Chapter 60

Orion

Day 46, Day 6 on the Road

Kronfeldt

The revelation hit me like a train: the humans of this world were devout followers of a faith dedicated to the Magebane—a religion they called Erandorism, or the Church of the Liberator. In the dim confines of my inn room, I found the air thick with the scent of old wood and unspoken fears.

Still drowsy and fighting a hangover, James lay back on the mattress to get another hour of sleep, lost in dreams and oblivious to the storm brewing in my mind. While he napped, I turned to the former slaves, determined to unravel the mystery of this unfamiliar religion.

"What is the Magebane?" I asked Ulf, the weathered elder and former slave.

“He is the Great Emancipator,” Ulf declared, his voice rising with the conviction of a man who had staked his very soul on this belief. “He will come to us, sent by the Void to shatter our chains and free us from the Masters.”

“Why do you call him the Magebane?” I pressed, striving to keep my voice even, concealing the panic that bubbled beneath the surface.

“Our collars are bound by the Void itself; thus, he is granted by the Void to redeem us. He is the bane of the mages who keep us chained.”

I just didn’t understand. I didn’t understand why this had to happen. We needed to return to Thornhill; I had to witness it firsthand. My brother wasn’t a savior; he was just a kid caught in a crappy situation. Why are you making him go through this? I don’t understand!

“Master Orion, are you quite alright?” Wulfric’s voice quivered. “You seem… angry with us.”

With a deep exhalation, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to quiet the turmoil inside. I needed a clear mind to navigate this tangled web.

The only path forward was to protect Cass. We needed to build Thornhill into an impenetrable fortress, with strong Holders guarding it. It would take years for us to be ready. We just didn’t have time to prepare for them. They would find out about Thornhill, eventually. My mind flickered through scenarios of how we could survive.

The door creaked open, and instinctively, I grasped the hilt of my dagger, reaching for my cat mask to shield my face from the world. Sophie emerged, her white fox mask glinting in the morning light, closely followed by Edith, another former slave. The two were bedmates in the room next door.

“Morning! How are my student-athletes faring today?” Sophie chirped, her cheer juxtaposing the weight of my thoughts. “What’s bothering you, Orion?”

“Nothing,” I replied curtly, donning my mask as I stepped into the day. Shopping awaited me—or perhaps a plan to ascend to level 10. The world outside was full of possibilities, and I had little time to waste.

“I have a gig for you, Orion. How will you thank me for such a favor I wonder?”

“I’ll be busy today,” I replied, attempting to brush her off.

“You’ll like it. I’m heading to a dinner party. I boasted about having a master Cook slave to the sisters at the bordello, and they want me to provide some of the food.”

“Eh… I think I’ll avoid any bordellos for now. Thanks for the offer, though,” I said, stepping toward the door, but Sophie lingered on the threshold.

“Think carefully, Orion. The bordello has a fully equipped kitchen with plenty of expensive and rare ingredients,” she teased, a playful smile creeping across her face.

With a sigh, I asked, “When and what do I have to do?”

“Be at the bordello a few hours before dinner. I’ll present Edith here as my cook while you handle the actual cooking. Wulfric and Ulf can assist you. I really need to make a good impression with these nobles,” she said, nonchalantly inspecting her fingernails as if she were discussing the weather.

“I’ll see if I can make it,” I replied, already feeling the pressure of obligation settle upon my shoulders.

“Orion, you need the levels. Thornhill needs this too,” Sophie struck at the heart of what I truly desired. She had a way of constantly dangling what people wanted and exploiting it to make them do as she wished.

And for all that she was right, I hated dancing to her tune. I couldn’t deny that I needed this to reach level 10.

After leaving the inn, the next stop was the food stall. Slink, the former owner now managing McOrion’s, was taking orders for fresh-ground meat, a box of onions at his feet. I sliced them into thin strands for the burgers and showed him how to make the secret sauce. Just then, Nax and Fleetpaw appeared, joined by another cat—brown-furred, a foot taller and a bit older than Fleetpaw—who quickly slipped into the flow of work. With Slink keeping the stall running, I turned my thoughts to the Guild districts, where a few necessary purchases awaited.

