Chapter 304: Red Dragon’s Manual: Lance’s Sayings

Inside the large, temporarily requisitioned warehouse of the logistics department.

The old chef was leading over thirty hastily conscripted Life System Professionals, all sweating profusely as they rushed to produce “High-Energy Compressed Spiritual Cuisine.”

Outside the warehouse.

A large group of Ordinary people could be seen shouldering heavy burlap sacks, continuously hauling over grain, dried meat, and vegetables.

These were all porters who had previously been employed by the various Guild merchant groups.

Due to the sudden lockdown of the Underground City, these Ordinary people had been forced to remain stranded in the camp.

Before the establishment of the Red Dragon United Strategy Team, they could only hide in corners in despair, awaiting death’s arrival.

But when Lance issued the martial law decrees, he didn’t abandon them as burdens.

He organized these several hundred Ordinary porters into the logistics transport team, making them responsible for manual labor like moving supplies within the camp, clearing the streets, and assisting in the treatment of the wounded.

This decision not only gave them a temporary place to stay but, more importantly, allowed them to regain the dignity of earning their rations with their own two hands.

At that moment, the old chef’s son hurried in from outside, clutching a few sheets of parchment.

The old chef stopped his work, wiped his hands, and looked at his son. “How’s the new bulletin from the propaganda department today? Is the push into the three major zones going smoothly?”

Hearing the old chef’s question, the other Life System Professionals nearby also stopped what they were doing and gathered around.

Their logistics tasks were so demanding that they hadn’t had any time these past few days to go to the square and listen to the Minstrels’ live reports.

So, they had asked the young man to bring the bulletins back to the kitchen every day so they could listen to him read while they worked.

It had become a welcome diversion during their work.

The young man held up the bulletin, cleared his throat, and began to read.

The first half of the bulletin detailed the day’s advancement coordinates for the three strategic zones, the estimated number of Demons slain by each team, the total points acquired for the day, and the work quota completion status for various departments like logistics and medical.

Of course, it also included a list of the fallen on the front lines, outlined in a black box.

After hearing these statistics, everyone’s mood grew heavy, and they prepared to turn back to their work.

Just then, the young man looked at the parchment in his hand and let out a soft, questioning, “Huh?”

“What is it?” the old chef asked, turning his head.

“The layout of today’s paper… it seems different from the last two days.”

The young man pointed to a separate section at the very bottom of the parchment.

“There’s a new column here. It’s called ‘Red Dragon’s Manual: Lance’s Sayings.'”

Hearing the name “Lance,” the old chef’s gaze immediately sharpened.

He certainly remembered that young man.

On the morning of the second day of the Underground City’s lockdown, it was that black-haired youth who had walked into his tavern.

It was that same young man who, by his own power, had decisively ended the chaos and single-handedly forged the orderly camp they now had.

“Read it. What does it say?” the old chef urged.

The young man nodded and began to read the column’s contents aloud:

“Don’t think that only those who swing swords and kill enemies on the front lines are Warriors, or that those who light fires and cook meals in the rear are somehow inferior.”

“Every sword swung by a Warrior is infused with the sweat of a Blacksmith forging metal and the strength of a Chef kneading dough.”

“In this camp, a kitchen knife carries the same weight as a greatsword.”

“We are not sheltering each other; we are saving each other’s lives.”

After reading the last line, the young man looked up and scanned his surroundings.

Aside from the GURGLE GURGLE of boiling water in the cauldron,

the Spiritual Chefs, who had been weary-faced just moments before, were all frozen in place, their expressions stunned.

The old chef, too, was visibly shaken.

He had heard similar words before.

It was thirty years ago, during the rebellion that swept through the Kingdom’s Northern Territory.

The Cyan Moon Incident.

The Nibelungen Clan had allied with the Cyan Moon Werewolves and a large number of Sub-human Species living in the Northern Territory in an attempt to secede from the Kingdom.

Back then, the old chef had just recently graduated from the Life Alchemy System of Veridia Comprehensive Academy.

He had been forcibly conscripted into the Rebel Suppression Army’s Seventh Battlefield Service Battalion, where he was responsible for the soldiers’ meals and logistical supplies.

He remembered.

At that time, the general serving as the supreme commander of the Rebel Suppression Army was none other than the now-famous old marshal, whose reputation resounded throughout the Kingdom.

On a winter night, when the fighting was at its most intense, that old marshal had personally come to the service battalion to visit the logistics soldiers.

Back then, the marshal had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “An army marches on its stomach.”

In that old marshal’s Fourth Army, the “combat troops look down on logistics” chain of contempt, so common in other armies, had never existed.

All branches, from the Knights charging into battle to the Chefs lighting fires and cooking meals, were treated as equals.

