The Royal Palace kitchen. A place of sharp knives and simmering pots, not exactly a Champion Swordsman's natural habitat. Yet, here he was. After being pulled from the heat of battle, Harlan leaned against a wall, enjoying a rare moment of peace. A Throne Attendant had just delivered a message that his services wouldn't be needed on the battlefield for the foreseeable future. His new mission? To serve as personal guard to his master.
Harlan was a bit surprised by King Nowick's command, but he didn't question it. A king's orders are never without a purpose; he just had to wait for it to reveal itself. Right now, he was focused on the rather strange purpose in front of him: his sworn master, Blazkowicz, was meticulously deboning and skinning a freshly slain Orc, preparing it for a culinary adventure.
Harlan was a man of focus, a master of warfare. Blazkowicz, it seemed, was a master of a different kind of combat—that of the chopping block. Harlan couldn't help but be impressed by his incredible control. The knife in Blazkowicz's hand didn't tremble as he separated marbled fat from lean muscle into slices as thin as a cicada's wing. It was almost hypnotic.
"Care for a taste?" Blazkowicz asked, taking a sip of thick soup made from an Orc head. He showed an expression of pure bliss. On Argent Nur, consuming intelligent species presented no moral obstacles. It was a dark, distant memory of a past empire that had once wiped out an entire alien race just because they were "delicious."
As Blazkowicz's sworn guard, Harlan had a close relationship with the royals, and being a free spirit himself, he was game to try the taste of Orc. The clear soup hit his tongue, and his eyes widened in surprise. It was fantastic. A hint of salt was all it took to bring out the natural umami sweetness of the meat, mingling with the earthy mushroom flavor for a unique, captivating aroma.
"Try this too," Blazkowicz said, rolling up a piece of translucent belly meat, dipping it in sauce, and offering it to Harlan. He took it in one bite. The chilled fat melted on his tongue, mixing with the tender meat, a symphony of flavor that was completely unexpected. Harlan closed his eyes, giving his master a thumbs-up. He thought to himself that if this guy didn't become a warrior, he could definitely conquer kingdoms as a chef.
Blazkowicz, seeing Harlan's pure enjoyment, couldn't resist either. He rolled up a piece of the raw belly meat and popped it in his mouth.
His face changed instantly. He began to tremble violently, covering his throat and spitting the meat out. Blazkowicz braced himself on the chopping block, shaking his head to stay conscious. Harlan, his face grim, quickly spat out his own piece, assuming it was a poison. He placed a hand on Blazkowicz's chest, checking his vitals and preparing to call for a medic. If anything happened to his Oath-Master less than two hours into his new job, it would be an unerasable disgrace.
"Harlan Ogilvy!" Blazkowicz managed to say, raising a hand to stop him. He was a lot steadier now. "Three days ago, did you kick an Orc with your left foot and knock it out with a Guard's spear?"
Harlan, ever the obedient guard, didn't question the bizarre query. He quickly recalled the memory, confirming it matched the description. "Yes!" he replied with certainty, even reenacting the motion.
With that confirmation, Blazkowicz waved his hand, a radiant smile returning to his face. "I seem to have a unique ability," he said. "By consuming flesh, I can absorb the memories of the consumed."
Harlan didn't ask about the divine magic behind it. Everyone had their secrets. Instead, he simply asked if it caused a physical strain. Blazkowicz smiled brightly, pointing to his head. "It was just a stress reaction from my brain receiving external information for the first time. It won't happen again." To prove his point, he picked up a large chunk of unprocessed Orc meat and began to chew, swallowing without any of the previous reaction.
"Your Highness," Harlan said, once he was sure his master was fine, his tone unusually serious. "That kind of talent is very dangerous."
"Why?" Blazkowicz asked, puzzled. It seemed like a powerful advantage on the battlefield.
"I'm not referring to the battlefield," Harlan said, shaking his head. "You should be able to guess."
"Comrades," Blazkowicz said, his smile fading as the chilling implication hit him. Everyone has secrets, a little darkness they keep to themselves. Knowing someone could see that just by eating their flesh would create an insurmountable wall between them.
"I will keep this secret," Harlan said solemnly. "I hope you can do the same. Never reveal it, and use it only sparingly."
Blazkowicz nodded gravely, taking in the champion's wisdom. Harlan was known as "The Duelist" for a reason. He had served the Sentinels for decades, and every opponent he faced had perished while he was still standing.
"Also," Harlan added, "try to use this ability as little as possible. Receiving too many memories from others will inevitably taint your own spirit. As a warrior, if you find yourself with conflicting thoughts right before you draw your sword, it could shatter your focus and make you vulnerable."
Blazkowicz promised to remember his teachings, realizing he was getting an invaluable lesson from a true master of war.
Their lively chat was interrupted by a court maid. "Your Highness," she said, "Queen Elise asks you to see her, to bid farewell to King Nowick together."
"So soon?" Blazkowicz asked in surprise. He had thought his father would stay a little longer.
"You don't know the extent of the battlefield's chaos," Harlan said. As the Orcs scattered, they were also regrouping and growing stronger. The army was deployed for a full encirclement, and someone had to be present to command them.
Blazkowicz's sudden arrival had annihilated the Orc's leadership, but millions of greenskins were still out there, and leaving them unchecked would be disastrous. It was a great helplessness to have such an elite force engaged in a seemingly endless war of attrition.
At the Gate of Conquest, Blazkowicz, his mother, and his second elder brother, Flano Novick, stood with the crowd to say their goodbyes.
"Where's big brother?" Blazkowicz whispered to Flano.
"He's going crazy with work," Flano whispered back. "The logistics for all the troops are entirely on his shoulders."
Before he could ask for details, Queen Elise shushed her sons. In front of the sacred Gate of Conquest, where many warriors would depart never to return, silence was a sign of respect.
King Nowick stopped in front of Blazkowicz. He scooped up his bewildered son, whispering in his ear, "You must become strong. Become strong quickly. We don't have much time left!"
He put his son down, his eyes filled with a worry Blazkowicz had never seen before. Watching the expeditionary force march away, Blazkowicz clenched his fists, his mind racing with new, uncertain thoughts.