Now, my coin purse stood at:

* 5 First mints

* 8 Second mints

* 41 Third mints

Venturing further into the heart of the city, just before the industrial district near the North Gates, various guild offices, shops, and smithies lay crafting the ore and supplies hauled in by ships or trade caravans. A weaver’s shop was wedged between a leatherworker’s den and a spinning house that served as an outlet for finished goods produced by both trades. The sign, written in Lokan script, faintly read The Rustic Thread, accompanied by a painted thread and needle.

Inside, earth-toned garments were neatly piled in cubby holes like books, while tunics and trousers hung from long wooden racks, secured with bamboo clothing pins. The weaver’s shop offered a modest selection of practical socks and gloves, unpretentious and sturdy. After a brief consideration, a lone leather boot—dark as midnight and crafted from sturdy elkskin—caught the eye, along with a coarse hemp travel bag. The total came to about twenty Third mints.

The shopkeeper—a shrew with fur slightly darker than the jeweler who’d bought my gems—bore a striking resemblance to him. I held back from asking if they were related, not wanting to offend. Perhaps sensing my hesitation on the purchase, the shopkeeper suggested paying with two Seconds instead of multiple Thirds, but the thought gave me pause. Seconds had been climbing in value lately; rumor had it they were now worth nearly twelve Thirds each.

What was interesting about the clothes was that none of them had affixes. They were all just plain clothes, with no extra buffs. When I asked the shopkeeper if they carried anything with special qualities, he responded enthusiastically, as if letting me in on a secret.

“Well… I do have one item that might interest you,” said the shopkeeper. “I must warn you, though, it’s quite pricey.”

The shrew led me to a wooden mannequin—a showpiece displayed in its own spotlighted section at the back. Carved in the shape of a beastkin cat, it was draped in a black cloak that flowed from its shoulders like silken hair, woven as if from the shade of a moonlit waterfall.

Cloak of Shadow - C

In darkness, you are harder to detect by both magic and the physical eye.

It would pair perfectly with my Shadow Walk, making me nearly invisible—even to magical scrying. I needed it.

“How much?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.

“I can part with it for… seven Firsts,” the shrew replied.

“I’ve only got five.”

Trading in some Seconds would technically bring me close to six Firsts, but that still left a gap and nothing left over for other needs.

"Seven is as low as I can go," he said, shaking his head. "This cloak’s one of a kind."

With a resigned sigh, I knew I’d have to approach Sophie for the funds.

After gathering the last of my purchases, I made my way to the Crafter’s shop just a block down. The air was thick with the scent of sawdust and iron. Inside, a brown frog was hunched over in one corner, tinkering with a bear trap device. His nimble fingers danced among a chaotic array of gears and scrap metal, while the rhythmic clink of tools punctuated the quiet.

Nearby, a gray fox worked diligently at a vice, shaping wood with precise movements. A stack of carpenter’s tables stood in disarray, cluttered with half-finished projects and tools that gleamed dully under the soft light filtering through the dusty windows.

I approached the fox and placed an order for a guitar. The price was four Second mints. He nodded, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, as he explained that it would be ready by tomorrow. The body and strings, originally crafted for a lute, had been set aside for a bard who failed to deliver payment. Modifying them into a guitar would be a simple task for his skilled hands, and I could almost see the melody waiting to be born from the wood.

With that settled, I returned to the food stall, diving into the lunch rush alongside Slink and the others, hoping to inch closer to level 10 in my Cook class. The line had thinned since my last shift, but soon picked up, keeping me busy well past noon.

Two hours later, I headed to the bordello, gearing up for the dinner event Sophie had orchestrated. As I climbed the hills toward the posh district, where elegant stone buildings reached for the sky, I stepped through the grand wooden doors adorned with a flowering lotus carved into the keystone. Inside was a plush and well-lit room, where purple carpets lay over ebony hardwood floors, and the sunlight poured in through iron-framed windows.

