The evening air pressed cool against James’s skin as he followed the older man down the worn path. Villagers melted back into their homes, doors creaking shut, windows glowing faintly as if the entire place had exhaled in relief.

  The man stayed silent at first, walking with a steady stride, the hoe resting on his shoulder like a soldier’s spear. Behind him, James wobbled in trousers far too large, each step a negotiation with gravity as the fabric threatened to slip south.

  Finally, the man broke the silence. “My name is Willem.”

  “James,” he replied quickly, holding up his trousers before they betrayed him. “It’s a pleasure, Willem. And thank you for not letting me ruin your town square earlier. That was genuinely heroic of you.”

  Willem’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

  James cleared his throat, the words tripping over each other before his brain could catch up. “So, uh, about what you said earlier, everyone has stats, right? I mean, yeah, of course I knew that. Totally. Just… what’s it like for normal people? Do you get cool powers, or is it mostly boring numbers you never use?”

  Willem shot him a sidelong glance, as though deciding whether the question was foolish or offensive. “Most are born with simple gifts. Hunters see more keenly, farmers last longer in the fields. The system reflects what we are. Only rarely does it bestow something beyond the ordinary.”

  James rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Just what I figured. Nothing out of place here… well, except maybe me.”

  “You?” Willem asked, brow raised.

  James barked a nervous laugh. “What? No, no. I’m the definition of normal. Just a guy who’s had… some bad luck with food before. Long story. Point is, I’m not out here trying to be special. My only plan is to avoid dying again. I mean, when those goblins jumped me, I almost died there, right?”

  They rounded a corner. Smoke drifted from a modest hut at the end of the lane. Warm light spilled through its window.

  James’s stomach chose that moment to growl, long and loud. He winced. “Fantastic. Put ‘expert in humiliating myself’ on the list.”

  Willem chuckled, a sound like gravel sliding down wood. “Come. Bree will have prepared something. You can sit, eat, and breathe without goblins chasing you.”

  James let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Food and pants in the same day. I think that qualifies as a miracle.”

  Willem pushed the door open, the hinges groaning like they hadn’t been oiled since the last dynasty. The warmth of a cooking fire rolled out, heavy with the smell of bread and herbs. James nearly moaned on the spot.

  “Before Bree serves,” Willem said, stepping aside for him, “there’s something I must ask. You fought like a madman today. Tell me, what are your stats?”

  James froze halfway through the doorway. “Excuse me?”

  “Your stats,” Willem repeated. “Strength, endurance, the numbers on your panel. A man doesn’t swing an axe like that with only willpower.”

  James rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, right. That. Okay, but don’t laugh.” He raised a finger, mock serious. “First of all, I ate a mushroom. Long story short, it made me stronger. And gave me diarrhea. A lot of diarrhea. Second, when I leveled, the system gave me a bunch of points. I spread them out, you know, strength, dexterity, intelligence, charisma, the usual buffet.”

  He hesitated, then added, “The only one that’s, uh… unusually high is Luck.”

  The word hung there. Willem’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he didn’t breathe. Then he stepped closer, voice low. “You… have Luck?”

  James blinked. “Uh, yeah? Says seven now. Why? Don’t tell me it’s, like, cursed. Because that would be just my luck.”

  Willem let out a long breath, almost a whistle. “No. Not cursed. Blessed. Very few are born with that stat. Most will never see it. If you carry it, boy, you are favored. Protected, perhaps. But also…” His gaze hardened. “Tempted. Do not throw yourself into danger believing fortune will always shield you.”

  James tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “So you’re saying the only reason I didn’t die naked in the woods is because the universe decided to cut me a break?”

  “Perhaps.” Willem’s face softened, though his eyes still measured him carefully. “But remember this: luck runs with you only so far. Keep sprinting into chaos, and one day it will let you stumble.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  James groaned and rubbed his face. “One day like this is already enough material to keep my great-grandkids bored for years… if I ever make it that far.”

  His stomach growled again, even louder. He pointed at it like it was accusing him. “Also, apparently Luck doesn’t apply to getting fed on time.”

  For the first time, Willem chuckled. He pushed the door wider. “Come inside. Bree will have food waiting. We’ll speak more when you’ve eaten.”

  James shuffled in, muttering, “Great. Blessed with Luck, cursed with hunger. Story of my life.”

  Inside the hut, warmth wrapped around James like a heavy blanket. The air smelled of smoke and simmering broth, simple but comforting after the chaos of the day. The room was narrow, walls lined with rough timber, a single table taking up more space than it had any right to.

  A woman stood at the hearth, sleeves rolled up, stirring a pot with slow, practiced motions. She turned as they entered. Her face was lined, her hair braided back tight, eyes sharp in a way that reminded James of chefs who could spot a crooked garnish from twenty feet away.

  “Bree,” Willem said simply. “This is James. He… helped today.”

  Her gaze flicked over him, pausing on the oversized trousers cinched tight at his waist. Her lips pressed into a thin line that might have been judgment, or maybe just exhaustion. “Another mouth to feed,” she said at last. “Sit.”

