It had been some time since Konrad last helped with a meal, back in Haiten's orphanage.
Father Alastair taught him how to deal with meat and bones, blood and offal. Not because the old priest was a chef extraordinaire, but he wanted the best pieces for himself.
And without his kids stealing or ruining them, of course.
So he had to teach them first, and it was a real struggle for Konrad early on.
He almsot puked from the grime, but, well—
Stuck in the Middle Ages, he couldn't afford to be squeamish.
He ingrained butchering into his muscle memory, which now came in handy more than ever.
Except for the fact that he had never dealt with something this big and ugly.
A big and ugly pig.
Yes. That's what it was, he had decided.
A plain old pig that grew larger than usual.
"Give me the Meat Chunk, your hunting knife, and watch," Konrad barked, rolling up his sleeves. He took his Bubble as well, shoving them all into the monster's guts.
Not that it was his idea, but his parallel brain proved itself useful once again.
"It can't heal when it's dead, but the artifact'll make it bleed out faster. The Bubble gets rid of all the radiation in the meantime, and then we chop it and roast it," he repeated words of wisdom.
"This is the weirdest barbecue I have ever been to, for sure," Dmitry mumbled by his side.
But his stomach was growling, too.
Especially once the roasting of the ribs started.
This thing had many of those, with lots of fatty meat, and they were all huge.
The pig, that is. It was one big, ugly pig.
Had he tell himself enough while focusing on the sizzling and the smell, he could believe it.
"Dude, this is actually good," the Captain chewed the first portions in disbelief.
Which was a huge relief, since Konrad refused to taste test it before he did.
"Itadakimasu," he muttered after, still suspicious, but digging into a rib as well.
And yep. It was a pig.
A tasty, lean, free-range pig.
Or a whole herd, given the size of this thing. But it wasn't half bad at chasing their hunger away, only to give way to the exhaustion and doubts about the future.
"We've to find shelter soon," Konrad said between bites. "Hiking in the dark would be suicidal."
This was still uncharted territory, after all. From there, they could see the flickering anomalies.
Forget the Wild Territories: beyond the Duga, it was the Wild West.
Even if they were to head northeast.
"With the leftover bread, this'll last a day or two," Dmitry nodded, licking fat from his fingers.
They packed up the rest into his backpack.
Now it was full once again.
"We should reach Pripyat by noon tomorrow, even if we take it easy," Konrad stated.
But, well, again, he would only repea what the parallel brain had already told him.
The real question was—
"What'll we find there?"
"If Strelok kept his word and waits, then him," Konrad said. "But even then, I'm more worry about the CNPP. We'll have to take on the zone itself now, and without my magic—"
"If we can reach the plant in the first place," the Captain noted. "Remember? Spatial anomalies."
Yeah, of course.
Sidorovich mentioned them back in his bunker.
When that maintenance crew disappeared, rescuers could still see the power plant—
But no longer found their way there.
As if all these mutants, zombified Stalkers, radiation, and the Blowouts weren't enough.
"I'm not sure how to feel about the Barkeep's broadcast, actually," Konrad grunted. "Many will rush to their deaths for that huge reward. But this also means we won't be alone."
Even with their headstart, the first group of Stalkers were ought to catch up with them soon.
The last of the meat disappeared in Dmitry's backpack, and they were ready to set out, too.
"Yeah, at least they'll draw attention away from us," he said, wiping his hands clean.
He let out a long sigh in the end, looking at the sky.
"But man, who would have thought I'd get myself into a mystery horror in the middle of this war," he muttered. "One day I mind my own business, then we survive a missile strike, and—"
"Oh, I've gotten used to it," Konrad smirked, dusting himself off. "This is my life in a nutshell. Running from one crisis to another, with no time to think about them at all."
The Captain laughed, putting out their campfire.
"I can imagine. A duke from another world and a rockstar in this one?!"
His eyes landed on the guitar case as Konrad shoved it on his back.
"No, actually, I can't even imagine it at all."
"Heh, guess being a rockstar was an exaggeration," he admitted, adjusting the case. "But a lot has happened since I reincarnated, both good and bad."
In fact, he'd been through more in a single year than in his previous fifty combined.
He paused at the thought, pulling out the guitar to check the strings.
Considering he dragged the poor ES-335 between worlds, it held the tuning well.
"The wild thing about this entire Zone is that they tried so hard to create magic," he said, strumming. "But we got better results while only having fun in a band."
And without transforming the entire landscape around themselves.
Although who knows? With more fans, they might've done that, too.
"One thing's for sure," Dmitry noted with a smirk. "It's impossible to feel bored around you."
Yeah, sometimes he did miss those boring old times.
But now, with the fire gone, the darkness felt oppressive around.
Something floated in the air, and Konrad had to realize how cold this early winter evening was.
Snow? It reminded him of Yuki-san and the songs she taught him.
His strumming became more melodic, although it was still not any given song. He improvised, letting the nostalgia and his feelings move his hands, rather than—
'Oh, interesting,' the parallel brain noted, having been quiet for a while.
Konrad paused, hand hovering over the strings.
'No, keep playing,' the voice demanded. 'I could feel it for a moment. I kinda doubted you before. That you could generate mana with music, but there was definitely something here.'
"There was?" he mumbled, furrowing his brows. "I couldn't feel it at all."
But the brain insisted.
'I didn't know what this magic essence felt like until now, but actually—your mana pool was never empty to begin with. It's full, but corrupted. And this thing was, um, how to say it?'
Konrad froze, feeling what the parallel brain had felt earlier.
Something he had almost forgotten, something he thought he would lose forever.
But there it was, that little trickle of essence into his system.
'It's like your good mana was trying to push out the bad one, but it was too little, too slow. A few seconds in, it got corrupted as well,' the voice explained. 'You have to generate more. Faster.'
Which was easier said than done.
He could have sat down and meditated or played for an audience.
But the first one was out of the question when he couldn't feel the flow, and—
"You realized something?" Dmitry asked, having stopped to face him.
"I might've," Konrad nodded, though he was still unsure what to do with this information.
It wasn't exactly useful, not here, not yet.
But he had finally found a lead.