Extreme Cold Era: Shelter Don't Keep Waste-Chapter 892 - 121: Poison in the Broth

In the hotel kitchen of the Marsel Hotel, several cooks were busily at work, their knives swiftly cutting on the chopping board, while a large pot simmered ingredients nearby, filling the air with an array of aromas.

Even though the entire city was overshadowed by the scarcity of supplies, for the true holders of power and wealth, it was never a problem they needed to concern themselves with.

In the corner of the kitchen, a wealth of precious ingredients, now rarely seen even in France, were piled up: fresh vegetables and fruits, vibrant as if freshly picked from the ground; chunks of fresh meat glistening with enticing fat; flour as white as snow and sugar as clear as crystal, neatly stored in barrels and bags.

These supplies were not locally sourced from Marsel but were brought by that esteemed figure from that mysterious city in the sky.

That city, rumored to be a miracle built by the Victorians, resembles a garden suspended among the clouds.

Its existence has triggered countless rumors and speculations on the streets and alleyways of Marsel.

Some say it is a paradise on earth, with fruit trees lining the streets, laden with fruit that can be plucked at will.

Some say the houses there are as warm as spring, with walls made of some magical material, able to withstand any cold.

Others say the residents there have never known hunger or suffering, living prosperous and contented lives.

These rumors spread particularly widely in the slums of Marsel, making many people gaze at the sky with longing and envy in their eyes.

They can't fathom why some people can live in such a carefree world while they have to struggle to survive on this barren land.

However, for the cooks at the Marsel Hotel, at least part of these rumors is true, at least there is indeed an endless supply of food there.

Otherwise, it's inexplicable why in a time when even the Governor can't eat meat with every meal, that bigwig can eat so elaborately.

But these things have nothing to do with the cooks.

Their task is merely to turn these precious ingredients into exquisite dishes for the enjoyment of that esteemed figure.

Their movements are skillful and mechanical, yet they can't help but feel a subtle emotion—the value of these ingredients is enough to feed the entire slum of Marsel for several months.

The kitchen door was gently pushed open, and an Attendant walked in, urging softly, "Hurry up, the head chef is getting impatient."

The cooks quickened their movements, feeling a vague sense of irony in their hearts—in this era of scarcity, every dish they made was an unimaginable luxury for ordinary people.

However, these cooks were not the main actors in the kitchen. Their main task was the preliminary processing of ingredients—washing vegetables, cutting meat, kneading dough, all these trivial tasks relied on their hands to complete.

The one truly cooking for the esteemed figure was the hotel's head chef.

The head chef was a solemn middle-aged man with exquisite culinary skills, reportedly receiving high praise even from the Victorians.

In the kitchen, his word was law, and even the hotel manager had to show him some respect.

The Attendant who just urged them was merely a small-time character acting like a big shot.

He flaunted his position as a favorite of the head chef, ordering the cooks around the kitchen.

The cooks were well aware they couldn't afford to offend such a person, for all he needed to do was say a few bad words about them to the head chef, and they might lose their jobs.

In these times, working as a cook at the Marsel Hotel was a coveted job that others could only dream of, at least they could fill their bellies here.

If they lost this job, in this dire world, they wouldn't find other work to keep themselves fed.

So they could only work doubly hard, with not even cases of pilfering ingredients occurring.

Even though no one was monitoring their work in the kitchen, these precious ingredients were accounted for; some loss was normal, but if found missing, what awaited these cooks was more than just losing their jobs.

But while the cooks were busy, no one noticed the Attendant's gaze was always fixed on those preliminarily processed ingredients, ready to be handed to the head chef.

His movements seemed normal, as if merely supervising the kitchen's progress, but in reality, he focused all his attention on the pot of beef bone broth bubbling on the stove.

That broth was carefully simmered with top-grade beef bones and spices, with a rich and delicious flavor, an essential soul ingredient in the head chef's cooking.

Whether for stew, sauces, or served directly as a soup, this broth could add a rich layer of flavor and freshness to the dishes.

In the moment the cooks turned to handle other ingredients, the Attendant quickly pulled out an inconspicuous small bottle from his sleeve. The liquid inside was colorless and odorless, looking just like ordinary water.

He glanced around, and once confirming no attention was on him, he gently unscrewed the cap and dripped a few drops into the pot of broth.

The liquid swiftly dissolved into the broth, leaving no trace as if it never existed.

This Attendant was not an ordinary hotel employee but a member of the resistance organization.

They had been dedicated to overthrowing the Victorians' rule, but under the Governor's and garrisons' high-pressure policy, they had accomplished little.

However, after deciding to make a big move, assassinating the Victorian Regent residing at the Marsel Hotel became their most fitting choice.

They believed that once this bigwig was dead, it would undoubtedly stir a great commotion throughout France. At that time, as long as they made a call to action, they could surely awaken the French people's spirit of resistance to stand up against the Victorians' rule.

And when it comes to assassinating the Empire Regent of the Victorians, poisoning was undoubtedly far better than an Assassin directly charging in.

After all, that bigwig was constantly guarded by Steam Knights, and for the resistance organization without any Extraordinary, they were no match for such extraordinary units as Steam Knights.

As for poisoning, slipping poison into the food was undoubtedly the classic and most applicable choice.

Thus, the Assassin chose to poison the broth.

Not only would the broth be used in multiple dishes, but it would also be served directly at the table as a delicacy for the guests to taste.

Once the poison blended into the soup, it would quietly enter the target's body with every spoonful of soup and every bite of food.

By the time the poison took effect, it would be too late.

The Attendant hid the small bottle back into his sleeve and withdrew to the side, maintaining a composed demeanor as if nothing had happened.

The kitchen remained bustling, with the cooks focused on their tasks, unaware of anything that had just transpired.

The pot of broth continued to boil on the stove, exuding an enticing aroma, seemingly announcing the beginning of a feast.

However, behind this feast lay a conspiracy capable of altering the situation.

The Attendant, pretending as if nothing had happened, maintained his harsh persona as he urged the cooks to work hard, all while ensuring the doctored broth was delivered to the head chef.