My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 225: The Grains in Round 2

Chapter 225: The Grains in Round 2
The wild grains went into a separate vessel, sorted carefully, rinsed to remove field debris while preserving their essential character. She could feel their history—windswept meadows, mountain rain, the countless seasons they’d survived before being gathered. They deserved recognition of that survival.
The pale green fronds were examined root by root, leaf by leaf. Not all would be used—some were too young, too delicate. Those were set aside gently, placed near the edges of her workspace where they could potentially be replanted. What remained was separated thoughtfully—roots for earth, stems for structure, leaves for brightness.
And then, just barely, at the edge of her awareness...
Something else joined in.
A rhythm that was not hers but was not foreign either.
Ground. Press. Turn. Release.
The pattern came from above, from where the Champion must be working, and it matched—perfectly, impossibly—the motions Marron’s hands wanted to make with the grain.
The tools in her pack pulsed with recognition.
They weren’t just sensing the fifth Legendary Tool anymore. They were
communicating
with it. Coordinating. Building something together across the physical space separating them.
A pulse of understanding flowed through Marron’s veins, and with it came an impossible awareness:
Somewhere above her, on a higher terrace she couldn’t see, the Verdant Mortar was moving in perfect harmony with her motions.
The Champion was not fighting her. Was not competing against her.
She was
answering
her.
The mountain forgot to breathe. Every watcher went still, sensing something happening that transcended simple cooking competition.
The other challenger—the cultured woman who’d questioned the ingredients—plated in frantic haste. Her hands shook as she poured murky broth over incompletely cooked grain, her presentation revealing panic and uncertainty. She knew she’d lost. The knowing made her movements jerky, desperate.
Marron finished last, working with the calm certainty that came from partnership rather than competition. Her bowl steamed with marrow-rich golden broth, wild grain cooked to perfect tenderness, green fronds spiraling through like threads of the forest itself. Roots, stems, leaves—all present, all honored, nothing wasted.
The judges approached the other challenger’s dish first, and their faces showed kind pity before they even tasted. They sampled anyway—judges must judge—but their assessment was swift.
CHALLENGER #3: FOUNDATION ADEQUATE, COMPREHENSION INSUFFICIENT
The woman accepted her dismissal with dignity, bowing to the judges and leaving quickly, already thinking about what she’d learned.
The judges turned to Marron’s creation.
They tasted. Closed their eyes. Breathed deeply.
Three heartbeats of silence.
Then the chime—louder this time, resonating through stone and bone and air itself.
ROUND TWO: SCORING
CHALLENGER #2 (Marron): ABSOLUTE VICTORY - HARMONY ACHIEVED
A tremor ran through the gathered watchers. Whispers erupted—too loud, too shocked for the formal space.
"Harmony? That hasn’t happened in—"
"She matched the Champion’s rhythm—"
"Did you feel the resonance? The tools were speaking—"
"Absolute Victory means—"
A hush fell thick as morning mist when footsteps sounded from above.
The steps were purposeful and slow, coming from the highest terrace. The figure descended the carved steps with a presence that needed no announcement.
Marron finally looked up.
She saw her then.
The Champion stood three terraces above, framed by stubborn green growing directly from mountainside cracks—herbs that shouldn’t survive at this altitude, moss that glowed faintly in shadow, strange white blooms that seemed to pulse with inner light.
She wore leather darkened by years of sun and rain, supple and fitted like a second skin. Her cloak was woven from pressed leaves and fine bark fibers, creating living camouflage that made her seem part of the mountain itself.
At her hip, secured by a leather strap: the Verdant Mortar, carved from what looked like living rootstone—stone that maintained its organic patterns, its pestle curved and worn smooth by countless hands over countless years.
The mortar she’d seen back at the clearing must have been a very convincing glamour, or...
Is that what a Legendary Tool looks like, in all its glory?
Her hair was streaked with silver and dark as damp soil, tied back with a braided vine that still had small leaves growing from it. Her face was weathered but ageless—she could have been forty or four hundred. And her eyes were green. Not leaf-green or emerald-green, but the deep, complex green of old-growth forest where light barely reaches and ancient things grow slowly in shadow.
She descended one more step, and the plants around her seemed to lean toward her, following her movement.
"They always rush the marrow," she said, her voice calm as deep water. "As if it will abandon them if they show patience."
Her gaze moved to Marron, and the weight of it was substantial. Assessing. Recognizing.
"But you waited for it to answer."
The tools in Marron’s pack and at her station stirred violently—not in warning, not in fear, but in
recognition
. Like long-separated family members sensing each other across distance.
Marron felt compelled to bow her head. Not in submission, but in respect. The gesture was instinctive, acknowledging not a superior but an equal met in their proper context. "You’re the Champion of the Verdant Ring."
"I am its current caretaker," the woman replied, descending another step. "Nothing here is owned. Only tended."
Her hand rested on the Verdant Mortar at her hip, and at her touch, the tool pulsed.
Not gently. Not subtly.
It pulsed so hard that Marron felt it behind her eyes, felt it in her chest where her heart should be, felt it in the four tools surrounding her that answered back with their own resonance.
Five Legendary Tools, calling to each other across space and time.
"Do you know what this is?" the Champion asked, her hand still on the Verdant Mortar.
"Yes," Marron said. Her throat felt tight. "It’s a Legendary Tool. Pre-cataclysm craftsmanship. One of seven created to work together."
"And do you know how many have tried to take it from me?"
"Yes," Marron said, though she didn’t—not specifically. But she could guess. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Anyone who’d heard rumors of what the Verdant Ring’s Champion carried.
A faint smile touched the Champion’s lips—not quite amusement, something deeper. "Not one of them asked what it wanted."
She descended another step, close enough now that Marron could see the fine lines around her eyes, the calluses on her hands, the dirt permanently embedded under her fingernails from a lifetime of working with living things.
"And you haven’t asked, either," the Champion observed.
"No," Marron admitted.
"Why?"
"Because it isn’t mine to question." The words came from some deep place of understanding that Marron hadn’t fully articulated even to herself. "It serves where it is needed most."
Silence swept across the Verdant Ring like a held breath.
Every watcher went still.
The plants on the terraces seemed to lean closer, listening.
The Champion stepped down onto the main platform, boots against hot stone, until only the cooking counter separated them.
"Say that again," she said softly, and her voice held something Marron couldn’t quite name. Testing, maybe. Or hoping.
"It serves where it is needed most."