It was precisely because of this egalitarian philosophy that the Fourth Army possessed such astounding cohesiveness, ultimately quelling the rebellion in one fell swoop.

And now, in these few short quotes, the old chef felt as if he had pierced through thirty years of time and was once again seeing that same potential!

However, the old chef was, after all, an elder who had lived a long life. His experience and perspective were far beyond those of the greenhorn army chef he had been back then.

Moreover, he was also an Alchemist by trade, and he often saw the essence of things more clearly than most.

Therefore, after the initial shock, for a fleeting moment, he saw through to the core of the speaker’s ideology.

It was a core that sent a slight chill down his spine.

‘Because he could sense that the sentiment contained in those words was a genuine acknowledgment of the value of all lower-ranking personnel. On some level, that young man truly saw everyone as an equal individual.’

‘This philosophy, which disregarded differences in class and Power… If it followed a righteous path, it was absolutely the foundation of a King’s Way, capable of creating a Saint King for a generation. But if this ideology were ever to go astray… then this person would, at the very least, become a cult leader capable of bewitching thousands of followers!’

‘Because the qualities such a person exudes would very easily attract the oppressed and suffering masses, drawing them in like moths to a flame, heedless of all else.’

‘And this world… has no shortage of suffering.’

The old chef was lost in thought for a moment before he abruptly came to his senses.

He looked at his colleagues around him.

The old chef smiled faintly.

Then, he put down his kitchen knife and began to clap spontaneously.

The crisp sound of applause echoed through the warehouse, and soon, it prompted everyone else to join in.

“Well said!”

The old chef glanced around and made a small joke. “It seems our status in this camp is quite high, wouldn’t you say?”

Hearing the old chef’s jest, all the Life System Professionals laughed loudly along with him.

After the laughter died down, everyone returned to their stations and resumed processing the mountain of ingredients before them.

The young man stood to the side, watching the Professionals throw themselves back into their work.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but he noticed that everyone’s pace had quickened considerably.

“Sensi.”

Just then, the old chef suddenly called his name.

The young man turned to look.

“Do you have any spare parchment and charcoal pencils?”

The old chef wiped his hands, his expression turning serious.

Sensi quickly rummaged through his pockets, pulled out a writing set, and handed it to his father.

“Dad, what’s wrong? Are you writing down a new recipe?”

The old chef took the paper and pencil and shook his head.

“No, I’m writing a letter of recommendation. For that old fellow, Baldwin.”

The old chef leaned over a nearby cutting board and began to write furiously.

“Back when we were students at Veridia, he came to owe me a very big favor. He possesses a unique Alchemy technique that was once published in the ‘Journal of Truth.'”

“I now need to use that technique to do someone a favor.”

The old chef wrote quickly, the tip of his pencil making a RUSTLING sound on the parchment.

Soon, he signed his name at the bottom of the letter, folded it carefully, and solemnly pressed it into Sensi’s hand.

“You are to go yourself. Make sure you deliver this into Lord Lance’s hands personally.”

Seeing the stunned disbelief in his son’s eyes, the old chef said, “You must remember, my boy, a favor is something that never disappears. It is merely transferred to a more valuable place when needed.”

“But…”

Sensi still found it incredible. “Dad, using a favor of such high value in exchange for a young man’s uncertain future return… Is it really worth it?”

The old chef gave his son a deep look.

“Do you think, if it were you, that you could so easily unite three top-tier teams and, in just three days, bring an orderly administration to a camp of ten thousand people on the brink of collapse?”

Sensi subconsciously turned his head and glanced at the street outside the warehouse.

A patrol team composed of a mix of members from the three Grand Guilds was walking past, every one of their faces stern and serious.

Sensi silently shook his head.

“I couldn’t do it either,” the old chef sighed.

“Besides, the Heroic Spirit Species awakened by the Underground City this time is Galeos!”

“That was the Bronze King, the one who personally orchestrated the Battle of Meteorite Highlands, single-handedly charged into enemy lines to slaughter a Legendary Demon, and once expanded the Empire’s territory to be the greatest among all kings!”

“I had been wondering why a Heroic Spirit of the Bronze Dragon’s caliber would personally answer a summons during this Summer Crown.”

“Now, I’m certain.”

“That king, he absolutely came for Lance!”

“At the very least, in the eyes of a king like Galeos, he believes Lance possesses the potential to be his equal!”

“To be this young, to display such talent for Command, and to achieve something so astounding.”

The old chef paused, not mentioning the “ideological core” he had sensed from the sayings.

He turned his head and looked at his son.

“Our Flamel Clan has been dormant for far too long. We need an opportunity.”