They returned not too late, several large bags slung over Bulkathos's shoulders, while Jill carried a small plastic one.
The big bags held ingredients and spices Bulkathos bought; Jill's contained cheap snacks and a large jug of milk.
The boy's maturity tugged at the heart.
The Ancient One, at the smithy's door, watched the pair, wondering.
Did Bulkathos have money?
In this world's currency, he had some—not much.
But in sheer wealth, even Wakanda's riches couldn't match his.
Gold coins, countless beyond digits, meant nothing to him.
Wakanda's vibranium?
Its weapons were remarkable, but Bulkathos could craft a wristguard slightly better than a "toy" to match Black Panther's prized armor.
Having seen him face Death head-on—her hand still sat on his nightstand—who could challenge such power?
Those who'd witnessed it would choose to placate and avoid him.
"But how to stop those brainless fools?"
The Ancient One fretted.
Like her own overreach, many were blinded by potential gain.
"Alright, Jill, put the stuff in the fridge and do what you want inside."
Bulkathos waved to the Ancient One in greeting.
As Jill darted upstairs, Bulkathos said to her, "This kid's as good as any parent could hope, but the cost was too heavy."
Her words turned him sentimental.
In his world, countless children watched demons carve their parents, their flesh devoured.
Back then, he'd slay the demon without a flinch and hunt the next.
Maybe his only thought was killing demons, or he never pondered it.
Now idle, reflecting, he felt a deep ache.
"You've prepared his gift, right? Can I know what it is?"
After days of eased tensions, they understood each other better.
Bulkathos smirked mysteriously, silent.
He knew Jill was eavesdropping from the stairway.
He slipped a small ruby to the Ancient One. With his nod, she viewed it mentally.
"Your world has such creatures? Incredible."
She saw Bulkathos's memory of the Cow Level—abyssal demon cows, warped by demonic aura, shocked her with their ferocity.
When he fed Heaven's spring water to a surviving cow, restoring its original form with retained thought, she was stunned.
She couldn't fathom eating a species that spoke like humans.
"You're overthinking!"
Bulkathos shook his head. Would he chat with a cow one moment and roast it the next?
That demon cow's offspring were dumber than regular cows, useless for work, only good for rapid breeding and tasty meat.
Recalling Jill's talk of milk, Bulkathos thought of those odd creatures.
Harrogath once raised them, but Malthael's arrival turned all life to ash.
Nothing remained.
But Bulkathos had plenty of Heaven's spring water, often fetched for brewing, despite clashing with the reckless angel Imperius.
If it restored demon cows, it'd work on normal ones.
As for intelligence, no chance of boosting that.
If it could, that fool Courage wouldn't have been battered by Diablo.
"I'll bring you a cow, but how will you raise it?"
The Ancient One eyed the secretive Bulkathos, curious.
"Raise it? Tie it in a big space, feed it grass, keep it alive. Simple."
Bulkathos knew nothing of husbandry. Even on Harrogath, he was raised a warrior, not a farmer.
"I'll have my apprentices keep it at the New York Sanctum. There's space, and they're not busy."
The Ancient One sold out her apprentices' labor, eager to try the miraculous milk.
Per Bulkathos, it strengthened newborn barbarian children.
Knowing their raw physicality, she was intrigued.
"Jill will grow tall soon."
Smiling, the Ancient One sat on the bench outside the smithy.
Before Jill, Bulkathos would sit here, staring at the sky when idle.
No stuffy indoor heat, just a cool breeze—comfortable.
"You're cooking your specialty here?"
She asked, genuinely curious.
Any thinking being has curiosity.
"No, I'm taking you to Harrogath for a feast."
Though all life on the Holy Mountain perished, the resources buried in snow remained.
Death took lives, not preserved ingredients—else Malthael would be the Archangel of Vanishing.
(End of Chapter)