from his ribs, sprinkled them with salt, and handed them to the others.

It was the first time for Winters to eat such delicious barbecue. The meat wrapped on crispy bones is juicy and melts in your mouth. Although there is a lot of fat, it doesn't taste greasy at all. The condiment Girard used was just a little salt.

The two little Dusaks licked their fingers and asked for a few more pieces of meat before they left. Sergey was so sleepy that he couldn't keep his eyelids open and yawned before going to sleep.

Only Girard, Winters and Brother Rhett were left next to the roasting pit.

The old monk was in a lively conversation: "Second Lieutenant, did you know that there was a great blind poet named Homer more than two thousand years ago?"

"Although I didn't go to grammar school, I still read The Iliad and The Odyssey." Winters couldn't laugh or cry.

"Do you know what Homer's heroes and demigods eat?" asked the mendicant monk and answered: "Barbecued meat. When Odysseus visited Achilles, the latter served him pork and mutton. . Animal meat is the "meal of the heroes favored by the gods", and mortals live on grains. What the heroes in the epic tasted is what we taste. Just like the bright moon above our heads, it is also what the ancients tasted. Moonlight in the pen.”

The old monk was dropping his book bag. Winters was too lazy to pay attention to it, but Girard was listening intently.

Seeing that Gilad was interested, the half-drunk Red sang the original text of the epic poem in a cadence. The second lieutenant didn't know where the old magic stick's memory came from, but Gilad's admiration grew more and more as he listened.

"The demigods and heroes of the epic all personally grilled the meat and shared the food." The old monk laughed and said to Girard: "Mr. Mitchell feasted on us with delicacies, and he can be called a heroic model among us... "

The drunken mendicant monks used a lot of ancient grammar and pronunciation, regardless of whether others could understand them. Winters was confused, while Gilad kept laughing.

Winters suddenly realized: "This old man...isn't he drunk and crazy?"

The cheerful old monk suddenly closed his mouth as he spoke. Winters looked back and saw another figure walking out of the night.

Mrs. Mitchell nodded and saluted, shook the wine bottle in her hand: "I'm here to give you gentlemen something to drink."

Girard stood up hurriedly: "Thank you, Mrs. Mitchell."

The couple still pays great attention to etiquette on weekdays and only call each other Mr. Mitchell and Mrs. Mitchell.

Although Gilad Planinovich Mitchell has Dusak's loud voice and hot temper.

But Winters' intuition told him: the real owner of the Mitchell family is the gentle and virtuous Mrs. Mitchell, just like the real owner of the Serbetti family is Kesha.

Mrs. Mitchell did not leave after delivering the wine. Instead, she found a small chair and sat down. This time, not only Brother Gilad and Brother Rhett, but even Winters couldn't help but behave themselves.

According to Winters: Ms. Ellen Mitchell is a misfit in Wolftown.

This is not to say that she was unpopular. On the contrary, Mrs. Mitchell was extremely popular. Everyone in the town loved her, but everyone was more or less afraid of her.

This emotion is like an ugly mortal feeling ashamed in front of a beautiful and holy angel.

The women of Dusa have an unrestrained and energetic spirit. They will dance enthusiastically with the young men, roll up their sleeves to milk the cows, drive the big animals with whips like men, and respond with the most vulgar words to tease them.

But Mrs. Mitchell has the exact opposite temperament - Winters couldn't explain clearly - a noble, reserved but not arrogant temperament that makes people intimidated and dare not insult her lightly.

Even the most rude Dussac will take off his hat in front of Mrs. Mitchell, and the laziest long-term worker will become well behaved in front of Mrs. Mitchell.

Mrs. Mitchell's tone was always gentle and warm, and her expression was always calm and composed. But the words that came out of her mouth were better than a hundred of Gillard's yells, and everyone listened willingly.

Tyrants and rich people also have similar abilities, but Mrs. Mitchell does not rely on coercion and inducement. People around her are impressed by her entirely out of respect.

Not only did the Dussacs respect her, but the farmers also respected her, and even the Protestants held her in the same respect.