In the main lobby, guests draped in fine silks and sparkling jewelry mingled, wine glasses filled with clear liquid held delicately in their hands. Two boar guards stood like sentinels, and a pig with strawberry curls in a black corset greeted me.

“Welcome to the Silk Rose. Unfortunately, today is a reservation-only event. Unless you have a recommendation, we are unable to serve unreserved guests,” the pig said with a touch of condescension.

“Oh… it’s Clark,” an unfamiliar voice interjected. “Please, he’s my guest. Part of the cooks I brought to the party.”

The figure who stepped forward wore Sophie’s white fox mask, but her voice was different, her Lokan perfectly unaccented. I played along, knowing Sophie had likely set up a decoy.

“Follow me, Clark,” the faux White Fox instructed her voice a smooth veil over the clamor of the bustling lobby of the bordello.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

She guided me through a finely carved wooden door into a kitchen that rivaled the grandest of halls. The cool granite tiles beneath my feet contrasted with the heat emanating from the array of fire pits at the center. Enormous pots simmered with rich, fragrant stocks, while geese and rabbits rotated slowly on spits, their savory aroma enveloping me. Flatbreads bubbled and browned on thick, black iron griddles. At the far end stood five stone hearth ovens, their glowing fires casting flickering shadows. To my right, a narrow stairway descended, leading to a well-stocked pantry and a wine cellar that promised hidden treasures.

I quickly realized I was not alone. Three other teams of chefs labored alongside me, each vying to showcase their culinary prowess to the wealthy patrons currently mingling in the hall. I still struggled to acclimate to the sight of other Humans in slave collars, some of them working under the direction of Beastkin chefs, their expressions blank as they engaged in mindless preparation. I forced myself to look away; I couldn’t solve every problem in this town.

In a nearby section, Sophie—now adorned in a bunny mask—was deep in conversation with the three former slaves who had their own designated area. The White Fox led me to their side and announced, “Lois, another one of your workers has arrived. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to mingling with the guests.”

Sophie stepped closer to her decoy wearing the White Fox mask, her voice low as she whispered, “In public, you shouldn’t treat me with such deference. I work for you, remember?”

With a playful bow, Sophie added sheepishly, “As you wish, Master White Fox.”

“Drawing that much attention already, huh?” I quipped, switching to English.

“You don’t anger the banks and lenders of this town without inviting a few daggers to your back,” Sophie sighed, her eyes scanning the room. “Anyway, the other teams have taken most of the good ingredients. Truffles, saffron, caviar—all the giant lobsters and abalone. You are late, mister.”

She tapped my chest with a teasing finger, like a teacher lecturing a student.

“Does it really matter?” I asked, moving toward the cellar to see what remained.

“Yes, it does. This is a mini potluck, if you will, where the hosts will each serve an offering to our thirty distinguished guests. It’s a matter of pride that your servant excels in culinary skill.”

“Again… does it matter?” I countered, grabbing some wild mushrooms. I spotted a tenderloin I initially thought was beef, only to discover it was venison, which Sophie’s helpers eagerly carried over to our station.

To my surprise, the pantry featured an aquarium filled with fish and shellfish, where helpers balanced on stools, reaching in with nets to catch the wriggling creatures. With a swift, practiced motion, they stunned them with a sharp thwack from the back of their cleavers.

Among the pantry’s treasures, I discovered a cellar door leading to an icehouse stocked with rare ingredients. Puff pastry caught my eye, and I quickly added it to my collection.

“The White Fox has a reputation to uphold. If you can impress them, I can attract more business, and the elites of this town will want to be part of the White Fox’s network,” Sophie continued.

“So you’re going to profit from this?” I asked, grabbing some ham and eggs from the cellar.

“As always,” Sophie replied proudly.

“Pay me two Firsts,” I said, my gaze steady on her.

“You’re helping Thornhill, and… please, this job isn’t worth two Firsts.” Sophie crossed her arms, her resolve as firm as iron.

“Sophie,” I said, keeping my tone calm. I didn’t want this to turn into a drawn-out argument. “I really need those two Firsts.”

