My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 234: Arguments and Emergencies

Chapter 234: Arguments and Emergencies
"It’s a threat to the tool itself!" Aldric’s voice rose with genuine passion. "These artifacts are irreplaceable pieces of our lost history. Every time you use them, you risk damage. Wear. Deterioration. They need to be preserved, protected, studied under controlled conditions—"
"They need to be used," Marron interrupted. "They were made to work, not sit in a vault gathering dust."
"That’s not your decision to make."
"It’s not yours either."
They stared at each other, the tension thick enough to choke on.
Then, from somewhere in the village behind them, a child’s voice called out: "Miss Marron! Miss Marron, come quick!"
It was the girl from yesterday—the one who’d questioned why anyone would eat when not hungry. She was running toward them, her face pale with fear.
"It’s my brother," she gasped. "He’s sick. Really sick. He won’t wake up right."
The tension between Marron and Aldric shattered instantly.
"Where is he?" Marron asked, already moving.
"Our house. This way. Please hurry."
Marron followed without thinking, Mokko right behind her. After a moment’s hesitation, she heard Aldric’s footsteps following as well.
The house was small—two rooms, a packed earth floor, walls that needed repair. The boy from yesterday—the one who’d asked if Mokko was a guard—lay on a thin mattress, his skin flushed with fever, his breathing shallow and rapid.
His mother knelt beside him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead. "He was fine this morning," she said, her voice breaking. "Then he started burning up. I don’t understand—"
Marron knelt beside the boy and touched his forehead. He was burning.
She pulled back his blanket and saw it immediately: a spider bite on his calf, the skin around it swollen and angry red, with dark lines beginning to spread up his leg.
"Mountain reaper spider," she said quietly.
The mother’s face went white. "No. No, those don’t come down this low—"
"They do when it’s hot and dry. They hunt for water." Marron studied the bite, her mind racing through everything she knew about venoms and treatments. "How long ago?"
"I don’t know. He was playing in the woodshed this morning. Maybe three hours?"
Three hours. The venom would be spreading through his system now, shutting down organs, causing the fever and the shallow breathing and eventually—if untreated—paralysis and death.
There were treatments. Poultices that could draw out some of the poison. Teas that could support the body while it fought the venom. But they required precision. Perfect timing. Exactly the right temperatures and combinations.
The kind of cooking that she’d been doing without magical assistance for two days now.
"I can help," Marron heard herself say. "But I’ll need supplies."
"Anything," the mother said immediately. "Whatever you need."
"Yarrow, if you have it. Activated charcoal. Clay from the riverbank—the gray kind, not red. Honey. Ginger root if anyone has it."
The girl—the boy’s sister—was already running out the door, calling for neighbors.
Marron turned to Mokko. "Get my pack. And the Copper Pot."
He nodded and disappeared.
That left Marron alone with the unconscious boy, his terrified mother, and Aldric, who’d been standing in the doorway watching everything with sharp, assessing eyes.
"You’re going to use the tools," he said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"In front of witnesses. To treat a medical emergency you may not be qualified to handle."
"Yes."
"If you fail—if that child dies—the Society will have every justification to seize your artifacts as public hazards."
Marron looked up at him, and whatever he saw in her face made him take a step back.
"Then I won’t fail," she said.
Aldric’s expression was unreadable. "Edmund warned me about people like you. Tool-bearers who think partnership with ancient artifacts makes them invincible. Makes them wise beyond their actual skill."
"Oh. You’re one of his pupils." That made a lot more sense. He
was
extremely passionate about keeping the tools locked away, and only relented after Marron shared a bowl of soup with him.
"I don’t think I’m invincible," Marron said quietly. "I think I’m a cook who knows how to make medicine. And right now, that’s what this child needs."
She turned back to the boy, dismissing the scholar entirely.
Mokko returned with her pack, and Marron felt the tools stir as he set it down beside her.
Not warm. Not welcoming. Still angry, still withdrawn, still testing her.
But present.
And maybe—just maybe—willing to see what she would do next.
Because this wasn’t about proving herself anymore.
This was about a child who needed help.
And Marron had tools that could provide it.
If they chose to work with her.
If she could convince them that this—this exact moment—was what they’d been made for.
Not to sit in vaults being studied.
But to save lives.
Marron’s hands were shaking.
She stood in the sick boy’s house, staring down at the angry red bite, the dark lines spreading up his leg like poison roots, and felt her mind go completely blank.
She knew about spider venom. Had read about treatments. Had even helped prepare poultices once, years ago, under the supervision of a proper healer.
But reading about something and actually doing it—alone, without guidance, with a child’s life hanging in the balance—were two completely different things.
The mother was watching her with desperate hope. Mokko was waiting for instructions. Aldric stood in the corner with his arms crossed, observing with the clinical detachment of someone gathering evidence.
And the tools in her pack were silent. Not hostile, not encouraging. Just... waiting.
To see if she would beg, and discover what she valued more: her pride or this child’s life.
"I need a minute," Marron said, her voice tight. "I need to—I need to check something."
"He doesn’t have a minute," the mother said, her voice breaking. "Please—"
"I know. I just—" Marron turned to Mokko. "Stay with him. Keep him cool. I’ll be right back."
She didn’t wait for permission. She walked out of the house, across the village square, and into the guest hut. The door closed behind her with a solid thunk, shutting out the morning light and leaving her in dim, dusty privacy.
Her chest was too tight. Her breath came in short gasps. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
She was going to fail. That child was going to die because she didn’t know enough, wasn’t skilled enough, couldn’t do this without help—
Stop.
The word came from somewhere deep inside. Not the tools. Not the System. Just her own voice, cutting through the panic with desperate clarity.
Stop.
Breathe.
Think.
She had resources, and was not completely helpless.
Marron opened her System.