We allowed them to rest for a bit while I told the girls through Slave Communication my intent. Since I had time to kill, I decided to practice my Cooking skill. Part of the reason I didn’t just leave it equipped in the dungeon and level it, other than safety reasons, was because rapidly leveling a job without practicing the skill led to an imbalance.

One of the books we had checked out on job structures spoke about this. If you’re a Basic Magician, the basic assumption before you become an Intermediate Magician is that you’ve mastered the basics. Even though there are Mana Control skills which allow you to use mana, you should eventually learn to use mana yourself. Call it muscle memory, or simply careful observation, but the general assumption is that by the time you become an Intermediate Magician, you can handle, while maybe not every spell, at least a good assortment of spells.

This is perhaps why by the time you reach the next level, you differentiate. At level 25, you switch to Intermediate, and at level 50, you get your official color class. What color class you get probably depends on what mana you’re most familiar with. One mage might have practiced a lot with destructive magic and thus maintained it through basic and intermediate. Thus, when they get their next job, they can only become a Black Mage.

I asked to use the fire, and since it was communally shared by all of them, even the ones who wanted to stop me grudgingly allowed it. I pulled out food from my storage ring and went to work, creating something with my Cooking skill equipped.

“You’re cooking for them?” Harem came over and asked in surprise.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Eh? I like to cook? You don’t?”

“O-o-of course I do!” She grew defensive. “I’m a great cook, right?”

She shot the men a look, who all nodded when she glared at them. However, as soon as she turned back, they all started shaking their heads and sticking out their tongues. One guy pointed at her and made a gagging motion. The message was clear. Never eat something she cooked. Even these guys who didn’t want competition wouldn’t subject a potential new guy to their woman’s cooking.

“Cool,” I said, pretending I didn’t see anything even as she spun back only to see the men looking suspiciously casual.

She turned back and suddenly looked more sheepish and just a tad cute. “It’s just… usually, Bradly does the cooking. He’s the best at it.”

Although she said that, as the smells began to emit from my cooking, even the one I presume was Bradly kept asking what I was using that smelled so good. Most of the people here were used to dried food that lasted a long time. The fact I brought foods that would go bad only proved to them that I was an amateur, but it didn’t stop their stomachs from rumbling after eating only dried stuff for potentially weeks.

Of course, none of them knew I was a Cook and could preserve foods for longer than a refrigerator. Short of finding a time-stop storage ring, which was said to be so rare that only the King of Aberis had one in this country, this was the best method of keeping my food edible.

Even the group of three men were licking their lips and lowered their heads to ask for a bowl. I made ramen, essentially, with various herbs, some vegetables, some meat, and an egg. It was a hit. Everyone ate some. The leader of the female group who’d escort us out ate five bowls, and I ended up needing to make more before we were done.

{Cook has increased to level 16.}

{You have unlocked: Enhance Flavor.}

Ah… it looked like I’d be the cook for a while longer.