And the respect comes from Mrs. Mitchell's impeccable courtesy and ability. Since moving into Mitchell Manor, Winters has never seen Mrs. Mitchell act discourteous.

Mrs. Mitchell always had needlework at hand, even when looking at the account books; her back was always straight, as if it had never been bent since she was born; her expression was always calm and indifferent, even when she heard no matter how loud the conversation was. Bad news, as always.

Winters could feel that beneath Mrs. Mitchell's gentle appearance was a character as tough as steel. Although Mrs. Mitchell was a woman, one couldn't help but be in awe.

So much so that from time to time Winters would have an idea that was very offensive to Girard: How on earth did a Dussac marry a noble woman like Mrs. Mitchell?

"Second Lieutenant." Mrs. Mitchell nodded to Winters.

Winters hurriedly responded: "Mrs."

"Father Rhett happens to be here too." Mrs. Mitchell nodded to the old monk in a gentle manner: "We, the couple, have something troubled, and we hope to get the wisdom of both of you."

Brother Rhett changed from being casual and said seriously: "Please tell me."

Mrs. Mitchell looked at Girard and nodded gently, then spoke softly.

Mrs. Mitchell's heart ailment was no other than the Mitchells' only son, Pierre Giladnovich Mitchell.

Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell had six children, of whom only three grew to adulthood.

Before Pierre, two boys and a girl had died in the Mitchell family - not unusual in this era.

(In addition to Pierre and Scarlett, the Mitchells also have an eldest daughter named Fanny, who is married)

So when Pierre was born, he got almost all the love from the Mitchells.

The solemn and quiet Mrs. Mitchell treats her son with love and tenderness, and Gilad dotes on his son even more.

Neither the couple could show a strict parental attitude in front of Pierre, which also caused Pierre to grow almost uncontrollably.

Of course Mrs. Mitchell expected more from her son than just a Dussac, but Pierre inherited more of his father's rough, savage, and violent Dussac character.

This has been reflected since Pierre was very young, and Mrs. Mitchell has been troubled by this. But Gilad never took it seriously. He always laughed and hugged his son and praised him for having Dussac's blood flowing through him.

When Pierre was ten years old, Mrs. Mitchell wanted to send her son to the grammar school in the Castle of the Kings, the capital of Plato.

Of course little Dussac would rather die than obey. This time Mrs. Mitchell showed a parental attitude and forcibly sent Pierre to the Castle of Kings.

Unexpectedly, within two months, the grammar school sent little Pierre back, on the grounds that "we cannot control or teach this child."

Because he was called a "Tatar", little Pierre injured several classmates, broke an arm, and finally burned a corral.

Mrs. Mitchell scolded her son, but Girard secretly told her son that he had done a good job.

In this way, in the next few years, Pierre visited every grammar school in Plato, and even went to the seminary and law school.

But in as little as three or four months, or as little as one or two months, little Dussac will be expelled and sent home. In the end, in the Republic of Plato, Pierre had no school to go to.

For Girard, his son rides horses well, is brave enough, dances briskly, and drinks like a man. He is a top-notch young man. He does not have too many expectations for his son. But Mrs. Mitchell did not want her son to become a Dussac who only knew how to wield a saber.

As Pierre grew older, Gilad gradually understood his wife's worries.

Men from Dussac are required to serve for life from birth. Gilad is well aware of the dangers of a military career, and he also knows that serving Dussac suffers from the pain of not being able to return home.

However, Dusak's lifelong military service has nothing to do with the amount of property. No matter how much land the family owns, even if there is no need to grant land, men will still be drafted into the army when they reach age.

The only way to avoid being drafted was to obtain a public or ecclesiastical position, but Pierre had nowhere to go to school.

When Pierre turns twenty in a few years, he will have to leave Mitchell Manor to serve in the six-year military service.

After explaining the reason for the incident, Mrs. Mitchell asked hesitantly: "Second Lieutenant Montagne, please forgive me... Do you think Pierre can go to the Army Officers Academy?"

Mrs. Mitchell's attitude toward knowledge and culture confirmed Winters' hunch that Ellen Mitchell was not from Tusa. Pierre is not a Tusa name, and Ellen is not.

