Black Iron's Glory

Claude busied himself with the barbecuing while Welikro looked at the three small fish skin lanterns as he munched away at his beef skewer. Eriksson, who had always loved to fish, put the bait on three fishing rods and flung them into the water the moment the barbecue started. Within 30 minutes, got four rather decently sized fish. It was no wonder the folk of Whitestag believed that fishing during the night was yielded more haul than casting nets during the day.

Eriksson helped Claude by skewering the meat from the side as he watched the wings roasting on the spit with his mouth watering. He kept on asking whether they were done. Borkal on the other hand, Borkal sat lazily against the side of the boat with his blueberry wine in hand and a fork in another on which a large piece of beef steak was pierced.

Using a brush to apply the seasoning evenly on the six wings, Claude flipped them over after that and waved his hand to Eriksson. “Don’t rush, it’ll be done in a while.” At the same time, he took some cook mutton from the wooden plate beside him and stuffed it into his mouth. He was quite hungry after doing all that work.

One of the three lanterns floating in the lake sunk all of a sudden, causing its fire to be put out. Welikro hurriedly pulled onto one of the rods and cried out, “Quick, come! This is a big one!”

The fish that bit the bait was indeed a large fish. It struggled nonstop and Eriksson stared at the surface of the lake as he held tightly onto the net pocket. The moment Welikro pulled the fish close to the boat and the surface of the lake, Eriksson pocketed the fish with lightning speed.

“It’s a redback greenscale fish, about a foot and a half in length and weighing around six catties…” Eriksson estimated the size of the fish as it continued to struggle on the deck of the boat. The redback greenscale was a specialty of Lake Balinga. Though it was a freshwater fish, it would taste raw and earthy if not prepared properly. These types of fish were normally made into dried fish floss for better preservation.

“Toss it into the livewell. Your wings are done,” said Claude as he brought over the wooden plate with the six wings. After that, he began to roast one of the longtail swordfish that was cut open for himself.

Welikro stepped on the flapping fish in the net and removed the hook from its mouth, before tossing it into the live well. After that, he didn’t bait the hook and instead washed his hands with lakewater and took a wing from the plate Eriksson was holding and munched into it.

Roasting the longtail swordfish was really easy. It just had to be turned from side to side and took only three minutes. Claude put the fish into a wooden plate, brushed each surface with some salt water, and it was ready to eat. Claude liked to eat it that way as he believed that the natural flavors of the fish was preserved. Welikro on the other hand preferred heavy seasoning and applied all sorts to his fish.

Seeing Claude eat the longtail swordfish, Welikro roasted one himself after he finished his wing.

“Aren’t you gonna pay attention to the lanterns?” asked Claude.

The problem with night fishing was that it was hard to see the floats clearly in the water. So, the fishermen of Whitestag invented those fist-sized, fish skin lanterns which they secured on top of a small, spherical wooden bobber. Inside the lantern was a small candle that allowed a bite to be detected easily.

The moment a fish was hooked, like the redback greenscale from before, the lantern would be pulled underwater and the fishermen would notice the fire going out. The candle itself was water resistant and could be reused again and again until it ran out.

“There’s no need. With the redback greenscale we caught being so big, the other fish must long be scared away by now. I’ll just go back to take a look later,” said Welikro as he covered his longtail swordfish with seasoning.

Claude shook his head in horror. The sauce will ruin the natural deliciousness of the fish! What a horrible waste. He could’ve just used any normal fish for roasting if he was going to use that much sauce anyway… He took a sip of blueberry wine and heard Welikro say, “Give me some too.”

Claude poured Welikro a cup, which the latter finished in a quick gulp. As he enjoyed the aftertaste, he said, “It tastes sweet, but it isn’t strong at all. It’s made for women to enjoy. Eyke, bring me that blackwheat ale I bought.”

Claude amde a bitter smile. The blueberry wine was something Borkal wanted to buy no matter what. After tasting the rough wine at Egret the last time, Borkal no longer dared to have any rough alcohol. But ever since the time he stole a slip of blueberry wine from the time his father brought some out to serve guests, he found that it tasted really pleasant with its subtle sweetness and moderate alcohol content. So, he couldn’t do without some blueberry wine during this trip.

Borkal was the one who drunk the most among the four of them. Everyone of them was only 16 and they wouldn’t dare to drink too much at home. At most, they could only drink a cup of wheat ale. But all of them had secretly tried some other alcohol before. The more their families wanted to forbid them from doing so, the more they wanted to try it. That was the reverse psychology of teenagers going through puberty.

Claude the transmigrator on the other hand had far better self control than the rest. Welikro and Eriksson did drink a bit of alcohol, but they simply weren’t that interested in it. Borkal was the odd one out, drinking the most, yet having the least amount of tolerance for alcohol. He always drank all the way until he ended up dead drunk. Currently, he drank only half a bottle of blueberry wine, but his eyes were already looking rather groggy. It seemed that he would collapse into slumber not long after.

Eriksson finished five roasted wings in one go and finally satisfied his craving. He opened the lid of the barrel with a blackwheat ale and poured the three of them a large cup each.

The ale tasted a little bitter, but felt really refreshing in the mouth. It truly was an ideal drink for relieving thirst. Welikro drank two cups of it it one go. Eriksson took out a pack from the cabin and said, “I almost forgot about this wonderful thing. Claude, give it a try.”

