Dungeon? This Tree? Why Don't You Join Me for Lunch? (Dungeon Core)
Chapter 64: The Frying Pan Strikes Again!

Chapter 64: Chapter 64: The Frying Pan Strikes Again!

Now, frying pans are normally not meant to solve one’s problems through violence.

No! They are for... frying stuff.

It’s in the name, people! What sort of age is this one that people associate a frying pan not with sizzling oil, but with head trauma?

Anyway...

I was making some easy blueberry pancakes. Just the standard mix. The thing is, the flour is the most important part.

If you don’t pick a flour which could have enough air in it, the pancakes won’t get fluffy!

And the eggs. They had to be a bit warm before you cracked them! Eggs are no cream, people!

Now, if one wanted to beat cream, one needed ice. Or a very fast whisking rune!

And I, as someone who valued his time and output, had the best whisking rune there was!

Oh, sure, most people would say that beating something by hand made it tastier.

And that is even the truth!

It is just that beating by hand takes longer, so the ingredients have more time to mix up!

But... beating by hand is tiresome. Not to mention that it takes all day.

Sure, if it’s for a special occasion, like the anniversary for which I was already planning, I was going to beat by hand.

But this was a fattening mission! Quality had to take a step back to quantity!

I looked at Desmond, who was looking at the pile of pancakes without really reaching for one.

"They are sweet!" I told him. I meant to bribe him with the sugar. After all, it was sugar, a cake, to be exact, which had made me a part of the circle of the three Boliari in service of the king.

"I know," he said, as he worried his lower lip.

I began to blink.

"Wait... then you must want something that’s salty?" That had a double meaning, and he must have picked up on it too because his cheeks turned rosy.

I, for my part, did not.

"Ok! I will send these pancakes to the villagers!" Because I felt that sending them to the gnomes would result in a war. Still, I had no idea where my golems were.

I had like twenty, or so I thought. Why had they broken the contract was beyond me. I gave them the standard package!

"No, Sylvan... I don’t need food. I’m fine!" Desmond protested.

"Oh, no!" But I came to my own conclusion. The fact that I had two sons had given me fathering or mothering instincts, it was unclear to me.

But I knew only one thing:

Desmond was doing it. The most horrible thing which one could do! The one final insult on a famous chef’s grave.

Desmond was... dieting!

"No! You are not fat! And even if you were, you should still eat enough!" I yelled. Because I didn’t care whether one had fat rolls on or not.

If one was hungry, one ate. Then, of course, they began to chase the sun to the horizon. As fast as they could go!

Just like me every morning!

"What?" Desmond asked.

I nodded to myself, stored away the rest of the pancake batter for later, placed the freezing rune on it, it did have eggs, after all, and then I took out something simple.

Something no one could resist.

Carrots!

It was simple, really. All one needed was a cleaver, a cutting board, seasoning, and carrots!

I cut up the carrots into carrot sticks. Then I made them a bit smaller. Then, I added salt, pepper, red pepper, and, of course, some oil.

Not olive oil. People were crazy about olive oil, but Nate was a miser. He didn’t want to supply me with any.

Not that I am not grateful for the sunflower oil he supplied me with.

Nate, honey, if you are reading my thoughts, know that I am not whining! Love you!

I thought in my mind.

I heard a snort from the darkness of my dungeon.

Huh... he really read all of my thoughts! That was not good. Did he know about that fantasy that I had last night of him and Aron and a spatula with cream?

"Sylvan," Desmond’s face was completely red. Huh, was it too hot in here? "I am fine. I don’t need food."

That was precisely what someone who was on a diet would say! I began to place the carrot sticks into the air fryer rune.

"You will eat," I told him, with the cold of winter in my voice.

At that moment, I didn’t care that the power difference between us was about as big as the difference in height between an elephant and an ant.

With the advantage going to Desmond.

I couldn’t let him do this! I couldn’t let him sacrifice his good health just because he wanted to get inside a corset!

"Desmond, corsets are not very comfortable," now I was just mothering him, but I needed to give him the same pearl of wisdom I had given my own sons.

Least he went to a tailor. Those were ready to sew all kinds of horrors for money!

Even... certain bands for male body parts...

Something Nate had and liked to wrap around his own male body part. I thought he thought that it made him more attractive.

I hated that thing! My fingers got all sticky by the time I removed it!

It was like a chastity belt, darn it!

I heard a giggle from Nate’s corner and a whimper from Desmond.

My eyes narrowed.

"Desmond," I was not so cruel as to hit the man with a hot frying pan, a cast-iron one, at that.

But, darn, I could hit him where it hurt.

"Yes?" Desmond whimpered the word.

"Can you read thoughts?" I asked him, taking my spatula and preparing to mettle some justice.

"Well... all Boliari can."

I froze.

Mordred... had Mordred...

"Yeah, dad," I heard my son say in my head. "But that’s ok. I don’t hold it against you that you’re a pervert who won’t invest into a mind rune."

It was my turn to whimper.

"Edda!" I squeaked.

Those 100 mana points were taken from the moss of the Tree of Memories, but I wanted to look my son in the eyes, darn it!

Without him being reduced to giggles...

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