CHAPTER 42: TASTE THE FREEDOM

"No," Albert answered. "Technology."

Lyris didn’t pretend to understand. Mira opened her mouth as if to ask another question, then closed it again. Ragna simply folded her arms, staring at the buildings like they might start walking.

Ward gestured forward. "Command wants you to get a proper briefing, but before that, the boss thought you three might be hungry."

Albert shot him a look. "I didn’t say hungry. I said hospitality is important."

"Same thing," Ward replied.

Albert sighed, but didn’t deny it.

They continued walking, moving past a second row of structures. The layout was neat—too neat for them. Straight roads. Marked lanes. Small hanging signs with numbers. Cables running overhead on poles. Smoke rising from exhaust vents. Workers in uniforms moved with purpose.

It felt alive, but not in the way towns felt alive. There were no children running around, no stray chickens, no villagers yelling at livestock. Everything was controlled and strangely uniform.

Ragna muttered, "Feels more like a noble’s armory than a village."

"No noble has this kind of armory," Mira said. "And no army could build this fast. This is amazing."

Albert walked ahead of them. "The world you come from thinks in seasons. Harvests. Caravans. Manual labor. Our world works... differently. Once we secure a location, infrastructure follows."

Lyris frowned. "Infrastructure?"

"Buildings. Roads. Power. Water. Logistics. Everything needed to support a base."

Ragna shook her head. "You talk like you’re building a kingdom."

Albert didn’t stop moving. "Atlas builds stability. Call it what you want."

They approached an open plaza—the space where Aldo’s old market might have been. Instead of wooden stalls, canvas awnings and metal booths lined the area. Colorful posters plastered some of them. Strange glowing signs lit others.

But the smells—those were what stopped the three adventurers cold.

Warm, unfamiliar spices. Fresh bread. Fried oil. The scent of seasoned meat unlike anything eaten in the kingdom.

Ragna’s ears perked up instantly. "What in the hell is that smell?"

Mira inhaled again. "It’s... not stew. Not roast. Something else."

A soldier standing near one of the stalls smirked. "Welcome to Popeyes."

The word meant nothing to them.

Steam rose from metal trays filled with golden-brown fried chicken. Piles of biscuits. Mashed potatoes with gravy. Fries sprinkled with bright orange seasoning.

Another stall nearby displayed burgers wrapped in colorful paper. A third had trays filled with pizza slices under heating lamps.

Lyris stared, mouth slightly open. "This is... food?"

Ward grinned. "Some of the best comfort food our world has to offer. Not exactly healthy, but good for morale."

Ragna stepped forward without waiting for permission. "Can we... eat it?"

Albert gave a small nod. "You’re guests. Eat."

The three adventurers exchanged a long look.

Then Ragna dove first.

She picked up a piece of fried chicken—hesitated for half a second—then bit in. The crunch echoed. Her ears shot straight up.

"Oh. Gods." She took a second bite, even bigger. "What is this? What kind of beast tastes like this?"

"Chicken," a soldier said.

"This is not chicken," Ragna replied flatly. "Chicken is bland and stringy and half bone. This is... this is sorcery."

Lyris reached for a biscuit, lifting it cautiously. The soft texture confused her. She sniffed it, then took a small bite.

Her eyes widened.

"It’s sweet," she whispered. "And warm. Like a cake you can hold."

"That’s a biscuit," Ward explained.

"A what?"

"Biscuit."

"That’s not a real word," Mira muttered, but she took one anyway.

Mira approached the mashed potatoes. She took the smallest spoonful she could. The moment it touched her tongue, she froze.

"Oh no," she breathed. "This is... ridiculously good."

Ward chuckled. "You’ve barely started."

Lyris tried a piece of spicy chicken next. The heat hit her tongue. She flinched, blinking hard.

"It burns," she said.

"In a bad way?" Albert asked.

"...No," she admitted. "In a good way. I think."

Ragna leaned over to another tray. "What’s this red soup?"

"That’s not soup," Ward said. "That’s hot sauce."

Ragna dipped a finger in and tasted it.

Three seconds later she made a choking noise and stomped twice on the ground.

"This is... FIRE," she gasped.

Soldiers laughed from nearby tables.

Mira poured her a bottle of water from a cooler. Ragna drank it in three gulps.

"Who eats that?!" she yelled.

"Americans," Ward said.

"Wait, so you are saying that you guys are from another world? This is starting to look like it," Ragna said.