She sighed, shaking her head with a knowing smirk. “Mister Cook, aren’t you always going on about Lee Kuan Yew at council meetings? And what’s his number one rule? No corruption. We can’t dip into town funds just because we want a shiny new toy.”

“So you’re not using any for yourself?” I scoffed.

“Bianca and I have a deal. I get a tiny widdle commission on what we earn, but other than essentials like food and accommodations, I haven’t spent a single coin on myself. You don’t think I’d love a new quarterstaff or fancy silks and perfume? Every First, including the one I earn myself, has to go toward what the town needs. So ask yourself, Orion—can you handle this on your own, or do you really need it?” Sophie tapped her chin as if taking in my seriousness.

“I~” but she interrupted me before I could make my case. Getting coin from her was harder than getting it from under the belly of a sleeping dragon.

“We have to set an example, Orion. No frivolous spending. Even if it’s something we think we need, we have to be sure. Think about Thornhill. How many blankets and socks can one First buy, compared to a single new toy? How many villagers’ lives can improve if we refrain from buying ourselves the best of the best?”

I hated it when she used this compassion argument; it always felt so hollow coming from her. But now she had me second-guessing if I really needed it. She was right—I’d keep finding excuses to upgrade my gear if I kept shopping, each piece pricier than the last, and I'd never be satisfied with what I had. Maybe I couldn’t keep leaning on Sophie and the town’s money.

“I guess not,” I said, shrugging as I got back to work. I’ll figure out how to earn those Firsts on my own.

At the large griddle over open flames, five tenderloins sizzled, each developing a perfect crust before being set aside. Nearby, a rich duxelle simmered in a massive pot, chopped mushrooms stirred down to the ideal, velvety consistency. As it cooled, the earthy, buttery aroma of mushrooms mingled with the scent of seared meat, drifting through the air like seasoned partners in a dance, promising something memorable for the dinner to come.

Wulfric and Edith, my diligent helpers, were busy laying out slices of ham neatly on the granite countertop. With care, I spread the cooled duxelle over the ham, ensuring an even coating. Then, I slathered a generous amount of mustard over the tenderloins. Together, we rolled the tenderloins into logs wrapped tightly in the ham and duxelles. Once the rolls were formed, we placed them in the ice house to chill and set.

While the tenderloins rested, I prepared a medley of roasted vegetables, using vibrant root varieties in shades of purple, orange, and green that contrasted beautifully with the fine white china. For the sauce, I selected a red wine with deep notes of blackberry and wood—a bottle I’d chosen from the cellar for its rich, sweet flavor—to reduce into a silky, dark glaze that would pair perfectly with the meat.

After the rolls of tenderloin were chilled and set, we rolled them in puff pastry, coated them in egg wash, and fired them in the oven. My Firewielder skill eased the fire, so it cooked at a steady temperature.

This is a recipe I’ve watched countless times from a certain angry British chef, but I’ve never tried it myself—mainly because of the sky-high price of tenderloin. But with my class ability assisting me, I was mastering it. Naturally, the cook would get the first taste. Quality control, of course.

Venison Wellington - B

Haute Cuisine - Grants an aura of command that boosts the speed and strength of those around you

It was almost service time and the Silk Rose’s servants came to the plating area with several fine porcelain plates for us to plate our dishes for the guests above. I cut an inch of tenderloin before crowning them on vibrant roast vegetables, drizzled some red wine sauce in some fine dining modernist way, and topped it with green herbs and edible flowers to accent the dish’s colors.

While others served family-style or on banquet trays, I chose individual plating. One team presented a massive, crispy roast pork, sliced and accompanied by silver gravy boats brimming with sauces and chutneys. Four workers were needed to carry it to the dining area. Another team laid out a cornucopia of seafood—red-shelled lobsters, crabs, smoked fish, and buttered crostinis—a spread that looked like it had been harvested straight from Neptune’s table. The final server showcased a dazzling fruit tray, adorned with tiny cakes, pear tartlets, and melons carved to resemble flowers, creating a vibrant, garden-like display of sweets.

Sophie had left us in the middle of prep work to mingle with people and check on her fake stand-in, giving her instructions while the rest of us stayed behind.

