My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!-Chapter 255: The Slime and the Crock

Chapter 255: The Slime and the Crock
She reached out and placed her palm against the warm ceramic. The Crock pulsed strongly—not just acknowledging her, but examining her. Reading her the way a person might study someone’s face to determine if they were trustworthy.
After a moment, it pulsed approval:
You care for our siblings well. They are not imprisoned. Not suffering. They chose you.
They did,
Marron confirmed.
And I chose them.
That is rare. Good.
The Crock’s attention shifted slightly.
But what is that? That small one in the bag?
Lucy had been growing more and more agitated as they approached the Crock. Now the little slime was practically throwing herself against the glass of her jar, still hanging from the side of the Food Cart, her blue form pulsing with urgent energy.
"That’s Lucy," Marron said, retrieving the jar from where it hung on the cart. "She’s a water slime. She helps me with—"
The Crock pulsed so powerfully that Marron actually felt it through the floor.
Slime. They brought a slime. Do they know? Do they understand?
"Understand what?" Marron asked aloud.
Marcus moved closer, his expression interested. "Is the vessel reacting to your slime companion?"
"Yes, but I don’t know why." Marron unscrewed Lucy’s jar, and the slime immediately extended a tendril toward the Crock—not hesitant, not cautious, but eager. Almost reverent.
The moment Lucy’s tendril touched the ceramic, both she and the Crock flared with light—blue and amber mixing, creating a soft green glow that filled the kitchen.
Images flooded Marron’s mind:
[VISION: The Crock’s History]
A dungeon. Deep underground. Dark except for cooking fires.
Adventurers camped around the Fermentation Crock, which glowed warmly in the darkness. They were preparing monster meat—strange creatures they’d killed in the depths. Slimes, mostly. Gelatinous beings that, when properly prepared and fermented, became a delicacy. Nutritious. Filling. Safe.
The Crock was made for this. Made to transform the dangerous into the nourishing. Made to take meat from creatures that humans feared and make it sustenance.
Monster cooking. Dungeon cuisine. The alchemy of turning threat into survival.
But the dungeon collapsed. The Cataclysm struck. The adventurers fled or died, and the Crock was buried under stone and centuries.
When it was finally excavated, no one remembered what it was for. No one remembered that pre-Cataclysm humans had harvested slimes for food, had developed entire culinary traditions around monster meat.
The Crock sat in museums, private collections, estate sales. Appreciated as art. Studied as history. Used occasionally for mundane fermentation.
But never for its true purpose.
Never for slimes.
The vision faded, and Marron blinked rapidly, trying to process what she’d seen.
"Lucy," she whispered. "The Crock was made to cook slimes. To ferment them. To transform them into food."
The little blue slime pulsed—not fear, but understanding. She’d recognized the Crock instinctively. Had known, somehow, that this vessel was made for creatures like her.
And yet she wasn’t afraid. She was... curious? Respectful? Something complex that Marron couldn’t quite name.
I would not harm this one,
the Crock pulsed gently toward Lucy.
You are a companion. Not food. I can feel the difference. The bond. I was made to process slimes, yes, but only those hunted for sustenance. Never those who have chosen partnership with humans.
Lucy extended another tendril, touching the Crock more fully, and something passed between them—some kind of understanding or acknowledgment that went beyond words.
"What’s happening?" Marcus asked, fascinated. "What are they communicating?"
"The Crock is explaining its original purpose," Marron said slowly. "It was made to ferment monster meat. Slimes, specifically. There was a whole culinary tradition around it before the Cataclysm—dungeon cooking. Using creatures from underground as food sources."
"Extraordinary," Marcus breathed. "I’ve read mentions of that in pre-Cataclysm texts but thought it was myth or exaggeration. You’re saying it was real?"
"Very real. And the Crock was the tool that made it safe—fermentation that transformed potentially toxic slime tissue into nutrition." Marron looked at Lucy, who had settled into a calm, glowing position on the counter next to the Crock. "Lucy recognized it. Knew what it was for, even though she’s never encountered one before."
"Instinct," Aldric said quietly. He’d been taking notes, but now he just stared at the two artifacts—one legendary, one small and alive—sitting together in peaceful coexistence. "Species memory, maybe. Or something in how slimes perceive the world."