But despite having a non-Tusa name, Pierre is still a Tusa at heart.

Winters sighed and replied sincerely: "Madam, it's probably too late for Pierre to apply for the Army Academy. Because most of the officer students enter the Army Infant School at the age of nine."

Winters then explained everything in detail, explaining in detail the Army's schooling and further education system, as well as the difficulty of external admissions.

These things are no secret to those who know, but to those who don’t know they are like being locked in an iron cabinet.

Listening to Winters' explanation, Mrs. Mitchell's expression became increasingly sad.

"[Selika] Poor parents in the world." The old monk also sighed and said to the Mitchells: "If you two want Pierre to go to a seminary, I can recommend it. But the clergy must immediately The three oaths of "poverty, purity, and obedience" cannot have legal offspring...I can help, but you two have to think clearly, and Mr. Mitchell Jr. must be willing to do it."

Mrs. Mitchell's expression was gloomy. She politely thanked Winters and Brother Rhett, and left somewhat dejectedly.

This was the first time Winters saw Mrs. Mitchell's shaken look. He and the old monk looked at each other and sighed in unison.

Girard also became silent and sad, and reluctantly pulled himself together to continue taking care of the roasting pit.

The night continues.

It wasn't until early the next morning that the whole pig, which had been smoked and roasted all night, was released.

The pork skin was roasted to a beautiful orange color with a little charred color. The plump and juicy meat has separated from the bones, the elbow can be easily removed from the whole pig, and the ribs and spine slide out of the pork on their own.

As Sergey said, not only the people working in the Mitchell Manor, but also people from other manors came to enjoy the delicious food after hearing the news.

In addition to barbecue, there is also unlimited supply of pickles, fresh fruits and vegetables, sweet beer, and bread in Mitchell Manor.

People either eat minced meat and pickles wrapped in bread, or eat it with beans and vegetables with large pieces of pork. Everyone has their own way of eating it, and everyone who tastes the barbecue praises it.

Catholics, Protestants, and Dussac, people who hated each other, put aside their identities and religious differences and sat down to eat together.

For those who have not experienced this scene firsthand, it is an unimaginable scene.

Gilad leaned against the tree, sipping sweet beer, and looked at the people enjoying the barbecue, with a completely satisfied look on his face.

Not only Girard, but Winters also felt a sense of satisfaction and pride in his heart when he saw people happily tasting the fruits of his and Dussac's work all night long.

After eating and drinking, the tobacco harvest season continues.

When Winters returned to the room, he felt that he had only slept for a short time before being woken up again. He looked out the window and saw that the sun was already setting.

Little Ms. Mitchell was knocking on the door timidly: "Mr. Montagne! Someone wants to see you!"

He straightened up his appearance and followed little Ms. Mitchell to the main entrance of the manor, where a group of cavalry was waiting at the door.

The visitor was not wearing a Veneta military uniform. Winters subconsciously reached for his waist, but there was nothing there - his sword was still in the blacksmith shop.

The leading rider wearing a school officer's uniform saw Winters, slapped his horse and came towards him.

"Are you the officer stationed in Langtun Town?" The colonel's tone was very unkind.

"That's right." Winters replied without being humble or condescending.

Without saying a word, the colonel struck the second lieutenant on the left shoulder with his forehand whip.

With a "pop" sound, Winters was caught off guard and staggered, and little Ms. Mitchell couldn't help but scream.

The colonel then whipped the second lieutenant in front of him with his backhand, but the whip fell out of his hand in the next second.

Winters held on tightly to the tip of the whip, and with a sudden force, he tore the riding crop out of the school officer's hand.

"What do you want to do?" Second Lieutenant Montagne's eyes were about to burst into flames, and he could no longer suppress the anger in his heart.

At this moment, a crazy idea came to his mind: kill all the cavalry in front of him, seize their horses and escape back to Veneta.

"Oh, you still have a temper." The school officer flicked his wrist and asked with a sneer: "What crime do you deserve if you allow smugglers to pass through the defense zone?"

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