“I still don’t understand how that happened. I’ve seen you walk through a poison cloud that could knock out a level one hundred and something legend.”

Nerick asked him the question as he continuously and vigorously cleaned himself and his old clothes. The stains may have come out, but they’d haunt his memories forever.

“I mean, it depends, right? I can hold my breath for a while, but stronger stuff will get to me eventually with enough exposure. How much did I drink?”

“Half a barrel, Chef. You drank half a barrel in a day. At one point you even started licking the wood grain because, and I quote, ‘the flavor was leaking out.’”

The response was immediate and filled with emotion. Whatever the man had seen was still haunting him, meaning the topic of conversation should probably change. Assuming, of course, Chef was in the mood to be considerate.

Wringing out his clothing for the hundredth time, he decided he wasn’t.

“Didn’t I poison the outside of the barrel? Maybe that’s what did me in and not the alcohol. Maybe I should—"

“No! You promised me, Chef!”

The goblin rolled his eyes, turning towards the man.

“Joking! I was just joking.”

It seemed like the journey had taken all of the humor out of both of them. Considering the seriousness of their impending meeting, a more somber atmosphere may end up serving them well.

“You sure you don’t want to get some sleep first?”

His companion nodded at him, still several shades paler than usual.

“Then at least eat something. You’re going to bring the whole mood down looking like that.”

The man grimaced in pain, but whether it was mental or physical was unknown. Perhaps even Nerick didn’t know the truth of that particular mystery. The separation between the physical and metaphysical was as profound a topic as any that a goblin could delve into, and yet the great mystery refused to yield without considerable effort. That or he didn’t actually care all that much.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He squeezed soapy water out of his clothes for the hundred and first time, a sigh escaping his lips. He’d never been so happy for the Wash Dishes spell as he was at this exact moment. It was a good thing that he could so easily consider attire to be a plate. It must have been all that eating and storing on furs he did back in his little cave on a hill.

With a little application of Rise and Set Temperature, both he and his clothes were dry and warm, providing some much needed comfort in these trying times.

“Alright, let’s check out this meeting place, then.”

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

A ruin, as it turned out, was just a bunch of old stones covered in greenery. People talked it up so much that he’d expected something more, but no. Sure there were some neat looking stones around with carvings and stuff in them, but it was otherwise empty.

Looking up past the leaves, Chef took in the position of the sun in an attempt to tell the time. Seeing a lot of tree branches and zero blazing orbs in the sky, he instead sighed, immediately giving up.

“What should we eat? Pie?”

His faithful companion looked at him with a face of disgust and horror as Chef came to a similar conclusion.

“No, you’re right. Without an oven, the product would be mediocre and give a bad first impression. Something pan fried then? Honey crusted ham could be good. Alright, let me know when you see people, buddy; I’m entering cooking mode.”

The human shuddered at the sight of the opening pantry, making distance between them as quickly as he could.

Chef hadn’t looked in his pantry since his drunken stupor, and now he saw for himself just how ‘productive’ it had been. For one, there was an entire row of pulsing pastries. He must have achieved some manner of breakthrough because they were each a different color, and some even seemed to be constantly producing a similarly shaded liquid.

He was really looking forward to taste testing them, but that could wait until after the sensitive humans were no longer around. No need to scar them any more than he already had.

Chef got back to work, retrieving a pan, boar meat, and flour from the pantry while summoning the rest of the ingredients needed for this particular recipe. It was an old favorite of his, really just an improved version of what he’d cooked the shiny guy into months ago. Perhaps nostalgia was the best spice of all, as the comparatively simple recipe was the tastiest he’d had in days. That or greasy food after a two-day bender was just incredibly satisfying.

A hand gripped his shoulder firmly as a familiar voice pulled him away from his sixth cutlet in a row.

“They’re here, Chef. Be on your guard; this may be a trap.”

The goblin pulled himself from his cooking long enough to look over in confusion. After all, who would possibly care enough to go to all this effort just to set a trap for some goblin?

And there, walking out of the woods on the other side of the stone ruins were two men, one of whom he recognized. The man wearing fancy clothes and way too much jewelry spoke quietly, but Chef made out each word as though they were standing right next to each other.

“Goblin Chef, we meet again.”

The baron came to pay him a visit.