Chapter 3: "Of Goblins, Gravy, and Government Lies"
Somewhere, deep in the archives of the Duck Royal Library, a recipe sleeps.
Bound in bacon-fat-stained parchment, sealed behind wards of gravy magic…
The Forbidden Sauce.
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Explosion. Smoke. Screaming. Duck feathers. A tree swearing legal oaths in Latin.
I sprint through the crumbling courtroom, dodging magic blasts and enchanted poultry while Arcanos screams motivational insults at me.
> "You run like a cow with shin splints!"
"YOU'RE NOT HELPING, ARC!"
We crash through a door and tumble into a torchlit corridor, landing in a pile of scrolls and stale croutons.
And that's when I hear it.
> Clink. Clank. Slurp.
Emerging from a vent in the wall, covered in sauce packets and wearing a bucket as a helmet, is a small green creature with enormous eyes and a bigger attitude.
> "You got food?" he asks.
> "No. We're running for our lives—wait, who are you!?"
> "Grubnuk," he says, holding up a spork like it's Excalibur. "Freelance scavenger. Culinary anarchist. Collector of menu secrets."
Arcanos groans. "Not another one."
Grubnuk sniffs the air like a bloodhound.
> "They're hiding something in this palace… I can smell it. Garlic. Parsley. FOWL intentions."
> "Did you just make a pun—"
> "I think the ducks have a forbidden sauce that can control minds. Or at least marinate them beyond reason."
I stare at him.
> "...What."
> "Why else would every duck noble smell like rosemary and tyranny?"
Grubnuk begins running deeper into the hallway, shouting:
> "TO THE SECRET KITCHENS!"
I sigh. Arcanos mutters, "I liked it better when the squirrels were trying to kill you."
And just like that, we're chasing a sauce-mad goblin into the duck kingdom's inner sanctum, trying to uncover a culinary conspiracy that may or may not control the realm through seasoning.
---
We arrive at a towering golden door, shaped like a duck bill with two glowing ladles crossed in warning.
> "This... is it," Grubnuk breathes. "The Vault of the Verdant Reduction."
> "Is that name supposed to sound intimidating?"
> "I think it sounds delicious," Arcanos says. "Also I can feel an ancient aioli radiating judgment from inside."
The doors creak open. Inside: rows of enchanted ovens, shelves of cursed spices, and in the center—an altar bathed in golden sauce-light. Hovering above it is a sauce bottle made of obsidian and gold.
> "There it is," Grubnuk whispers, drooling. "The Forbidden Sauce."
> "We shouldn't touch it," I say quickly.
> "Obviously we should touch it," Grubnuk says, already walking toward it with his arms open like he's greeting an old friend.
Just then, a tall figure descends from the ceiling—literally floats down from a spice rack like a warlock made of cornstarch and dread.
> "WHO DARES APPROACH THE HOLY FLAVOR!?"
Standing before us is the Duck High Inquisitor, robed in burgundy with a necklace of garlic cloves and a crown of crispy onions.
> "You stand in the sacred domain of the Saucebound Order! Speak your flavor, or be seasoned eternally!"
I blink.
> "I want to go home."
Grubnuk lunges forward.
> "FOR THE FLAVOR REVOLUTION!" he screams, diving face-first into the altar.
He bites the bottle.
Everything explodes in golden light.
The walls shake. The ground cracks. A giant glowing image of Grubnuk appears in the air, wearing a crown made of garlic knots and holding a scepter of honey mustard.
> "THE SAUCEBRINGER HAS RETURNED!" the High Inquisitor gasps, falling to his knees.
> "NO HE HASN'T!" I scream. "HE JUST LIKES TO EAT THINGS WITHOUT THINKING!"
> "IT IS PROPHESIED!" shrieks the Inquisitor. "THE ONE WHO CONSUMES SHALL RULE THE RECIPE!"
Grubnuk belches.
> "Tastes like victory. And tarragon."
I fall to my knees.
Arcanos whispers, "...You might want to kneel. He owns the kitchen now."
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End of Chapter 3 (served with a side of prophecy and indigestion).