The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 846

Chapter 846: Three Knives

Initially, the Duke was certain that the smell was coming from the basket the Count was holding.

After all, the man was practically clutching the large bundle to his chest like a newborn, and Duke Leander would have been the first to admit that he had seen stranger things as the father of the usual source of said strange things.

But the more he sniffed, the more his brows furrowed.

Because all of a sudden, the scent wasn’t just coming from one place.

It was everywhere.

Rich. Warm. Deep. The kind of aroma that didn’t ask for attention but instead seized it by the collar and dragged it closer. Surprisingly, it wasn’t his wife this time around.

But just as he should have expected, he wasn’t alone in noticing it either.

One by one, conversations faltered. Heads turned. Noses twitched. A low ripple of murmurs spread through the waiting area as the remaining crowd instinctively tried to pinpoint the source.

Unfortunately for them, they were already too late.

Because the orcs had moved.

With absolute confidence, the towering figures had already marched straight toward one corner, expressions sharp and focused, as if answering a primal summons.

And there it was.

A long table set neatly near the corner, draped in clean cloth, seemingly prepared for a grand reason. Atop it sat massive slabs that looked suspiciously like charred rocks that surprisingly smelled way better than they had the right to be.

Behind the table stood Xavier, whose suit jacket was now nowhere to be found.

This time around, his sleeves were rolled up. Posture relaxed. Expression calm.

A large knife gleamed in his right hand. A carving fork rested in his left.

And yet, that was not all.

To his left and right hovered additional knives and forks, suspended in the air, each held delicately by translucent spiritual tendrils visible only to those capable of using visual resonance. They moved as naturally as extensions of his own arms, mirroring his motions with unnerving precision.

Three slabs.

At the same time.

All of a sudden, Duke Leander realized what was happening, and his eyes widened at the realization of an upcoming feast.

The middle one was carved normally, blade sliding through meat so tender it barely resisted. On either side, the floating utensils followed suit, slicing cleanly, evenly, each movement synchronized as though rehearsed a thousand times.

The sound was soft.

Almost obscene.

A thin, delicate slice separated, wobbled slightly, then tipped to the side.

Juice glistened along the cut.

Someone hissed while Duke Leander gulped.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Those who knew seemed to stiffen in anticipation, while those who didn’t expect the charred rock to look like that once cut were definitely having a mind-blowing experience.

Around him, guests stared openly now. Throats bobbed. Eyes followed every movement. Even breathing seemed to slow as the scent intensified, thick and mouthwatering, filling every empty space.

Somewhere nearby, he heard a strained voice.

"Ah. Uh. Lord Kyle. I might need to stay a bit longer," Reeve said, sounding torn between terror and awe. "The viewers are demanding to see everything. I was told if I don’t get the right angle, I won’t be able to live peacefully once I get out of here."

There was a pause.

Plating?

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