  James offered a nervous smile. “Hi. Uh… thanks for not throwing me out. Big fan of… roofs. And walls. Love what you’ve done with the place.”

  If Bree heard, she didn’t show it. She ladled thick stew into wooden bowls and set them on the table with the gravity of a woman who had been feeding people since before he was born. Willem sat first. James followed, tugging at his borrowed pants to keep them from slipping.

  The stew steamed in front of him, brown and lumpy, dotted with a few tired carrots and chunks of something that might once have been meat. A wedge of coarse bread leaned against the side like it was trying to escape.

  James picked up the spoon, braced himself, and took a bite.

  The taste hit like wet cardboard with aspirations. Grainy, flat, with the faint bitterness of something boiled too long. The meat chewed like it was practicing for leather duty. He forced himself to swallow, keeping his face neutral.

  Bree watched him from across the table, sharp eyes noting every twitch. “Not to your liking?”

  James coughed. “No, no, it’s… great. Very… authentic. Farm-to-table, literally. Reminds me of, uh, survival training.”

  Willem raised a brow. “You’ve had survival training?”

  James waved the spoon. “Only if you count being broke in New York. But hey, I lived. That counts.” He forced another spoonful down, silently apologizing to his stomach. The stew tasted like resignation in liquid form.

  Willem blinked. “New York? Where’s that?”

  James forced a grin and waved the spoon. “Uh, New York. In… New York. Which is to say, nowhere near here. Way too far for you to have heard of. Anyway, it’s really far. So far you’d probably need divine intervention just to get there. I’ve been on the road a long time, haha.”

  To distract himself, he tore a piece of bread. It crumbled like sand between his fingers. He dunked it, chewed, and thought longingly of butter, salt, anything with flavor.

  Inside, his culinary soul screamed. Outside, he smiled. “Delicious.”

  Bree narrowed her eyes but said nothing, returning to her own bowl. Willem ate in steady, workmanlike bites. The silence stretched, broken only by spoons scraping wood and the occasional pop from the fire.

  James rushed to fill it before it smothered him. “So, uh… what’s in this? Besides love, sweat, and a generous ladle of hopelessness?”

  “Barley,” Bree said flatly. “Turnip. A bit of goat.”

  “Ah, goat. My favorite. You know, where I’m from they’d call this rustic fine dining.” He winced as the stew hit his tongue again. “Very… chewy.”

  Bree’s lips twitched, though she gave no reply.

  By the time his bowl was half-empty, James’s pride had surrendered. He slowed, pretending to savor, while his stomach begged for mercy. The stew filled him with warmth but not joy, fuel without flavor.

  When the last bite was gone, he set the spoon down with exaggerated care. “That was… incredible. Thank you. Really.”

  Bree inclined her head, skeptical. Willem leaned back, studying him with that same unreadable gaze.

  James hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Actually… I wanted to ask something. Tomorrow morning, would it be alright if I prepared breakfast?”

  Bree blinked. “You? Cook?”

  James lifted both hands. “I know, I know. You’re the expert here, and I’m the new guy who fought goblins naked. Not exactly a resume builder. But I’d like to thank you properly. Just one meal. That’s all.”

  Willem’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

  “Because…” James searched for words, scratching at the back of his neck. “Because you gave me clothes. You gave me food. You didn’t let me die of… well, multiple embarrassing things. I’m grateful. And cooking’s the one thing I can do without accidentally burning down your village. Probably.”

  Silence hung for a moment. Then Bree sighed. “One meal. If you burn the pot, you scrub it clean.”

  James grinned. “Deal.”

  Willem’s eyes studied him, weighing the smile. “Tomorrow will show whether the gods bless your hand in the kitchen as much as on the battlefield.”

  James puffed up, mock offended. “Please. The gods only wish they could season like me.”

  Bree shook her head, muttering something about fools and kitchens. She gathered the bowls, moving with quiet efficiency.

  Willem pointed toward a corner where a narrow pallet waited, stuffed with straw and covered by a thin blanket. “You can sleep there. It is not much, but better than the ground.”

  James gave the pallet a doubtful look. Itchy straw, a thin blanket, and a draft for company. He sighed. “Better than sleeping on bare ground. I’ll take it.”

  He flopped onto the pallet, the straw crunching under his weight. It smelled faintly of hay and someone else’s sweat. The blanket barely reached his ankles. But compared to sleeping on the dirt, it was luxury.

  As his eyes drifted shut, the golden panel hovered faintly at the edge of his vision, smug as always.

  [Quest Added: Master Chef]

  Objective: Cook the finest dish tomorrow. Earn a ★★★★★ review.

  Failure: Shame. Hunger. Mockery. Possible exile from the village.

  Reward: ???

  James groaned. “Fantastic. Side quests in the kitchen too.”

  Darkness folded over him, the last thing he heard Bree’s voice at the hearth and Willem’s low murmur. For once, no goblins, no mushrooms, no humiliation. Just a bed of straw, and the fragile peace of survival.