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The smoked salmon glistened with a tempting reddish-orange sheen, the roasted reindeer meat was paired with a deep red lingonberry sauce, the mutton stew was rich and fragrant, the slightly charred slices of brown cheese gave off a peculiar sweetness, and the shrimp sandwich looked simple yet hearty.
However, Edgar's gaze was firmly locked onto two particular dishes.
One was a grayish-white stew with a somewhat sticky texture, filled with irregular chunks—Mølje (Cod Innards Stew).
The other consisted of nearly transparent slices with a gelatinous texture, neatly arranged—Lutefisk (Lye-Cured Dried Cod).
Compared to the other dishes on the table, these two looked... decidedly challenging.
Edgar stared at the cod innards stew, then at the gelatinous lutefisk, instinctively swallowing.
He picked up his fork, held it suspended in the air, and hesitated.
"This... this stuff—is it actually edible?" His voice was filled with doubt, his brows tightly furrowed.
Lynn had been waiting for this moment.
Without changing his expression, he calmly picked up a slice of the nearly transparent lutefisk with his fork. Under Edgar's watchful gaze, he placed it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and maintained a serene expression—he even gave a slight nod.
Next, he scooped up a spoonful of the grayish-white cod innards stew and ate it with the same composure.
"It's quite tasty."
Lynn set down the spoon and evaluated it calmly. "Traditional flavor, unique texture. Give it a try."
Heaven knew how much willpower it took him to say that.
The lutefisk had a strange taste upon entering the mouth—a mix of lye and fishiness—with a slippery yet slightly elastic texture.
As for the cod innards stew, the heavy fishy odor combined with the soft, distinct texture of the offal created a full-on assault on the senses.
Lynn had to rely almost entirely on the perfect control granted by his Perfect Bodily Control to suppress the urge to spit it out immediately. He forced himself to swallow, all while maintaining a calm, "nothing special" demeanor.
This was probably the peak of his acting career.
Edgar stared intently at Lynn's face, searching for even the slightest flaw—but found none.
It should be fine... right?
He hesitated internally. Lynn ate it and said it was "tasty"—surely he wouldn't trick him?
Taking a deep breath, Edgar cautiously picked up a small piece of lutefisk and closed his eyes as he put it into his mouth.
Instantly, a complex mix of lye, faint fishiness, and something indescribable spread across his tongue. After just two chews, his brows knitted tightly.
Next, he gathered his courage and scooped up an even smaller spoonful of the cod innards stew.
This time, the flavor hit him head-on.
"Ugh—!"
Edgar gagged.
He grabbed his water and gulped it down before finally catching his breath. "How did you eat that?! My Merlin! That taste... that texture... I can't handle that kind of 'blessing'!"
Watching Edgar's expression shift so dramatically, Lynn finally lost control and burst out laughing.
"I told you it was a specialty—you insisted on trying it. Alright, alright, don't eat those anymore. Try the others. The reindeer meat and smoked salmon are actually good."
Fortunately, the rest of the dishes were much more approachable.
The roasted reindeer meat was tender and juicy, with a slight gamey aroma balanced by the sweet and tart lingonberry sauce.
The smoked salmon was fresh and rich, while the roasted brown cheese had a caramelized sweetness that paired uniquely well with bread.
The mutton stew was warm and hearty, and the shrimp sandwich was light and pleasantly sweet.
In the end, the two enjoyed a satisfying meal—though Edgar was thoroughly traumatized by the two "specialty" dishes and firmly refused to touch them again.
Over the next few days, Lynn and Edgar lived like ordinary backpackers, immersing themselves in Norway's breathtaking scenery.
They traveled from Oslo along the picturesque railway to Flåm, taking in mountains, waterfalls, and deep fjords along the way.
In Flåm, they boarded a cruise ship, sailing through the Nærøyfjord and Aurlandsfjord—widely regarded as some of the most beautiful fjords in the world.
They visited the colorful wooden houses of Bryggen Wharf in Bergen.
In Tromsø, within the Arctic Circle, they experienced the Midnight Sun, where the sky remained bright like twilight even late at night.
They took a cable car up Mount Storsteinen for a panoramic view of Tromsø and visited the uniquely designed Arctic Cathedral.
Finally, they traveled by ferry to the Lofoten Islands, famed for their dramatic landscapes and fishing culture.
There, they stayed in a traditional Rorbu—a fisherman's cabin converted into a cozy seaside inn, rich with coastal charm.
The next morning, the weather in the Lofoten Islands was clear.
