Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint-Chapter 484: Cows Go Moo

Kitchen Gluta—one of the more well-known restaurants in Ende. Sure, good ingredients and excellent cooking played a role in its reputation, but what truly set it apart was its pioneering delivery system. By introducing alchemized containers that solved the issue of dish returns, Gluta quickly expanded its influence, securing a stronghold before any competitors could catch up.

I had enjoyed Gluta’s service and ordered from them multiple times, but after nearly getting stabbed, I couldn’t just let it slide.

Selling pork while calling it beef? Putting my life in danger by tricking me?

This called for compensation.

“Owner, come out!”

“Woof! Come out!”

I kicked open the door to the restaurant, still billowing with steam from freshly cooked meals, and shouted.

“You sold pork disguised as beef? That’s outrageous! Give me back my money and compensate me for the trouble you caused!”

“Woof! Compensate him!”

I stormed in with righteous fury, but surprisingly, Kitchen Gluta—despite being a famous restaurant—was completely empty.

I had planned on causing a scene inside the establishment, hoping embarrassment would force them to cough up the money, but—

“What the hell? Did they go out of business?”

“We’re open.”

A deep voice rumbled from the kitchen.

“I wondered who was making a fuss in my restaurant.”

From the back of the kitchen emerged a massive man.

He was so tall that, despite the restaurant’s high ceilings, he had to duck slightly to pass through the doorway. The white chef’s uniform and apron did nothing to lessen the oppressive aura of this over-two-meter-tall beastkin.

Most notably, the curved horns on his head—and the nose ring pierced through his snout like a piece of jewelry—made his identity unmistakable.

The owner and head chef of Kitchen Gluta. And a minotaur beastkin.

Gluta exhaled through his nostrils, looking down at me.

“There are only two possibilities. Either you’re a pig beastkin, or you’re a customer who fell victim to them. Since you don’t have pig ears, you must be the latter.”

He was probably just referring to beastkin ears, but for some reason, it felt like he was implying he’d rip my ears off.

Instantly regaining my manners, I clasped my hands together and spoke politely.

“...Yes, that’s correct. I was recently attacked, so I lost my temper for a moment.”

“A customer is to be treated like a king. Rest assured—I won’t grill your face on an iron plate.”

So if I wasn’t a customer, he would have grilled my face?

Haha. Funny joke.

Except it didn’t feel like a joke.

Good thing I was a customer.

“But before I apologize... Customer, did you really not know it was pork?”

“Of course not! How would I have known?”

“The difference in taste between pork and beef is obvious.”

...Wait, it is?

There’s a significant taste difference between pork and beef?

Aren’t all meats the same? Why didn’t I notice?

There was only one possible explanation.

That damn military state.

They fed us nothing but processed, compressed meat rations.

And that was only once a month.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Of course, I couldn’t tell the difference between pork and beef!

“...Some people just grow up that way, you know.”

“You’re an outsider who made money and settled in Ende, aren’t you? If that’s the case, I apologize even more. I didn’t even consider that someone like you might exist.”

Damn it.

I’m the one who got deceived, so why am I the one feeling ashamed?

If I had come to the restaurant in person and read the owner’s mind, I wouldn’t have fallen for it. Even the delivery workers blindly believed it was beef soup—how was I supposed to know?

Anyway, while his apology was nice, a verbal apology alone wasn’t enough.

I sat down, straightened my posture, and maintained a slight air of dignity.

“So... what are you going to do about it?”

“As a restaurant owner, I have my pride. If you show me your receipt, I will compensate you accordingly... but.”

Gluta hesitated, looking reluctant.

“Realistically, I can’t refund all your money.”

“...I thought you just said you had pride?”

“I also have no money.”

...What?

Was that supposed to be a joke?

No, he looked dead serious.

“Are you telling me that a restaurant this big and famous has no cash? You expect me to believe that?”

“There’s a reason for it.”

“What reason?”

This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.

“You should already know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come here.”

Suddenly, everything clicked.

Those guys even forced someone like me to storm into a restaurant and cause a scene.

“...The pig beastkin?”

“Exactly. More specifically, a group formed mainly by pig beastkin—Orcarmada.”

Pig beastkin were often called “piggies” as a derogatory term. Meanwhile, “orc” was a title from the past, used when pig beastkin were symbols of fear.

Gluta had used both words in the same breath.

To understand why, you first had to understand beastkin in general.

Beastkin were a species that inherited certain animal traits. However, they still retained the advantages of humans, meaning they were physically superior to ordinary people by default.

