After a few minutes of chatting — which was mostly griping about a low wage on Aziz’s part — the great gods in the form of radiant shadows walked in. These shadows reminded the colonel of the two figures he’d seen back in that odd place, other than the fact that the latter wasn’t shiny. Once again, a mild pressure swept out as they strode into the venue, but this was apparently the best the great gods could do.

“Still, how are they going to eat?” Aziz asked.

“I don’t think it’ll be too hard for the great gods to create a facsimile of the digestive system in their bodies. Or maybe there’s something in those shadows that teleports food placed into the mouth into whereabouts unknown,” Marie replied.

“Both options sound equally impressive to me, though.”

“There’s a whole host of other questions, so it’s unlikely we’ll find the answer to that anytime.” The marshal ladled some mashed potato onto her plate, and after dumping a generous amount of gravy of it, began to eat.

“The staple fare for training schools after the graduating exercise…” Aziz felt nostalgia wash through him as he watched Marie wolf down the mashed potato. He too remembered what it felt like when he finally got a meal of properly cooked potato and game, rather than whatever half-cooked blood-soaked meat the final scout exercise expected them to eat.

He picked up his glass for the fifth time and downed it once more, thinking back to the older days.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome you all for coming!” A spirited voice broke through his contemplation. “This banquet is jointly organised by the Mortal Light Dynasty and the Association of Fine Cuisine, so do give a round of applause for them!”

Aziz clapped, along with Marie, but the others were more…enthusiastic.

“What’s with them?” he asked in a whisper.

“Probably excited about the Association. That particular bunch travels the world, only showing their face for extremely important feasts. Whatever main dishes that pop out next is probably going to blow our socks off,” Marie explained, a grin on her face.

“Never heard of them before,” Aziz replied, unimpressed. “So? What are they famous for?”

“Stuff like banquets for national leaders, important annual remembrances, things like that,” she replied. “Apparently, that little group has chefs capable of cooking every single dish in the Five Lands.”

Aziz glanced at the mashed potato and arced an eyebrow. Regretfully, Marie had turned her attention back to the emcee, a couple dressed in a dapper, overblown…thing. He wasn’t too sure how to describe them, but if he had to liken them to something, it would be the overly-decorated houses of the Southern Assembly’s nobles. To call them living embodiments of gaudiness would be the most accurate description of them.

“Don’t laugh,” Marie said. “The North has this wonderful tradition of dressing up in an absurdly exaggerated fashion to mock the Holy Temple and the Southern Assembly. It’s turned into a practice to remind participants and viewers alike about the importance of keeping a low profile.”

“I-is that so?” Aziz rubbed his nose. Right now, the table only had the two of them, so if what she said was true, it was fortunate that no one was around to hear it. His eyes flickered from dish to dish as the emcee continued to thank everyone of importance who came to the Conference of the Four, but since all of them were appetisers, the colonel didn’t want to eat too much…yet.

“And now,” said the emcee, “let us welcome Pinnacle Kolya to give his opening words! Pinnacle Kolya, if you will…?”

The Republic’s ministers slipped into the seats around Aziz’s table as the leader of the North appeared on-stage. Picking up the Microphone artefact, the Pinnacle tapped its head twice, and then smiled. “Once again, thank you all for coming, not just to this banquet, but for taking part in this instrumental conference to decide our strategy for the next few years.”

He paused for a moment. “War is a driver of innovation. The four continents, at the end of the demon invasion, will be transformed beyond recognition. Equality for all will be a constant buzzword for the years to come. Resist it, and be swept away by the tide. Embrace it, and crest the wave to eternal prosperity. When the next Conference of the Four is called, I hope that everyone here will still be present once more.”

“That’s it for my speech,” Kolya concluded. “And now, for two more words. Eat well.”

Moments after he vanished, the venue was filled with cheers. At the same time, tens of waiters popped out from nowhere, trays and plates floating around them calmly. Removing whatever emptied plates there were, the waiters filled up the gaps with main course dishes, removing the cloche over them to unveil a sight capable of making stomachs rumble.

“I can’t even begin to name half of the dishes here,” Aziz muttered. “And I’ve tried virtually every specialty of the East and the South already.”

“I guess we got lucky, then,” Marie replied. “Most of the dishes on our table are famous Northern dishes. The South shares some similarity with it, but there’s this distinct richness to the North’s cuisine. Apparently, meat is the staple there, rather than our wheat and rice-based diets.”

“Why’s that?” Minister Pauline asked, injecting herself into the conversation.

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“I’m not sure, but Champion Polaris apparently had issues with Solaris. Apparently, their nations had fought against each other; there was something called…”

“A national humiliation called Tsushima,” Aziz added, having remembered that particular passage. “Polaris resented him for that. It extended to their diets too, apparently.”

“Still quite mortal, eh?” Pauline rolled her eyes. “Even when pulled to Orb, they can’t seem to let the past go. But it’s not like the beastfolk in general are doing any better either.”

“Give it time,” Aziz said. “I can understand why we receive some of their hate. It’s natural.”

“It’s unfair,” Pauline replied. “And racism at this juncture, when the Demon God’s forces are bearing down upon us, is a foolish act. We should be giving positions solely on the basis of character and ability, not race. But I suppose every race has their own share of fools.”

“Let’s just hope that’s true for the demons,” Marie added, a smile on her face. “We’ll do what we can, Aziz.”

The colonel picked up his glass, and toasted his two superiors. “I’ll drink to that.”

