48. Roast Chicken (Patreon)

The chicken turned slowly on a spit, roasting over a bonfire of deadwood Ike had found easily in the untouched forest. He’d crafted the spit out of the fresh green tree the chicken had downed. It had taken all his Rank 1 strength to cut the green wood apart and shape it properly, but in the end, the results were worth it. A golden-brown chicken turning on a spit, roasting in its own juices.

He turned the spit manually, but it wasn’t much effort for a Rank 1. The chicken was seasoned with the last of his salt and nothing. He wished he had some herbs, or maybe some fruit to squeeze over it, but after days of wolf jerky, roast chicken alone sounded fantastic. A few plants Orin had indicated as edible in his book roasted alongside the chicken. Most of the wild plants Ike had come across so far tasted bitter, but with the chicken juices running down the spit, they ought to be imbued with a little extra flavor.

Loup sat beside him, watching the chicken cook with hungry eyes. She’d been ready to eat the chicken raw, sitting eagerly alongside Ike as he’d plucked it. To stave off her hunger, he’d tossed her the gizzards, but those little treats had been forgotten now, by the look in her eyes. She whined and leaned forward, only held back by the flames.

“Just a little longer,” Ike assured her.

She looked at him, then sighed dramatically and plopped her head down on her paws.

Ike glanced over at the pile of feathers almost as tall as him and sighed. Plucking the chicken had been an exercise in strength and boredom alike. Every inch of the body was covered in feathers, and every feather was stuck fast. There was only so much pulling and plucking he could do before he was thoroughly done for the day.

But the end results were worth it. A big whiff of roast chicken welled over Ike, and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes to savor the scent. He nodded to himself. It’s ready.

With both hands, he manhandled the spitted chicken off the rack. It was too large for him to brace either end, so he lifted it like a spear, gripping it by one end. His arms trembled, his core shook, and his legs quavered. Ike staggered a few steps from the fire, then slammed the chicken-stick into the ground. It stood upright, a strange flagpole for his camp.

Loup crept forward, licking her lips.

“Wait. Let me check.” Ike grabbed a drumstick from the chicken. Twisting and wrenching, he freed it from its joint with an earsplitting crack-pop. The drumstick was comically large, almost as big around as his torso and about as long. Ike grabbed the meat, then flinched back. “Hot, hot, hot…”

Loup dashed forward and tore a big bite off the drumstick. She ran away a few paces, but then dropped it, making spitting faces and licking her lips.

“I told you it’s hot,” Ike said, shaking his head at her.

She went to pick it up, then flinched back. Again, another flinch. At last, she settled down to a hunker, watching the hot meat with big, confused, hungry eyes.

Ike chuckled under his breath. He turned the drumstick, checking where Loup had taken a bite.

Cooked to the bone. The chicken was good to eat.

And not only cooked, but cooked. Crispy golden skin peeled back to reveal juicy, pale flesh. Beads of juice welled up along the lines of the muscle. A savory aroma wafted up, tempting Ike to dive in right then, just like Loup had.

He hesitated one moment, then did it anyways.

Hot chicken, fresh and juicy. There was a gaminess to it, but compared to the nearly-rancid wolf meat, he barely noticed it. The skin broke at a touch and made a crunchy contrast to the juicy, soft meat. He took a bite, and another, and another. It singed his mouth, but he ignored the pain and pressed on anyways. Tears welled up in his eyes.

After bitter vegetables and rancid jerky, I finally have something delicious to eat!

Orin’s book flew up in his estimate, from a helpful guide to a godlike item. That one little note shone like gold in his mind’s eye: Delicious. Indeed, it was. More delicious than anything he’d ever eaten in his life. He made a mental note to check the book later for anything else marked Delicious. He might be roughing it in the wild, but there was no need to suffer. He could eat good food as easily out here as back in the city—maybe even easier. After all, he doubted he could have afforded Leg of Giant Chicken in the city, but here he was, eating it nonetheless.

As he ate, warmth flowed into his body. It collected in his stomach, but also in his core. The Red Jungle Fowl was a monster, after all, its flesh imbued with mana. Eating the meat replenished his hunger and his mana alike. The volume of meat to amount of mana was high; he’d probably have to eat the whole chicken to get as much mana as one night’s worth of Rosamund’s head. But the mana felt better. Cleaner. Clearer. More delicious.

That last one might be the meat, not the mana, Ike thought, chuckling aloud to himself.

Loup looked up. She tilted her head.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Ike took another bite from the chicken, and his teeth hit something hard. He recoiled, making a face, then peered into the chicken. Did I hit bone?

A skill orb gleamed back at him, buried in the meat of the drumstick.

Ike’s eyes widened. Holy shit! I struck gold!