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The fire pits went from lines of bare stone to circles of controlled chaos in minutes.
Orcs hauled split logs and whole trunks like they weighed nothing, stacking them into careful, crisscrossed piles under Ludwig's direction. Goblins darted between them with armfuls of kindling and bundles of dried brush. A pair of lizardmen, used to swamps instead of plains, argued quietly over the best way to lay the wet wood off to one side so the heat could dry it out without choking the flame.
"Not a bonfire." Ludwig called, voice went up while moving between pits as the crowd thickened. "We want coals. Think 'glowing bed,' not 'impressively tall pillar of death.'"
His words earned him a few grins and a couple of disappointed noises from younger hobgoblins.
He pointed at one of them. "You. You can make the pillar of death if you build it far enough from the food pit that it doesn't smoke us out. Deal?"
The hobgoblin straightened. "Yes, boss!"
Ludwig laughed dryly at how they called him. But hey, when you can't solve a problem, redirecting it should be enough.
Shuna returned faster than he expected, flanked by a tide of Goblinas in aprons and a handful of Female Orcs who looked both battle ready and, somehow, kitchen ready. Behind them, wheelbarrows rattled. Sacks of grains, baskets of root vegetables, crates of mushrooms, even a few live chickens secured in woven cages sitting on top of it.
"We brought what was easiest to move." Shuna said, cheeks a little flushed from the quick trip. "Geld said if you need more, he can divert some of the supplies from tonight's regular mess."
"That should be plenty." Ludwig said, already mentally arranging side dishes. "Seemed like we'll have to do skewers with the smaller cuts and offal, a grain pilaf under the hog slices, and maybe a big stew pot with whatever's left so nobody complains they only got one bite."
"How about the desserts?" one of the Goblinas asked, eager.
Ludwig glanced at the growing crowd, then at the lone crate of fruit. "If someone can secure more fruit and sugar without starting a riot in the market, we can talk about roasted fruit with spiced syrup." He flashed a quick smile. "For now, let's make sure nobody leaves hungry. Pretty can come later."
That lit a small fire in the Goblina ranks. They split, some heading to chop, some to wash, some to start skewering. Shuna moved among them like a conductor, assigning tasks with quiet efficiency, her earlier slate already filled with new notes.
The first fires caught.
Flame licked up the kindling, orange tongues turning wood black, then glowing. Smoke rose in clean, thin columns, carrying the first hints of char and sap into the clear air. As the logs burned down to embers, Ludwig and a pair of orcs used long-handled rakes to spread the coals into even beds.
"Right…" He said, eyeing the color. "We'll start the big cuts high. Shuna, I'll need those spit poles."
She was already there with them: thick, straight branches stripped of bark, ends charred lightly to harden them. With coordinated heaves, they threaded the first slab—seasoned outside now glistening, salt having drawn a faint sheen of moisture to the surface—onto the poles.
"Three orcs on this one." Ludwig said. "Lift on my count. Walk slow. If you drop it, I will make sure Rimuru feeds you only salad for the week."
The orcs blanched in perfect unison as his words fell.
"Three… two… one."
They lifted, muscles bulging, and carried the first cut of the hog toward the waiting fire. Ludwig walked alongside, hands hovering as if he could catch half a ton of meat if someone slipped.
They settled it on the supports over the first pit, high enough that the initial heat would kiss it rather than scorch. Fat began to soften almost immediately, tiny glistening beads forming along the scored surface where soy and chili pooled.
The second and third cuts followed, each over their own pit. Belly went a touch farther from the flames. Else, the curry would burn.
"Rotate a quarter turn every few minutes." Ludwig instructed the orcs assigned to each spit. "Slow. Gentle. Think of it like… rocking a baby. A very large, delicious baby."
"That's weird, boss." One of them muttered.
"It'll taste better if you don't drop the baby." Ludwig said dryly.
Around them, Tempest's citizens pressed closer as much as Shuna's gentle barriers allowed. Orcs in armor, Goblins with faces already shining with sweat, Lizardmen blinking slowly in the sun, even a few dryads perched farther back near the treeline, curiosity written in the angle of their branches.
The first hiss of fat hitting hot metal or stone was subtle, almost lost under the murmur of the crowd.
The second was louder.