The banquet continued on, but the chatter had ended. A mad rush for the food had begun a few minutes ago, shortly after everyone discarded their polite and civilised conduct in favour or taking in as much delicious food as possible. Aziz, with his ability to scoff down food honed by his scout training, drew many angry eyes, but the colonel was past caring about that.

Besides, the more everyone else glared at him, the lesser they were going to eat. It was a win-win. More importantly, the truly important people — the ministers — were chowing down faster than him, so Aziz saw no need to care about the smaller fishes.

Only when dessert was served did the breakneck pace of eating and competing over food drop. Aziz leaned back on his chair and patted his tummy, making a mental note to run a few kilometres the next day or something. Marie was gazing at her impeccably clean plate, her eyes misted over, a languid smile on her face.

“Maybe we need better chefs after all, eh?” Minister Pauline murmured. “Why do I feel like I’ve been eating grass my whole life?”

“It’s probably the richness of the food,” Aziz forced out, taking over Marie’s role of being the know-it-all while she was out of commission. “Southern cuisines usually tend to be blander; it’s only the military chefs that cater richer meals with more flavours.”

“Really?” Pauline leaned forward, interested. “The army chefs usually cook more flavourful food?”

“As a rule of thumb, yes. After all, fats and oils are essential for a soldier intending to make long marches or stay on guard for extensive periods of time,” said the soldier. “Only at local headquarters, or areas with high numbers of non-military personnel would have food that is closer to the general civilian populace.”

“I see. I’ve learnt something new today.” The Minister of State nodded. “Thank you.”

“Well,” said Eventide, the War Minster, “I suppose I could get some of our frontline chefs over to Interregnum, if you so will it. Be warned, though, eating food meant for frontline personnel without carrying out their duties is a surefire way of getting fat.”

“Erk.”

“But I think it’s a good idea for civilian officials to exercise too. After all, if the capital is breached, everyone’s fighting capabilities would be more than just a drop in the bucket,” Eventide mused out loud. “Aziz, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a rather sound idea, but their main job is administration. Can’t overdo it,” the colonel replied. “Can’t have our paper-pushers crawling up the stairs or flopping around from over-exercise, can we?”

“True.” The two men shared a knowing smile, and Aziz, from the corner of his eyes, could see Minister Pauline slap her forehead. The other members of the administration, the lower-ranking civilian officials, were clearly displeased, but since Aziz and Eventide had stopped their banter, it seemed that they weren’t going to say anything.

Marie hiccupped. With an expression that only someone who was drunk and half-awake, the marshal giggled and smacked Aziz’s shoulders twice. “You’re a funny one! The civilians aren’t good at fighting at all, so we’ll just have more problems if you pull them in! Everyone is an expert in their own right, so why make useless fighters waste their time?”

Aziz flinched. Ma’am, as expected of you. You managed to insult our civilian officials in such a backhanded manner that no one’s really able to complain.

He looked at the displeased officials, who had a stifled and constipated look on their faces now. Marie hiccupped again, and Aziz hurriedly supported her up before she could let loose another barrage of unintentional insults.

“It looks like she’s not the best state of mind,” Aziz said. “A food coma, I guess. I’ve heard that they can induce stupor and a drop in mental faculties.”

“You soldiers really know how to eat quickly,” Pauline observed. “I suppose it’s an occupational habit.”

“It is.” Aziz nodded to everyone at the table, and then dragged his boss over to a table set out with lots of glasses filled with water. Passing a few over to Marie to drink, he turned back to look at the table which he’d just fled from, only to see the Minister of Finance say something with unparalleled gusto.

Aziz had a bad feeling about this, but there wasn’t much he could do. After watching Marie down five cups of water, the clarity in her eyes was once again whole. The colonel wasn’t sure if she was drunk, or had her mental faculties reduced by copious amounts of food, but now that she was aware once more, he turned to watch the others socialise.

His brain too was running slowly, but since there weren’t two smartasses bantering around him, Aziz didn’t feel the compulsion to trash talk someone. Marie’s pseudo-drunken outburst was probably his and Eventide’s fault, in a matter of speaking.

He was in the middle of shaking his head when someone familiar walked up to them. Aziz peered at the soldier closely; the man looked familiar, but he just couldn’t pin it.

“You two…are you two Lieutenant Marie and Sergeant Aziz?” the soldier asked. “Remember me?”

“You’re…” Marie leaned forward slightly. “T-the colonel who hosted us back then? During the Northern-Central War? Major Igor?”

“That’s me, indeed.” He chortled.

With a jolt, Aziz recalled the fellow. He was one of those who had demonstrated the new doctrinal changes in the North’s military back then. Aziz nodded his head. “Yeah. I remember you. How have you been?”

“Promoted,” he replied. “I’m quite happy for it, although it seems like you two climbed the ranks in a speed unmatched in history.”

“A lot of credit goes to you,” Aziz replied. “Because we had the North’s expertise, we were able to set up our own aerial forces. Otherwise…” Aziz shook his head. Picking up a glass of water, he gave Igor a toast, and then downed the liquid inside.

The others followed, and within moments, they were chatting with each other. The conversation shifted from food, to the war, and before they knew it, they were broaching more and more topics.

After making a preliminary agreement to welcome Igor for an exchange visit, the major turned to Colonel Aziz, his demeanour a serious one.

“Aziz,” said Igor, “I know you’re heading down to the Holy Temple’s vault tonight. But be careful. Somehow, the difficulty of entering has spiked; a lot of veteran Knights have been defeated. The opponent you are to face has somehow grown stronger.”

“Stronger?” Aziz repeated those words.

“Yes.” The major grimaced. “Be careful.”