WeTried Translations

Translator: Hydrogen B

Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 479: The Cow Says Moo

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Kitchen Gluta. A fairly famous restaurant in Ende. Good ingredients and excellent cooking surely helped make Gluta famous, but the biggest factor was the introduction of a delivery system. By using alchemical containers for the dishes, the greatest concern with deliveries, it expanded rapidly and secured its place before any latecomers could catch up.

I had ordered from Gluta several times and been satisfied with the service, but after nearly getting stabbed, I couldn't just let this slide. They dared sell pork as beef and put me in danger? They knew and deceived me, didn't they? They'd have to compensate me for this.

"Owner! Get out here!"

"Woof! Come out!"

I kicked open the door of the restaurant, hot steam billowing from within, and shouted.

"You sold pork while pretending it was beef? What a rotten thing to do to a customer! Give me my money back right now and cover my medical expenses too!"

"Woof! Compensate him!"

I had stormed in full of spirit, but despite its reputation, Kitchen Gluta did not have a single customer in sight. I had thought that if I came in and made a scene, they'd be embarrassed enough to shove some money into my hands.

"What, did this place go under?"

"We are open for business."

A deep voice came from the back of the kitchen.

"I was wondering who was causing trouble in my restaurant."

A huge man walked out of the kitchen. He was so tall that, despite the high ceiling, he had to duck slightly as he came through the doorway. His white clothes and apron could not hide the imposing figure of a beastkin over two meters tall.

Most of all, there were the curved horns on his head. The nose ring he wore like a piercing revealed his true nature.

The owner and chef of Kitchen Gluta. A bull beastkin. Gluta snorted and looked down at me.

"You're one of two things. Either a pig beastkin or a customer those bastards attacked. You don't have ears, so you must be a customer."

He meant beastkin ears, but it sounded to me as though he were threatening to remove mine. I immediately remembered my manners, clasped my hands, and spoke politely.

"...Yes. That's right. I was recently attacked, so I got a little worked up."

"Customers are treated like kings. Don't worry. I won't grill your face on a hot plate."

Meaning he'd grill my face if I weren't a customer, right? Ha ha. Why didn't that sound like a joke?

Thank goodness I was a customer.

"Before I apologize... Customer, did you really eat it without knowing it was pork?"

"Of course. How was I supposed to know?"

"The difference in flavor between pork and beef is obvious."

What? Was it? There was a meaningful difference between pork and beef? Wasn't meat just meat? Why hadn't I known that?

Come to think of it, there was only one reason. That damned military state. It only fed me processed, compressed meat, and even that was only about once a month. No wonder I couldn't tell pork from beef!

"...There are people like that in the world."

"Are you an outsider who earned money and settled in Ende? Then I'm even more sorry. I never imagined someone like you existed."

Damn it. I was the one who'd been deceived, so why was I the more embarrassed one? If I had come to the restaurant and read their thoughts myself, I wouldn't have been fooled. Even the delivery worker believed it was beef soup and delivered it without a second thought. How was I supposed to know?

Still, I had received a full apology, but an apology made only of words was half an apology. Sitting down, I raised my chin and asked with at least a little courtesy.

"So. What are you going to do about it?"

"I have my pride as a restaurant owner. If you show me the receipt, I will compensate you accordingly... but."

Gluta reluctantly continued.

"Realistically, I can't return all your money."

"You said you had pride."

"I don't have the money."

What? Why was that serious? No, more importantly.

"A restaurant this large and famous doesn't have any cash? You expect me to believe that?"

"There's a reason for it."

"What is it?"

"You experienced it too. Isn't that why you came to me?"

I suddenly understood quite well. Those people had driven even bold me to march all the way to the restaurant and make a scene.

"The pig beastkin?"

"That's right. More precisely, it's Orcma, an organization formed mainly by Piggys."

Piggy was a derogatory term for pig beastkin. Orc was what pig beastkin had been called when they were once symbols of fear. Both names came from Gluta's mouth at once.

To understand where those names came from, I first had to explain beastkin. Beastkin were a race that inherited some traits of animals. They had not lost humanity's strengths, so they generally possessed physical abilities superior to humans.

Dog beastkin had keen senses and agility.

