The Obsidian Basilica’s dining hall was a cavernous expanse of gleaming black stone, its high vaulted ceiling lost in shadows where silver crystal lanterns floated, casting a soft, moonlit glow.

The long table, carved from a single slab of ebony and inlaid with veins of shimmering silver, stretched across the hall, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen.

Lunareio sat alone at the head, as he surveyed the empty seats, a faint curiosity flickering within.

The hall was silent save for the clatter of dishes and the occasional hum of Branna as she bustled about, lining the table with an array of steaming dishes.

Branna, her wild orange hair bouncing, her amber eyes sparkling with pride, set down platters with ease and a bit of excitement. It was almost as if she had done this many times before and had been waiting a long while to do so again.

Roasted quail glazed with honey and thyme, spiced root vegetables glistening with butter, a towering centerpiece of stuffed pheasant with edible flowers, and bowls of creamy mushroom soup swirled with truffle oil.

Her small wine bottle clinked at her hip as she moved, her sturdy frame surprisingly nimble.

“Almost done, my lord!” she called, her voice warm and boisterous, as she placed a basket of freshly baked sourdough rolls beside a dish of whipped herb butter.

Lunareio’s lips curved into a faint smile at the sight of the dishes, but inwardly, he reached out to Guardian, curious if regular food was allowed on the divine menu. After all, it was Branna who offered to cook, and he decided to humor her out of curiosity.

‘Guardian, I’m curious, since my main source of sustenance is dreams… Will there be any adverse effects if I consume regular food?’

Guardian responded:

『You are correct, Host. Dreams are your primary sustenance, the essence that fuels your divine power. But that does not preclude you from enjoying mortal food. Think of it as water to a mortal’s diet—necessary, refreshing, but not sufficient alone. Dreams are your true food, rich and filling, while this fare is supplementary. You can drink water to survive, but food sustains you fully. Nothing prevents you from partaking in these dishes, though dreams will always be more nourishing.』

Lunareio’s gaze softened, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

“I see,” he murmured aloud, his deep voice resonating through the hall. As he spoke, a small chime rang in his mind, accompanied by a notification from the Moon God System, its interface shimmering faintly before his eyes.

⫷『Reputation Increasing. Awareness among beast kin rising significantly. Influence spreading across Vyrathia.』⫸

Lunareio’s brow lifted slightly, a spark of satisfaction in his cosmic eyes.

‘Dazmar must be doing a good job, then.’

He thought silently, picturing his devoted follower in the chaos of Vyrathia’s auction house, using gold and cunning to free the enslaved beast kin.

The thought brought a rare warmth to his expression. Though it remained hidden beneath his hood, he smiled, albeit mischievously.

“Well…”

“I’m happy to see that.” His gaze fell to the dish before him—a delicate plate of seared venison, drizzled with a rich blackberry reduction, garnished with sprigs of rosemary. He lifted a fork, cutting a small piece and tasting it. The flavors burst across his palate, the meat tender and savory, the sauce a perfect balance of sweet and tart.

His eyes widened slightly, and he couldn’t help but lean back, a genuine smile breaking through.

“Branna, this is absolutely stellar. My compliments—I’m impressed.”

Branna, who had just set down a platter of glazed carrots, beamed, her freckled cheeks flushing with pride.

“Aw, my lord, you’re too kind!” she said as she wiped her hands on her apron, then reached for a dusty bottle on a side table, its label faded but adorned with a silver crest.

“How ’bout a drink to go with it? This here’s a fine Dwarvish firewhiskey, aged a hundred years. Strong, but smooth—thought you might fancy a sip.”

Lunareio’s gaze flicked to the bottle, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

‘I was technically past legal age before I arrived in this world,’

He thought silently, a wry amusement crossing his mind. ‘And I’m in the body of a god now, so I suppose it should be fine.’

He nodded, his tone casual. “Very well, I’ll try it.”

Branna poured a small measure into a crystal goblet, the amber liquid catching the lantern light as she handed it to him.

Lunareio took a tentative sip, expecting a bold but manageable flavor.

Instead, the firewhiskey hit like a molten hammer, its fiery burn scorching his throat and making his eyes water.

He sputtered, spitting the liquid back into the goblet with an undignified cough, his hood slipping slightly as he caught his breath.

“Gods, Branna!” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

“That’s far too strong!”

Branna’s amber eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

“Oh, my lord, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed with guilt.

She hurried to his side, offering a napkin.

“I thought you’d like it! Back in the day, you used to drink this stuff like water—barrels of it, swear on my hammer!”

Lunareio froze, his cosmic blue eyes narrowing as he dabbed his mouth with the napkin, his shock genuine.

“Really?” he said in disbelief. He leaned forward, studying Branna’s earnest expression.

‘Barrels of this? The actual fuck?’

He thought, his mind reeling at the image of his divine self—or perhaps the incarnation—downing the fiery liquor with excitement.

The notion was both absurd and oddly humbling, a reminder of the vast history tied to his divine form, much of which still felt foreign to him.

Branna nodded vigorously, her orange hair bouncing.

“Aye, my lord! You’d sit with the old clan chiefs, toasting ’til dawn, laughing as the firewhiskey flowed. Said it ‘warmed the soul’!”

She paused, her expression softening. “Mind, that was centuries ago. Maybe your tastes’ve changed?”

Lunareio chuckled weakly, the sound low and warm, easing the tension.

“Perhaps they have,” he said, setting the goblet aside with a wry smile. “Or perhaps I’ve yet to rediscover that particular… enthusiasm.”

He leaned back, his hooded gaze softening as he regarded Branna. “No harm done. The venison more than makes up for it.”

Branna’s smile returned, though her cheeks remained flushed. “Glad to hear it, my lord. I’ll stick to milder brews next time, promise!”

She bustled back to the table, adjusting a platter of honeyed figs, but her eyes flicked to Lunareio, a look of curiosity lingering in her gaze.

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