"Well yes actually, there’s no point in hiding that to the likes of you since you are not a threat," Albert casually answered.

"I see, like a prophecy huh?"

"Prophecy?" Albert repeated her words as he tilted his head to the side.

"Like, the Goddess would bring heroes from another world to defeat the Demon Lord...something like that. Wait...you are telling me that you are actually summoned here to defeat the demon lord?"

Albert chuckled. "Yeah, kind of like that," Albert said. "The reason we took you in is because we want information about the Demon Lord. Can you help us?"

The three adventurers froze.

Not because the question was strange—but because he asked it so casually. Like he was asking for directions to a stable.

Mira wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "You... want information on the Demon Lord?"

"Yes," Albert replied. "Anything you know. Strength. Territory. Army structure. Capabilities."

Ragna snorted softly. "You say that like you plan to fight him."

Albert didn’t blink. "We do."

That confidence stunned them more than anything else they’d seen.

Lyris set down the biscuit, hands folding neatly in front of her. "Albert... if you truly come from another world, then you must understand something. People here believe the Demon Lord is not simply ’a threat.’ He is a calamity. Armies fall to him. Kingdoms are leveled. And every few centuries, the world prays that heroes appear."

"And do they?" Ward asked, arms crossed.

"Not always," Mira said quietly.

Ragna swallowed her last mouthful of chicken. "The Demon Lord’s generals alone could wipe out a city. You want information? Fine. But if you plan on fighting him, you’ll need more than... flying metal wagons and food that sets your tongue on fire."

Albert’s lips quirked. "You’d be surprised."

Ward stepped aside, giving them space. "Let them eat. They can talk once their heads stop spinning."

Ragna didn’t wait—she grabbed a slice of pizza next. The cheese stretched in a long ribbon, making her lift her eyebrows in surprise. "It’s... soft. But also chewy. What is this?"

"Pizza," Ward said.

"Your words get stranger and stranger," Ragna muttered before taking a massive bite. "But your food is incredible."

Lyris picked up a paper cup filled with cola. The fizzing startled her and she almost dropped it. "It’s moving."

"It’s carbonation," Albert said. "Just drink."

She sipped. Her eyes widened again. "It’s sweet. And cold. And... angry."

Mira coughed a laugh. "It’s like drinking lightning."

The soldiers nearby chuckled.

The plaza was busy but not chaotic. Supply trucks rolled past. Personnel carried crates, tools, or clipboards. The hum of generators and distant engines formed a constant background noise. Everything moved with purpose.

Lyris turned slowly in a full circle. "Aldo... Aldo was nothing like this."

"Yeah, it was a village that was supposed to be overrun by goblins, good thing we came right in time.,"

Ragna lowered her cup. "And what about the villagers?

Housing block. They’re inside. Fed. Treated. Safe. We’re helping them stabilize before deciding long-term relocation."

Lyris blinked, surprised. "You didn’t force them to stay here?"

"No," Albert answered. "We’re not conquerors."

Ragna snorted skeptically. "You built walls taller than any fortress in the kingdom. Forgive me for doubting."

Ward smiled. "That’s just standard construction for us."

"Again," Mira muttered, "your words make no sense."

Albert clasped his hands behind his back. "You’ll understand more during the briefing. But for now, eat as much as you want. Atlas provides for its guests."

Ragna’s ears perked. "Guests?"

"Yes," Albert said. "Until we figure out your intentions, and you figure out ours, that’s what you are."

Lyris took another slow bite of her biscuit. "And what if our intentions don’t align with yours?"

Albert met her gaze without hesitation. "Then we talk. And negotiate. And if that fails... we walk separate paths."

Mira frowned. "You won’t force us?"

"We aren’t in the business of enslaving or coercing civilians," Albert replied. "Or allies."

That word—allies—made all three exchange a glance.

Ragna licked grease from her fingers. "You know... if all your food is like this, we might actually consider it."

"Ragna," Mira hissed.

"What?!" the werebeast snapped. "This is the best thing I’ve eaten in my life."

Lyris shook her head fondly but didn’t disagree. Instead she leaned toward Albert. "If you want information on the Demon Lord... then we will share what we know. But we expect honesty in return. You say you are from another world. We want to understand what that means."

Albert nodded once. "Fair. You’ll get answers after the briefing."

Ward tapped a tablet, checking updates. "Command room will be ready in twenty minutes. We can continue the tour until then."