40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 848, Section 19: Interlude: The Cocktail Party (Part 1)

"Today, some important people want me to cook a few dishes," Chef Marcus thought sleepily as he stood in front of his vanity.

But how important is he/she?

When this question was raised, he wasn't really sure what to expect.

Although he has been in this business for thirty-two years and is quite famous in the solar system, his stewed fish and double-headed beast ribs have attracted countless dignitaries to dine here, but he himself has never felt that there is anything to be proud of.

It's just a family tradition. That's what he always explained to the journalists who came to interview him, and he never forgot to add that he didn't understand why important people liked it.

His honesty was often mistaken for a peculiar arrogance, but it truly reflected Marcus's innermost thoughts. To be honest, he was actually a little afraid of his popularity.
He was afraid of these things, such as being constantly photographed, being interviewed and asked about a nobleman's food preferences, or standing in front of his dressing table at five in the morning thinking about what clothes he should wear that day.

He was afraid of all of this, and worried about it to a somewhat pathological degree.

But
Fifty-five-year-old Marcus Kerensky covered his forehead with his hand.

The reward is just too good to pass up! He screamed inwardly. I can't possibly refuse!

He didn't know who could refuse, at least he couldn't, as he needed the money right now.
He promised that the five Kerensky welfare homes being built simultaneously in the Duns A-2 hive were being deducted from his account every minute.

If he only considered completing the construction, he actually had enough money, but Marcus Kerensky was always a perfectionist. He had promised to provide shelter for the homeless children, abandoned babies, and lonely elderly people in Duns A-2 free of charge, so he had to find a way to make it look good.

Shouldn't we at least plan for the next hundred years?

That's what he thought, and that's what he prepared for, which directly touches on a very fundamental issue.

He doesn't have enough money.

In other words, even if he was very unwilling and really wanted to go back to his own bed for another sleep, he had to quickly wash up, change into decent clothes, and then rush to the dinner venue chosen by those important figures.

What for? To make money.

Marcus shakily steadied himself, washed his face, finished everything in ten minutes, and then went out the door carrying a large suitcase.

The box weighed at least forty pounds and contained all the kitchen utensils he thought he might need that day, as well as a complete set of tools specifically for slaughtering the two-headed beast.

This is a must-have. Meat from a two-headed beast that has been killed and prepared on the spot is always more delicious than meat transported from the refrigerator. Although he doesn't think people at a party would choose to eat ribs, a must-have dish, he wouldn't insult his dignity as a professional chef.

He struggled to walk to his hovercar, carrying the suitcase, intending to simply move it into the trunk and drive to his destination. But to his surprise, someone slapped him hard from behind at that crucial moment.

"Who is it? Who is it? Why are you hitting me so hard?"

The chef shouted angrily, his voice carrying far through the cold winter streets in the early morning, causing the motion-activated lights to turn on all at once.

He put down the box, turned around panting, but suddenly froze.

A giant dressed in ordinary clothes awkwardly stretched out his hand and looked down at him.

“Hello,” he said in a low voice. “You are, Mr. Markus Kerensky, right?”

"Yes, yes," Marcus sighed after the initial shock subsided, agreeing while simultaneously complaining, "And who are you, bodyguard? Why aren't you following the rules? If you want me to come cook for you, you should come to my restaurant, not wait for me at my doorstep!"

The giant's eyes became somewhat strange. He wanted to say something, and his left hand instinctively rose up, as if to support some long object that should be at his waist.

Unfortunately, the hand missed its target, and he sighed again.

“I was sent by those important figures who invited you to cook today,” he said slowly, then pointed to the street corner where a huge hovercar was parked. “Please come with me, okay?”

Marcus looked at him in surprise, but still turned around and picked up the suitcase.

The giant heard him mutter suspiciously, "Whose bodyguard is this? Why is he so polite? How strange, he even sent a private car to pick me up."

He decided to pretend he hadn't heard it.