Through the inn owner's introduction, Lynn purchased a sturdy small fishing boat from a local fisherman.
Packing a lunch basket and hot drinks, the two set out, ready to experience authentic Norwegian sea fishing.
The boat left the quiet harbor and headed into open waters.
Edgar was visibly excited—this was his first time fishing at sea.
Buzz—Buzz—Buzz—
Before long, his fishing rod jerked.
"I got one!" he shouted, reeling in quickly as a fish broke the surface.
"Haddock. Not bad," Lynn glanced over and commented casually. "Common along the Norwegian coast. Good meat. Don't worry—I'll catch something bigger soon."
Edgar had barely dropped the fish into the bucket before his rod twitched again.
This time, it was a slender fish.
"Pollock," Lynn continued in his role as commentator. "Very active near the coast. Nothing special."
Edgar snorted and cast his line again.
Soon, he pulled up another fish, fast and sleek, with dark stripes along its back.
"Mackerel," Lynn nodded. "Good as live bait."
Every time Edgar caught a fish, Lynn delivered another lukewarm remark.
The problem was—his own fishing rod hadn't moved once since they left the harbor.
It was practically decorative.
"Tsk~" Edgar hauled in another cod, wiped his sweat, and squinted at Lynn with a teasing grin.
"Someone hasn't caught a single fish yet~ Do Norwegian fish not recognize a Hogwarts fishing rod?"
Lynn: "..."
His expression darkened slightly as he tightened his grip on the rod.
Actions spoke louder than words.
But strangely, despite changing bait multiple times and adjusting his position, he still hadn't gotten a single bite.
Time passed slowly. The sun dipped toward the horizon, and the sea breeze turned cool.
It was time to head back.
"Lynn, still fishing? Reel it in—we should go."
Edgar had already begun packing up and called out with resignation.
"You being the 'Air Force Commander' today is a fact. Accept it. We've got plenty of fish—let Dodo make a full feast tonight!"
Lynn looked at his motionless rod, then at Edgar's full bucket, and let out a long sigh.
Shaking his head, he began reeling in the line.
Vrrrrrr—!!!
Suddenly, the rod jerked violently!
It bent into a dramatic arc as the reel screeched under strain!
"Holy—! I've got one! And it's big!"
Lynn's eyes lit up instantly. All frustration vanished.
He planted his feet firmly, braced himself, and gripped the rod tightly as he began battling the force beneath the water.
"Careful! Don't get dragged in!" Edgar rushed over to help steady him.
A fierce tug-of-war followed.
The creature below surged powerfully, diving repeatedly toward the depths—but each time, Lynn managed to pull it back.
After more than ten minutes, the resistance finally weakened.
With one final pull—
A silver-gray figure burst from the water, arcing through the golden light of the setting sun before crashing onto the deck with a heavy thwack!
It was a massive Atlantic salmon—over a meter long and easily forty pounds!
Its tail slapped against the deck as it struggled.
Edgar stared, completely stunned.
Then slowly looked at Lynn.
Speechless.
Lynn stepped forward, nudged the fish lightly with his foot, then looked up at Edgar with a raised brow and a smug smile.
He said slowly, "say something."
Edgar: "..."
---
...Britain, London, Knockturn Alley.
In stark contrast to Norway's natural beauty, Knockturn Alley was steeped in gloom.
Narrow streets were lined with crooked, decaying buildings. Shop windows displayed unsettling items: shrunken heads, giant black spiders, bloodstained cards, and cursed parchments.
The air was thick with mold, dust, and decay.
At night, it became even more sinister.
Two figures in long black hooded robes stood before Borgin and Burkes.
Their faces were completely hidden in shadow.
One of them reached out and pushed open the creaking door.
Inside, the shop was dimly lit by a few weak oil lamps, casting eerie light over shelves packed with dark artifacts—cursed opal necklaces, grotesque masks, rusted torture tools.
The shop's owner, a small, slightly hunched old wizard with greasy hair, stood with his back to the door, wiping a cabinet with a dirty rag.
The bell chimed.
Without turning, he spoke casually:
"Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to Borgin and Burkes. How may I assist you? Cursed objects, rare collectibles, or... more specialized services?"
He slowly turned, a professional smile spreading across his face as his sharp eyes scanned the two cloaked visitors.
The one in front stepped forward slightly.
His face remained hidden beneath the hood.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and low—unnervingly so.
"Mr. Borgin... I've heard a great deal about you."
A pause.
"I need..."