I have an open ability slot under my Cook profession.

I am currently starving and spell-sick, and need to remedy those statuses as quickly as possible. Verkremond the Slayer is not being helpful.

So far as I can tell, the limitations of magic seem to be 'whatever the caster believes to be true, as long as it roughly adheres to the rules of the universe, whatever the heck those are'.

What do I believe about a magical cook profession that can help me out of my current predicament?

Salt isn't the only thing a cook needs. I believe that things like fire, ingredients, appliances, cookbooks, and internet access are also key components of a successful cooking venture. But what can I do with those beliefs to fill my precious single open spell slot?

I wouldn't put it past the system to do something spiteful if I try something too big, like 'online lookup' so I'll save that for when I'm in a less dire situation.

What I need is a simple, obviously food-related power, which also coincidentally can get me out of this whole mess.

Nothing comes to mind.

I feel like it should, like I ought to be able to whip out some unbelievably simple and obvious cheat to make maximum advantage of this opportunity. Summon hot oil, or the ability to make fire on demand... but when profession spells refuse to work in combat situations it really limits their utility.

I really have three problems here: low level and lack of proper combat spells, starving to death, and captive to this slayer guy.

My main advantage is that he doesn't know my limitations - or strengths. I can heal myself fully as soon as my spell slots unbind, and he thinks that kind of thing is impossible.

Problem is, that's kind of a one-off. Once I let that bat out of the crag, there's no stuffing it back in. He'll adapt accordingly, demand more of me, and plan around my power in future attempts to restrain me.

Which means the only way out is to kill him. No witness to my miraculous healing power, no future threat hunting me down.

I'm really getting tired of lying here, injured, with nothing to do but think. It makes me grouchy. I want to be away from here. I want to get my knife back before the quest expires.

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Stupid system and its stupid lack of information!

I somehow survive the next interminable amount of time, and finally something interesting happens.

Someone else walks in.

"Hey, Verk, your mom wants you to take out the pigs," the newcomer says, gesturing with his head toward the hall outside. "She seemed pretty tetchy about it."

Verkremond scowls. "Mard, I told you to stay out of my room."

"What'cha got there?" Mard leans around Verkremond to stare at me, eyes widening in dramatic shock. "A healer?!" his voice drops. "Verk, you found another healer?!"

"Yes, shush. I'll be back once I take care of the pigs. Be sure it doesn't escape while I'm gone." He hands his spear to the newcomer and hurries outside.

Mard walks closer, holding the spear in an untrained defencive stance, and his name appears in my mind. Mardendor the Slayer.

Unlike Verkremond, Mardendor's eyebrows look largely normal, only encroaching a little bit on his upper cheeks, and his hair is short and black. He wears the same kind of patchy armor, but his is clearly in more disrepair than Verk's. If I had to guess, Verkremond is probably in his early twenties, while Mard can't be much more than sixteen.

"Hello, Nameless," he says, lowering his voice half an octave in an obvious attempt to sound more mature than he is. "Welcome to the team."

"My faith in your 'team' is dropping by the second. And I still haven't had breakfast."

"Oh. Oh! I'll send for Kevin. Don't move." He glares at me a second, as though to intimidate me into obedience, then steps outside. "Kevin! Get some soup over here!"

He's back before I can exploit his absence. Not that there's much I could have done - until my injuries are healed, anything dramatic would only cause more damage. And I do prefer my body to generally remain as undamaged as possible.

"Kevin's our other healer," Mardendor explains. "Why are you called Nameless?"

"Probably a glitch in the system, since I'm not from around here."

"Do you have a name?"

"Nameless works fine. Gives me a kind of mystique, don't you think?"

"It makes you sound weak. If you haven't been given a name, your parents were weak, and if you haven't earned one, you're carrying on their legacy of failure."

"Ouch," I say, with zero sincerity. "Way to hit where it hurts, there, Berk."

"Mard. Verk is my cousin."

"I know."

Mard stares at me for a moment uncertainly, while I smile innocently.

Then Kevin enters. He's even younger than Mard, probably barely thirteen, and walks very slowly. He carries a full bowl of soup in both hands while watching it carefully. When he reaches me, he shoots a worried look at Mard, who nods, and Kevin presents the bowl to me.

"Thanks." I take the bowl and start drinking it down, the warm thick broth tasting better than anything I've ever eaten in my entire life.

I do wish I had some of Mom's fluffy biscuits to go with it, especially as I get to the heartier center of the soup which is closer to a stew.

None of the flavors are quite right and it doesn't match up to anything I've eaten in the past, but it's amazing anyway.

I hand the empty bowl back to Kevin, but take his arm as he leans forward to take it.

"Are you from Earth too, or is your name a coincidence?" I whisper in his ear.

He lets out a tiny gasp, stares at me with fear in his eyes, then turns and runs out of the room.

Interesting.

I lean back, my stomach full and pain still numbed, and smile.

"I think I'm going to sleep now. Tell Verk to be quiet when he comes back, won't you?"

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