Soon the air above the pits filled with sound: sizzling, popping, the occasional soft crack as a pocket of air in the thick fat gave way. Smoke turned fragrant, tinted with soy, chili, paprika, and the woody notes of Ludwig's herb blend. When a breeze shifted, it rolled out over the gathered monsters like a physical thing.
Conversations wavered. Heads turned. Mouths watered.
A pack of younger goblins near the front actually swayed on their feet, eyes fixed on the slowly browning meat.
"Focus." Ludwig called to the helpers, senses attuned as tightly as if he were back behind the Checkpoint counter. "You. Watch that edge, see how it's darkening faster? Move your spit half a step away. You. rub more sauce along the bones, not the thickest part. Let the sauce drip down."
He grabbed the bowl of soy–chili glaze again, now loosened further with rendered fat, and used the big brush to sweep it over the top of the first slab. It sizzled on contact, forming an instant sheen.
The smell punched even harder.
"That aroma…" One of the Female Orcs murmured, hand unconsciously going to his stomach.
"It's like when Gobta burns dinner." Another goblin whispered, then corrected herself in a rush, "But if it was on purpose and not terrible."
Ludwig snorted.
The belly's curry crust began to toast. The bright, raw spice smell mellowed into something deeper, almost sweet under the heat, the fat picking up the curry's gold and turning it richer.
He stepped back again, just to take it in.
City's first proper festival feast. Their own condiments. Their own beast. Their own people watching something more than 'food as fuel' happen in front of them.
It was… good.
Ludwig allowed that thought to sit for half a second, then heard his own words from earlier echo in his head: We're going to need more.
He assigned a group of Goblinas to start massive skewers. Chunks of lesser cuts, marinated in a quick soy-herb mix, alternated with onion and mushroom. Another pair of orcs and lizardmen were set to assemble a cauldron big enough to drown a goblin in, ready to become stew once bones had given up their first round of flavor.
Tempest shifted into full festival mode.
Music started somewhere—a goblin with a drum, a Female Orcs with a string instrument half as tall as he was. Kids wove between legs, chasing each other with sticks. Someone unfurled a hastily painted banner that read "TEMPest's FIRST OFFICIAL HOG FEAST" in proudly uneven lettering.
Ludwig kept moving.
Check the belly. Turn. Baste. Check the thick cut. Score a bit deeper where the fat cap was still too stiff. Sprinkle another light layer of herbs where smoke had charred off the first.
Occasionally, he stole small tastes.
A fingertip dragged through the drippings at the edge of the slab, touched to his tongue. Salt. Fat. Early smoke. The paprika's warmth blooming slow and even. Good. But not quite there yet.
Another drop from under the ribs, more soy-forward. Sharp. Needed time to round.
He watched faces too.
Shuna, serene and focused, eyes bright with both pride and competition. Orcs, patient but clearly one good smell away from drooling. Female Orcs, trying to look dignified and failing every time the wind shifted. Even the ever-busy Goblinas occasionally paused just to inhale.
Time blurred into the rhythm of cooking.
Turn, baste, taste, adjust.
Somewhere in there, his shoulders loosened. The thousand thoughts and plans he had after leaving his restaurant had evaporated. He was home. Not in a building. Not in a world. In this: food, flame, people waiting.
"Ludwig-sama." Shuna's voice again, softer this time, close enough that he didn't have to look up to know she was there. "I think we're almost at the point where… if we don't feed them, they might riot."
He did look up at that.
She wasn't wrong.
The crowd had expanded. Rimuru's name passed from mouth to mouth, even though the slime himself wasn't present—yet. Someone had already started a betting pool over who would eat the most plates. Gobta's name was uncomfortably high in the rankings.
"It's almost time." Ludwig agreed. "Another fifteen minutes for the thick cut. Belly can come off first. Ribs right after. Have plates ready. Big slices, no tiny scraps. This isn't a noble banquet; it's a monster city feast."
Shuna smiled. "Understood."
He was halfway through another careful basting of the belly when he felt it—the prickle at the back of his neck that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with being watched with intent.
Not hungry intent.
Urgent.
He straightened and turned.
A goblin stood at the edge of the cooking circle, chest heaving, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Dust coated his legs up to the knees. Someone had clearly told him to run and he had obeyed with his entire being.
He was also very, very carefully staying outside the splash zone of the spits.