Sheep beastkin had thick wool and the balance to easily travel up and down steep slopes.

Cow beastkin had immense strength and patience.

Horse beastkin had overwhelming speed and stamina.

Those blessed with the strengths of beasts excelled in their respective fields.

Pig beastkin, on the other hand, possessed one advantage...

Survivability.

They did not suffer from minor illnesses. They could eat anything. They had many children, and their beastkin instincts helped them avoid dangers in the wild.

Naturally, the pig beastkin population steadily grew. They formed clans among themselves and ruled territory. Back then, pig beastkin were called orcs.

That was all in the past, though.

As civilization reached every corner of the continent and the lands ruled by nations expanded, the loosely organized clans gradually declined. The pig beastkin, whose strength had been their numbers alone, either died resisting rule or surrendered in humiliation.

It was a common story. The greater their once-glorious history, the farther they had fallen. Pig beastkin were driven to the bottom of society as Piggys, branded with that slur on their heads and backs.

Gluta crossed his arms and snorted.

"Those bastards had been slowly expanding their influence, but a few years ago they began operating in earnest. Everyone in Ende understood when they called for better treatment of Piggys... but then they began making unreasonable demands, like appointing Piggys to high-ranking positions in Ende and banning people from eating pork. Now they attack not only those who sell meat, but those who eat it."

"What a bunch of lunatics. Still, this place hasn't been harmed?"

"It hasn't. I turned the faces of every bastard who tried into pressed meat."

...Looking at those bulging muscles and hardened calluses, I believed him. Yes.

"The Piggys apparently couldn't handle me, so they began terrorizing customers instead. They followed customers who left the restaurant and attacked them. I couldn't stop assaults that happened outside my restaurant."

"So it is because of you."

"Customers dwindled, and my suppliers were harmed too. Once the losses grew too large, I swallowed my pride and tried to use beef... but changing everything, from suppliers and prices to recipes, was impossible. I pretended to surrender to the Piggys, lied that I had switched to beef, and changed the menu. It was fine for a few weeks."

"Then Orcma noticed, and I got targeted as an example?"

"That seems to be the case. You don't appear to be injured... but that isn't important, is it? Orcma must have wanted people to know that a customer had been attacked."

That made sense. The Piggy who stabbed me had been sloppy, and the spot they chose had not been life-threatening to begin with. It seemed that the fact I had been stabbed mattered more than killing me.

Orcma. Orcma, huh. They were a rather petty secret organization. Petty things mattered, but... they didn't seem important enough to draw the regressor's interest. The regressor was probably too preoccupied with the King of Wolves to spare a thought for something like Orcma.

Pig beastkin trying to stop people from eating pork. As I turned that sentence over in my mind, Gluta's horns caught my eye.

"Wait. You're a bull beastkin, aren't you?"

"As you can see."

"Then why did you say you sold beef soup?"

"There are several reasons. First, if I was going to replace pork, beef was the only meat suitable for soup. Also, it looks acceptable for a bull beastkin like me to sell beef."

It was fine because he was the one selling it. I understood the feeling. But that wasn't what I wanted to ask.

"Gluta. Do you not feel any aversion to using beef?"

If pig beastkin avoided pork, did cow beastkin not think the same way?

Gluta let out a deep sigh at my question. It was so deep that his lips trembled.

"It's not that I don't. I do. Of course I do."

"But you sold it."

"My restaurant, my customers, and my pride come before a half-hearted aversion. If the price had worked out, I would have switched to beef. That wasn't a lie."

He meant it. Unlike what he had said before, though, there was no firm conviction behind those words.

"...But when the price of beef soup didn't work out, there was a part of me that felt relieved. That's true as well."

'When I cut off horns like mine and put them in a jar. When I slice head meat that has been boiled soft. A disturbing feeling clings to my hands. Most of all, when I try to taste it...'

Gluta shuddered slightly, then confessed with a complicated expression.

"That's why I hate the Piggys, but as a fellow beastkin, I understand their anger. To a degree."

What I felt as I learned about Gluta through our conversation and mind reading was neither sympathy nor discomfort.

It was anger. Only directed somewhere slightly different.

The military state was truly rotten for feeding me nothing but beans and denying me even the chance to know what meat tasted like.

Footnotes:

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