Dog beastkin had keen senses and agility.Sheep beastkin had thick wool and incredible balance, allowing them to traverse steep terrain.Cow beastkin had immense strength and endurance.Horse beastkin had overwhelming speed and stamina.And pig beastkin?

Their greatest trait was survivability.

They didn’t get sick easily.

They could eat just about anything.

They reproduced in large numbers.

And, true to their beastkin nature, they had excellent instincts, allowing them to avoid danger in the wild.

Naturally, pig beastkin multiplied, forming clans that took control of land.

Back then, they weren’t called piggies—they were feared and known as orcs.

But that was a story of the past.

As civilization spread and nations expanded their rule, the crude, clan-based governance of pig beastkin crumbled. Since their numbers were their biggest strength, they were given two choices: resist and die or surrender and be humiliated.

It was a familiar story. The grander the history, the harder the fall.

Pig beastkin were pushed to the bottom of society, forced to wear the derogatory label “piggies” like a brand on their backs.

Gluta folded his arms and let out a snort.

“They were quietly growing in numbers for years. Then, a few years ago, they began moving in earnest. At first, they called for better treatment for pig beastkin, and everyone in Ende could understand that. But then... they started demanding pig beastkin be placed in high-ranking positions. They wanted people to stop eating pork entirely.

Now, they’re not just targeting butchers—they’re attacking the people eating it, too.”

“What a bunch of lunatics. But your place hasn’t been targeted?”

“They tried. I turned their faces into head cheese.”

...Judging by his rock-solid muscles and thick, calloused hands, I had no reason to doubt him.

“Since they can’t take me on directly, they’ve started attacking my customers instead. They follow them home and stab them after they’ve eaten here. But there’s nothing I can do about ambushes that happen outside my restaurant.”

“So it is your fault, in a way.”

“I lost customers. My suppliers suffered. The damage was too great, so I reluctantly considered switching to beef. But revamping the entire supply chain, recipes, and cost structure was impossible.

So I pretended to give in.

I claimed I switched to beef, changed the menu board, and carried on. It worked... for a while.”

“But then Orcarmada found out. And I became their example.”

“That seems to be the case. You weren’t actually injured, but that doesn’t matter to them. They just wanted the act of stabbing you to be known.”

That made sense. The pig beastkin who attacked me had been careless. And he hadn’t aimed for anything vital.

He wasn’t trying to kill me. He was trying to make a statement.

Orcarmada.

For a so-called underground group, their actions were rather petty.

Petty things could be important, but this wasn’t enough to attract the Regressor’s attention.

They were too busy obsessing over the Wolf King to even care about a bunch of pigs playing activist.

A group of pig beastkin trying to ban pork—the irony made me chuckle.

And just as I was mulling over that contradiction, my eyes landed on Gluta’s horns.

“Wait a second. You’re a cow beastkin, right?”

“You see correctly.”

“Then why were you selling beef soup?”

“There are many reasons.

First, if pork is out of the question, beef is the next best choice for soup.

Second, it seems more acceptable for a cow beastkin to sell beef.”

...Ah. So he was saying, It’s fine as long as I’m the one selling it.

I understood the sentiment.

But that wasn’t what I wanted to ask.

“Gluta. Do you feel no discomfort selling beef?”

If pig beastkin rejected pork, then wouldn’t the same logic apply to cow beastkin and beef?

Gluta let ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) out a long, heavy sigh. So deep that his lips trembled from the breath.

“...I won’t say I don’t.”

“So you do have an issue with it?”

“But I still sold it.”

Gluta’s expression was calm, but his voice carried weight.

“My restaurant, my customers, and my pride come first.

If the price was manageable, I would have switched to beef. That’s the truth.”

It was an honest statement.

But unlike his earlier words, there was hesitation behind it.

“...Still, when I realized beef soup wasn’t financially viable...

I felt relieved.

That, too, is the truth.”

*“When I chop off horns just like mine, placing them into a pot... When I slice through the tender meat of a cow’s head after it’s been boiled soft...

A queasy feeling lingers on my hands.

But most of all—when I take a bite....”*

Gluta’s body gave a slight shudder.

His expression grew complicated as he muttered:

“So while I despise the piggies... as a fellow beastkin, I can understand their anger.

To some extent.”

Through both our conversation and my mind-reading, I could tell—

I wasn’t feeling sympathy for Gluta.

Nor was I conflicted about his situation.

What I felt was rage.

But my anger wasn’t directed at Gluta.

It was directed at something else.

That damn military state.

They had numbed my senses to the point that I couldn’t even tell the difference between pork and beef.

And they’d forced me to live off nothing but beans.

What a joke.