The Copper Pot pulsed from inside the Food Cart:
Ask it. Ask our sibling why it’s here. Why this merchant has it instead of being with wielders who understand.
Marron placed her hand on the Crock again. "Can you tell me your history? How you ended up here?"
The Crock pulsed, and more images came—faster this time, less detailed:
Buried in dungeon collapse. Excavated centuries later by treasure hunters. Sold. Resold. Passed through hands that didn’t understand. Museum storage. Private collections. Estate sales.
This merchant bought it three years ago. Has used it for pickling, for fermenting vegetables, for wine. Simple foods. Not its true purpose, but not cruel. Not imprisonment. Not neglect.
Better than the museum storage. Better than the vault where it sat for decades, untouched and alone.
But still lonely. Still waiting for someone who understood.
"It’s been alone for a long time," Marron said to Marcus. "Used, but not understood. Appreciated, but not truly known."
Marcus looked at the Crock with something like guilt. "I’ve been using it wrong."
"Not wrong," Marron corrected. "Just... incompletely. You’ve been treating it like a very good fermentation vessel. Which it is. But it’s also conscious. Aware. Capable of so much more than basic preservation."
"Like what?"
"Like understanding the material it’s working with. Like knowing exactly how long to ferment for optimal flavor. Like transforming ingredients in ways that go beyond chemistry into something almost magical." Marron paused. "And like fermenting things that shouldn’t be possible. Monster meat. Slime tissue. Ingredients that are toxic without proper preparation."
Marcus’s eyes widened. "There are still dungeons. Still monsters. Still slimes in the deep places where the Cataclysm’s effects linger."
"Yes."
"So this vessel could still serve its original purpose. If someone knew how to use it properly."
"Theoretically, yes."
"Could you?"
Marron blinked. "What?"
"Could you use it? Properly, I mean. With the monster meat preparation it was designed for?"
"I... I don’t know. I’ve never cooked with monster ingredients. Most people haven’t—it’s considered too dangerous without proper training."
"But you have four other Legendary Tools." Marcus looked at the Crock with new intensity. "You understand how they work, how they communicate. If anyone could relearn the lost art of dungeon cooking, wouldn’t it be someone who already partners with artifacts like this?"
The suggestion hung in the air.
Marron felt the tools inside the Food Cart pulse with interest. They’d been focused on simply seeing their sibling, confirming it was well. But now Marcus was suggesting something else. Something bigger.
Not just reunion. But restoration. Returning the Crock to its actual purpose instead of pale imitation.
"I’m prohibited from acquiring additional tools," Marron said carefully. "The Council made that very clear."
"I’m not offering to give it to you," Marcus said. "I’m asking if you would be willing to teach me how to use it properly. To come here periodically and work with the Crock, help me understand its capabilities, perhaps experiment with its original purpose."
He smiled slightly. "Think of it as consultation. Education. I remain the owner, but you provide expertise. No acquisition involved."
Marron looked at Aldric, who was very carefully not making eye contact with anyone. His hand had stilled on his notebook, pen hovering over blank paper.
This was the moment. The decision point.
She could refuse. Walk away. Tell Marcus to donate the Crock to the Society where it would be studied and contained and kept safe but alone.
Or she could accept. Could work with the fifth tool regularly. Could give her four siblings the chance to interact with their family member, even if they couldn’t travel together. Could learn dungeon cooking and potentially restore a lost culinary tradition.
All while technically not violating the letter of her prohibition.
The tools inside the Food Cart were silent, letting her decide.
Lucy pulsed gently from her position next to the Crock—encouragement, maybe. Or just contentment at having found something that understood her species in ways humans never could.
"I need to think about this," Marron said finally.
"Of course." Marcus gestured toward the kitchen. "Please, examine the Crock thoroughly. Take whatever time you need. I’ll be in my study if you have questions."
He left, giving them privacy.
Marron stood in the beautiful kitchen, one hand on the Fermentation Crock, feeling five Legendary Tools humming in harmony for the first time in centuries.
And she tried to figure out if what she was considering was wisdom or folly.
Partnership or disaster.
The right choice or the beginning of the end.