Half a minute later, they got into the car.

Marcus was amazed by the excessively spacious interior. He looked around for a while before finally asking the expressionless giant sitting opposite him a question.

"Is this car not on the market yet?"

“Yes,” said the giant. “How did you know?”

The old chef laughed heartily.

"Hi, I'm a loyal subscriber to TerraCars. Last month I reached my 15th anniversary subscription, and they even planned to invite me to the celebration! Unfortunately, I had something to do and couldn't go. I can tell at a glance that your car hasn't been released yet, otherwise how come I've never seen it in the magazine?"

The giant nodded silently, seemingly wanting to say something. A dozen seconds later, he couldn't hold back any longer.

"Do you often deal with bodyguards as tall as me?" he asked.

"There are people even taller than you! I've seen all sorts of things over the years!"

The old chef made an exaggerated expression of astonishment and wide-eyed disbelief as he spoke, but quickly returned to normal.

“That’s the good thing about living in the solar system; you always see some strange, big guys. I’ve heard they’ve all had botched surgery, but some are genetically modified, and there are even rumors that some people—” he lowered his voice, “—are the rejected members of the esteemed Astartes!”

The giant raised an eyebrow, pondered for a moment, and leaned forward: "The last one is unlikely; those who are eliminated usually remain within the chapter."

“Yes, I think so too!” Marcus immediately agreed. “I know quite a few good people who send their children to participate in the selection. They all said that once the child is sent out, whether they live or die is entirely up to them and the God Emperor. Even if they live, they will only come back to see them one last time just before they are about to officially join. To put it bluntly, what’s the difference between that and being dead?”

As he spoke, the old chef seemed a little sad. He frowned and sighed inevitably.

“But in the end, they were all going to help the God-Emperor, to share His burdens.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes. “It’s all good, all good.” The giant looked out the car window with a complicated expression and stopped talking.

Several hours later, the hovercar carrying a drowsy Marcus Kerensky and the giant arrived at the basement of a tall building.

The giant intended to help him carry the suitcase, but the old cook, still sleepy-eyed, insisted on doing it himself. He dragged the large suitcase, panting, into the exquisite elevator. The doors slowly closed, and the giant stood outside, nodding goodbye. A powerful sensation of ascent followed.

In less than a few minutes, the number on the elevator's indicator screen reached 150, a number that carries a rather ominous connotation.

The stairwell doors slowly opened, revealing a new world to Marcus: a spacious, professional, yet extremely noisy, enormous kitchen.

Ingredients were transported in large quantities by drones from several meters overhead to the chefs who needed them. The cries of various animals about to become food filled the air. Waiters bustled about, carrying out prepared appetizers and cold dish platters. They wore uniform white uniforms and were all agile and steady in their steps.

Marcus was so overwhelmed by the sights that he even forgot he was supposed to leave. At the crucial moment, a round, silver drone came to his rescue.

It led him to a deserted, secluded kitchen with a synthesized voice that wasn't entirely cold, and the respect hidden behind it made the old chef feel like he was sitting on pins and needles.

He tried to ask something, but the drone answered even faster than he asked.

“Mr. Marcus Krensky, you may cook here. According to the contract, you only need to cook thirteen stewed fish dishes and thirteen rib dishes of two-headed beast to complete your job. The door to your right is the dressing room, where chef's robes of any size are available for you to change into. There are currently two hours and thirty-one minutes before the banquet officially begins, and your dishes are scheduled for the finale, so please be patient. The fish ingredients have been prepared for you, and the two-headed beast will arrive in twenty minutes, please wait.”

It repeated the words twice, then left a stunned Marcus behind and quietly flew away.

Watching it drive away, the old chef didn't remember what he was supposed to do until several minutes later.

He thought that after living for so many years and showing off his skills in so many noble mansions, he had seen all the strange sights he could. But what he had just seen and heard made him feel utterly ashamed.

