“You really can’t do that.”

The guard chastised him for the hundredth time. Chef just responded the exact same way as the first time.

“What are you gonna do? Arrest me?”

The guard outside of his cell let out a pained groan as Chef continued to cook up delicious foods with his self-heated pan. He’d discovered something interesting today. Namely that some of his spells served duplicate functions once they got strong enough. In particular, he no longer needed to summon a fire to heat his pans on, he could just directly heat them with his magic. It just cost more mana that way. There were sure to be more applications just like it, but now wasn’t the most important time for that. After all, he was awaiting his execution.

Allegedly.

His new guard friend had assured him that his reputation had grown rather quickly in town, and that many people would be desperate to hire and make use of his skills for profit.

None of that really mattered to Chef, but the people who’d want his abilities would have presumably already hired other cooks of similar skill. Surely one of them knew how to make butter, right?

So, in the meantime, he’d just hang out here and make his food until someone came along to hire him. Or he’d just have to use his poison bombs to kill everybody again. He made some extras before getting arrested just in case. Opening his pantry to grab more boat meat he considered whether or not it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

An entire sack of poison bombs led him to the conclusion that no, you probably can’t.

“Fine, you win. Make your food, but you have to give us some. I’m starving over here.”

The first time the faceless guard had made that recommendation, the man next to him gave him a firm smack and shared some choice words about loyalty. Chef wasn’t sure what that word meant. It kept being used in context that was closest to the goblin word that roughly meant ‘fear that you will become emergency food,’ but it had some subtle differences.

Namely the lack of fear in the people using the word. What a weird language, human speak.

Anyways, this time his buddy just looked away ashamed. All according to plan. Sort of.

Chef fried up some pork sandwiches, adding on some cheese and fried vegetables before handing them through the bars. The process left only his feet inside the cell as he leaned out to make sure they each got one.

“Go on then. Tell me what you think.”

The two men got uncomfortable every time he did that. Maybe it was because he was way higher leveled than them. Maybe it was because this cage transparently couldn’t hold him on account of his being really small. Or maybe it was because they still hadn’t decided whether or not to eat the food.

The last two times he’d done this, the other guard had thrown the food back at him. Obviously, Chef would kill that one first. Anybody that wasted food was an enemy to life itself. Unlike him. He was a friend to food lovers everywhere, truly the most upstanding of all goblins.

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But this time, both men begrudgingly, and with great shame, took a bite of their sandwich. Based on their reactions, it was a successful design. Chef had realized that the whole oven pie thing wasn’t possible in a cell. Mainly on account of the no oven thing. While there was plenty of room for him to just pull out a pan and heat it, ovens required a certain amount of space at minimum. And space was the one thing he had very little of right now.

But he did have an absolute fuckload of flour and fierce hunger for bread, the carb king. And while he could have tried to make a teeny tiny oven using his magic and the bricks in his pantry, his cell had no windows.

Chef really didn’t feel like smoking himself out again. Not after last time.

A shiver went through the goblin as he continued to make stovetop bread. It wasn’t as good as the real stuff, but it was quick and easy. Based on how those two were reacting to it, it was still probably better than what most humans could make.

Tasting one for himself, Chef had to admit that it was quite good. Word of his prison sandwiches was sure to spread, causing him to become the greatest jailed cook of all time! All according to plan!

It was at that moment that Chef realized he’d forgotten something of some importance.

Wait, what was the plan again?

----------------------------------------

Nerick had absolutely no confidence. Well, that wasn’t precisely true. There were things he was good at, after all, or he’d never have gotten the job he had. Regardless, he was becoming increasingly nervous about the plan he came up with. Hence the rapidly decreasing confidence.

It started when he heard that a request had been posted at the guild to kill the goblin chef. Fortunately for them though, the people who most frequently leave and re-enter the city were adventurers. So, asking the people benefiting the most from the goblin’s business to go out and kill it wasn’t terribly smart.

Everyone who took the mission came back unsuccessful and mysteriously well fed.

His improved mood was tempered almost immediately when the baron sent his best guards for the arrest. They informed everyone present that the goblin was charged with illegal operation of a business, insubordination, assault, and treason. There was some slight murmuring at the time and for good reason. How could somebody that wasn’t a citizen commit treason, exactly? But then they said it was sentenced to execution, changing the mood of the crowd immediately. The field became very quiet at that. Or at least it should have.

“What’s an execution? Can I eat it?”

The guard captain responded without a hint of mirth.

“No, it means you are to be killed.”

The baron’s personal guards were retired adventurers, each around level one hundred. The captain was said to be even stronger than that. And yet.

“Then I’ll pass. I’d rather not die until I’ve eaten better food, thank you.”

And yet the resulting fight was nothing short of embarrassing. Admittedly, the goblin seemed to be trying harder this time around, but it continued to not really fight back against any of them.

It was frightening, honestly. Just how strong was this tiny terror that he’d chosen to conspire with? Granted, the guards were geared and skilled primarily for defense due to their chosen occupation, but they were still faster than any person Nerick had ever seen.

Just not faster than Goblin Chef.

When it had taken each of their weapons from them and promised to return them only if they stopped trying to kill it, they finally gave up.

“You’re under arrest pending your execution.”

At least that’s what they should have done.

“Oh, ok that’s fine.”

But then the goblin just threw all its belongings into a magically appearing door before following the very surprised guards. Nerick was so stunned that he nearly missed the thumbs up the small monster threw his way as it left.

I am so out of my element here.

This wasn’t how he expected things to go at all. Granted, the goblin managed to get arrested which was good news in a way, but he was sentenced to death! How was he supposed to get the green monster hired now?

At this point, he was just hoping that things somehow worked out.