Claude took a look at the little balls the size of fingertips inside the paper bag.

“What are these?”

“Just try them.” Eriksson kept a tight lip about what they were.

He took one and put it into his mouth and was shocked. Isn’t this malt candy? They have it in this world too? He recalled that a hawker dressed like a farmer would show up around his school in his past life with a basket. The basket contained a large piece of malt candy and he would break some off whenever someone wanted to buy some. Though he loved them when he was younger, he no longer liked them that much when he grew up as they stuck to the teeth quite often.

“This… this is malt candy…” said Claude hesitantly. He didn’t know whether it was called the same in this world. Eriksson had mentioned it once the last time, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“Yup, it’s Hurian’s malt candy that’s passed down through generations.” Eriksson didn’t mind that Claude figured out his surprise. He handed the bag to Welikro and said, “Didn’t we hear that Hurian set up shop in town? I went there after school to check it out and saw these malt candies on sale, so I bought some. It cost one fenny a piece, and I got around two sunar’s worth. Still, it’s great that Hurian’s back. We didn’t have any malt candy to eat since he left for the royal capital back then.”

Claude wondered, “What’s the status of this Hurian you mentioned?”

Eriksson, understanding what Claude was referring to, said, “He’s a peasant, but he’s also a limp. He’s in his fifties now.”

Oh, a limp in his fifties. No wonder he’s allowed to go to the royal capital. Normally, peasants couldn’t leave their local towns for no good reason. That was the strongest restriction placed on men aged from 18 to their forties. Most of the people living in the slums were farmers who have lost their land or bankrupt entrepreneurs who came from the three southwestern prefectures.

Whitestag was located within the three southwestern prefectures. They were located at its easternmost part and traveling further east would mean going out of the three southwestern prefectures, which wasn’t allowed. While Claude didn’t understand why that was the case in the past, his father explained it thusly: the kingdom had a quota for each area for drafting during times of war. Most male peasants would be chosen as enemy fodder, so they weren’t allowed to simply go wherever they wanted to avoid the draft.

“Hurian’s legs were fine during his youth. I heard the incident occurred some three decades ago. That was when our kingdom first launched an attack on Nasri, and Hurian was drafted during that time. When he was riding a donkey, the poor animal was startled and he fell off it. While his leg was outstretched, a passing carriage ran over it and broke his leg. After he was treated, he ended up as a limp.”

Eriksson snickered and said, “Even though he avoided the first draft, he was still involved in the second war between our kingdom and Nasri after his leg healed. Back then, our kingdom was exterminating the duchy of Berkeley. As Hurian was a limp, he wasn’t drafted as a soldier, but as a coachman instead. He spent a year transporting supplies to Berkeley and returned as a peddler after that.

“Some four years ago, he said that he wanted to go to the royal capital and might settle down there for good, so he applied for a permit and proof of identity from the town hall. He didn’t look any different now that he’s back. He said he returned because he wasn’t able to make much money there. Given his age, he also couldn’t serve as a traveling merchant any longer, hence his decision to start a shop here. I went to his shop for a look and saw that he has quite a lot of things he brought back from the capital. Maybe you can take a look there to look for something to buy for your siblings.”

“Alright, I’ll definitely check it out when I’m free,” Claude simply answered, “Do you guys want anything else to eat?”

“No… need… burp…” Welikro shook his head. “I’m already bloated… Leave it there for now. Maybe I’ll have some for supper when I’m hungry.”

Eriksson picked up the fishing rod Welikro put on the deck and said, “I can’t eat anymore either. Let’s focus on fishing instead.”

Borkal was knocked out by the bottle of blueberry wine as expected. He was snoring on the boat with his mouth wide open. Claude cleaned up the bottle and the plates and covered him with a blanket to let him sleep.

The three of them started to fish. The spot Eriksson picked for them was rather decent. There were lots of fish that frequently bit onto their hooks. There were also no other fishing boat in the vicinity. WIthin two hours, they managed to catch more than 50 fishes of varying sizes with only four rods. They were kept really busy.

Finally, they managed to catch a short breather as the fish progressively got more difficult to catch, with them only getting a bite every ten minutes. Eriksson called for a short break before they switch places later. For now, he wanted something warm and steamy for his belly.

Claude couldn’t be bothered to roast anything else and took out a pot to make some flour soup. After drinking a large bowl of it, he felt filled and warm throughout.

Welikro lazily pulled up the last fishing rod and caught a rather small palm-sized fish. “Let’s check the purse seine. We’ve deployed it for quite a while now, so it’s about time we pulled it up and redeploy it for tomorrow morning. The candles in the fish skin lanterns are almost out as well, we only have around five remaining. Let’s leave some to use during night duty. If we continue to fish, we’ll use them up in half an hour.”

Eriksson gave it some thought and agreed. “Alright, we’ll do a you say. I’m quite tired after all that fishing. I think I’ll catch some sleep after pulling up the net.”

Claude started to clean up the tools they used for the roast and kept the ingredients back into the cabin. The three of them then proceeded to pull up the seine.

The haul from the net wasn’t a lot. They only caught around ten or so fish. Claude felt that fishing them directly out of the water was more worthwhile.

Pulling up the net was really tiring. When they finished, Eriksson looked at the snoring Borkal and said that he felt the urge to kick that lazy bum straight into the lake.

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