With my cooking for the bordello’s gathering complete, I left the kitchens and entered the lobby, intending to see what other stories from Earth James had been sharing with the kids in the entertainment district. Even from the lobby, I could hear the commotion from the waiting rooms, converted into dining areas for tonight’s guests. The food had been a tremendous hit, and a warm tingle stirred inside me, signaling that I’d leveled up.

When I pulled out my Cook class card, the 9 that was there changed into a 10, and my world shifted and I was transported to meet my fate and deal with my hand.

In the cosmic realm, I found myself seated at a stark table, surrounded by an endless void that pulsed with a faint, ethereal light. Across from me sat the dealer, shrouded in shadow, his gaze piercing through the darkness. The Dealer drew a single card and placed it in front of me.

The Battle Chef Path

Requirements

Chef or Cook class ✔

Soul Food 1/1 ✔

Knife’s Edge 1/1 ✔

Health Inspector 1/1 ✔

Path of the Dagger 4/3 ✔

Throwing Weapons 4/3 ✔

A bolt of light flew past me on the right. When it struck the cosmic void, it illuminated a group of stars that highlighted a new constellation that resembled a skull with a chef’s hat.

“You have taken an unusual path,” The Dealer croaked.

He presented me with a new foil booster. Unlike the old one, it glittered gold and had a shimmering S on the front.

Battle Chef Booster Pack

I unwrapped it to reveal three cards. Two of them disintegrated since I did not meet their requirements, leaving only one card: a doozy.

Dungeon Gourmand - S

Must sacrifice your Health Inspector skill. All food you cook no longer damages you, including dungeon meat. From now on, any dungeon meat you consume will provide a permanent skill card. You can only slot 6 Food Skill cards at once. Any additional cards will require you to either discard the new skill or replace an old one.

On the table, my Health Inspector disappeared into blue wisps and I slotted my Dungeon Gourmand skill. My hands were trembling. I felt excited, almost to the point of exhaustion.

“The cards have been dealt. Until we meet again, fellow holder,” the Dealer said, and I was back on the streets of Kronfeldt.

After I met with the dealer, I navigated the sprawling, bustling streets, finally escaping the uptown districts where the nobles lived in their gilded cages. My destination was the entertainment district, a vibrant area buzzing with lights and laughter, where creativity flourished in every corner.

Curious about the play James was involved in tonight, I wandered over to the performance. There, the puppet master and James were captivating the audience with their unique rendition of Seven Samurai, using a wide assortment of cleverly chosen animals to represent the legendary warriors. The crowd was enchanted, their laughter and cheers filling the air, momentarily distracting me from my own troubles.

At the intermission, I left the show to check on my stand. I had hoped to find Slink, anticipating that he might have some coin for me to purchase the cloak I had been eyeing. Instead, I returned to find him in a pitiful state, cradling a bloodied nose and a broken tooth, his left eye swollen shut and bruised, tears marking his dirt-streaked face. The sight twisted my stomach with a mix of anger and concern.

“What happened to you?” I asked, my voice low, barely able to contain my shock.

His voice trembled as he replied, “Hadrelian’s lackeys. I tried to pay him off, but they took everything instead. They said they’d be back tomorrow, too.” Slink’s sobs echoed in the alley, a haunting reminder of the ruthless world we navigated, where survival often came at a brutal price.

“What do they look like?”

“Two frogs, one purple and one red. A boar.” Slink answered.

“Where can I find them?”

“It’s dangerous Master Clark. You best stay away from them. We’ll just pay their protection fee from now on.” Slink sniffled and wiped his bloodied nose with a rag.

“WHERE!” I snapped the bitter frustration that had simmered throughout the day suddenly erupting like a shaken bottle of champagne.

“T-they usually hang out at the docks. There’s a tavern there called the Hog’s Hollow. I think they have a hideout maybe, I’m not sure. Just rumors.” Slink was stammering. “Please Master Clark, it’s not worth it. Just a few coins.”

Just a few coins? Exactly what I needed to get my cloak.