"Ludwig-sama!" he blurted, as soon as their eyes met. "Message! From the Restaurant!"
The world around Ludwig didn't exactly stop. Fires still crackled. Meat still sizzled. The crowd still murmured.
But a thin thread of attention snapped taut inside him.
Restaurant.
He set the brush down. Wiped his hands once on a cloth and walked over.
Up close, the runner smelled of mana, sweat, and faint traces of the very familiar tinge of his restaurant—he'd come straight from Checkpoint's side if Ludwig had to guess.
"Breathe." Ludwig said first. "Then talk. Don't pass out in front of the hog, I'll never hear the end of it."
The goblin gulped, dragged in a wheezing breath, and forced his words into something approximating order.
"Message from… from the one called Ilea." He said.
Ludwig's brows rose a fraction. "Ilea?"
If that name appeared here, he could only think about one thing. What they feared the most had happened. Konoha had come to his restaurant after sniffing an opportunity.
The runner stiffened, then repeated, word for word, in a way that made it very clear he'd been drilled on it:
"'Your favorite problem-maker brought you a guest. Hokage, one piece, slightly bruised. Come home.'"
Silence wrapped around those words like another layer of smoke.
Shuna's head snapped toward them. A few of the closer Female Orcs went still. Even some of the goblins who had no idea what 'Hokage'meant recognized dangerous nouns when they heard them.
Ludwig closed his eyes for half a second.
Ilea clashing with Konoha was the worst possible outcome. Well, to be honest, she might be the only one fit for the job if even a quarter of what Claire told him about her was true.
He just hoped… she didn't spill too much blood.
He exhaled slowly.
"Did she say anything else?" he asked.
The runner shook his head rapidly. "No, sir! Just that. And… and she said if I changed her wording she'd know."
Ludwig almost smiled at that. Almost.
"Good job." He said instead. "Go to the water barrels. Drink. Eat something not from the hog yet or Shuna will kill me."
The goblin sagged in relief and scampered toward the mentioned barrels.
Shuna stepped closer, concern tightening her features. "Ludwig-sama?"
He looked back at the fires.
The belly was almost perfect. Ribs close. The main slab needed that last bit of patience. The city was practically vibrating with anticipation. Yet, on the other side of the dimension, Hokage of Konoha was held as a 'slightly bruised guest.'
"Ilea picked a fight." He said, more to himself than anyone, and then corrected it in his head. No. Ilea finished a fight someone else insisted on starting.
Shuna waited.
He rolled his shoulders once, loosening muscles already tight again.
"All right." Ludwig said, voice shifting into the clear, carrying tone he used when making announcements through a dinner rush. "Change of plans. I'll need to step away once the first cuts are ready. Shuna, you and your team are going to handle plating and rotation after that. Follow the timings we discussed. Trust your nose."
Her eyes widened. "You're leaving? Now?"
"As soon as it won't set the entire field on fire without me." He said dryly. "The Restaurant has a very important… visitor. I need to make sure Claire's friend doesn't accidentally declare interdimensional war in the middle of lunch service."
He glanced at the pits again, calculating.
"Ten minutes." He decided. "We pull the belly and ribs, get the first wave fed. The big slab can finish with you and the orcs minding it. Just remember: if it smells almost burnt, move it farther from the coals. If it smells sweet and deep, you're winning."
Shuna swallowed, then straightened, resolution settling over her like another layer of robes. "Understood. We will not shame your kitchen."
"You won't." He said with certainty in his voice. "You're terrifying when you're motivated."
That earned him a tiny, embarrassed huff.
He clapped his hands once, louder. "All right, Tempest! First cuts coming off in a few minutes! Line up in something resembling order or I'll feed the polite ones first and let the rest fight over scraps!"
The murmur turned into a cheer, rough and eager.
As he moved back to the spits for that final stage, brush in hand, Ludwig's mind was already half a world away—eyes filled with ash and chakra instead of coals and smoke.
"Ilea…" He muttered under his breath, turning the belly one last time. "You'd better not have burned the counter while I was gone."
The fat hissed approval.
Tempest's first feast rolled toward its peak.
And somewhere, at the edge of a restaurant existing between worlds, a bruised Hokage sat waiting, and a certain ash-soaked brawler was probably pacing, very pleased with herself.
Time to go see what kind of mess 'His favorite problem-maker' had made.
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