"You think you're so knowledgeable!" the old chef cursed inwardly, seething with anger at his own arrogance. "Now look at you! Let's see if your hand will still be steady when you hold the knife, you old fool!"
He stormed into the changing room, but when he came out a few minutes later, he bumped into an extremely burly old man with white hair.

The man wore an exquisite robe in both black and green, but incongruously held an old, long staff. Marcus wasn't sure what he did, but he just wanted to get to work, so he casually asked while taking knives out of the box.

"What are you doing here? Are you the manager?"

The old man's usually stern face softened slightly. He nodded and replied, "I suppose so. You could say that."

Marcus frowned, glancing at the man while holding the knife.

He was already in work mode and didn't have much time to think about anything else, so he asked very directly, "So, are you or aren't you?"

"Yes." The old man smiled. "I came here specifically to see you, this world-renowned chef."

"I?"

Marcus grinned as he put down his knife, rolled up his sleeves, and walked to the large water tank in the corner of the room, where he pulled out a big black fish with a mouthful of sharp teeth with his bare hands.

The latter, once out of the water, became even more ferocious, struggling incessantly in those large, rough hands, trying to bite him. The old chef turned it over, walked to the preparation table, picked up an iron hammer, and struck the fish's head three times with great force, finally calming it down for a moment.

Taking this opportunity, he picked it up, examined it closely for a few seconds, and only after confirming that the fish met his requirements did he pick up his monomolecular chef's knife and begin to kill the fish.

Blood flowed out, but the old man continued to speak.

"Yes, you, Mr. Marcus. I've heard that you've been in the business for over thirty years but only cook two dishes, and everyone who's tried them raves about them."

"It's all just flattery. What's your name?"

“Leon,” the old man said.

"Alright, Mr. Leon, I'm busy right now. If you'd like to chat, could you wait until I've finished cooking?"

The old man laughed again and asked, "Is this considered kicking someone out, Mr. Marcus?"

"Yes, good steward, I have to cook!" the old chef shouted, head bowed. "Please, could you please go out first?"

"Okay, see you after the cocktail party."

After saying this, the old man left Marcus's single room. Strangely enough, he disappeared as soon as he stepped out the door, and no one knew where he went.
At the top of this building, on the 200th floor, amidst the damp scent of earth and grass, Leon Aljonsen, dressed in casual clothes and wielding the Spear of Dionysus, returned to his brothers with a smile.

The psychic spell cast on him by a certain high judge began to dissipate, and within a few seconds, his figure quickly returned to its original height.

"How is it?" a giant, stroking his long beard, asked curiously.

“Very professional,” Leon El-Jonson said. “And he’s definitely a simple person.”

"Such high praise?" The long-bearded giant asked in surprise, picking up the sturdy wooden goblet beside him, taking a sip, and then smiling. "Looks like I'm in for a treat today!"

However, someone poured cold water on his enthusiasm the next moment.

The man had short white hair and a tired face. Instead of fine wine, he had a large number of data boards and paper documents in his hands.

He said in a low voice, “Let’s lower our expectations, Chagatai, lest the food doesn’t suit your taste. I’ve had this chef’s ribs once, and the flavor was the complete opposite of what Chef Chogoris makes.”

Chagatai didn't take it seriously and took another sip.

“It’s alright, Robert. Most of the Chocolat you’re used to is modified; you don’t know what the original flavor tastes like. Besides, my taste buds have been pretty much ruined by the mead that Ruth made herself. Even if it’s not to my liking, I won’t be able to tell later.”

A giant with wings on his back and a handsome face frowned upon hearing this and asked, "Then why are you still drinking?"

“After all, it was his kind intention.” Chagatai sighed softly. “We haven’t seen each other for so many years, we should at least grant him one wish, lest he cause me trouble again when he wakes up. Don’t you think so, Leon?”

The lion, carefully leaning the Spear of Dionysus against his side, said nothing, but his expression was quite intriguing, as if he had already foreseen that scene.

(End of this chapter)