The walk back to Min City felt lighter than the journey into Emberroot Caverns, partly because no one was actively being roasted alive anymore, partly because James carried an entire inventory slot full of high-grade monster ingredients and his soul practically hummed with possibilities.

  Vhara led the way as usual, Mira trailed behind her, Gerrard muttered a continuous chain of complaints about the quality of local geology, and James… James kept reaching into his inventory to pull out a single, perfectly cut slab of Emberdrake meat.

  He held it with both hands like a holy relic.

  Every few minutes he whispered something like “Tenderness… the marbling… oh the marinades we will create…”

  It bordered on ceremonial at this point. He had faced death an hour ago, but nothing steadied his soul quite like the promise of a perfect cut of meat.

  Vhara pretended not to hear him. Mira did not pretend.

  “James, you’re petting the meat.”

  “It deserves affection.”

  “It is raw monster meat.”

  “A masterpiece of protein engineering.”

  James gently slid the meat back into his inventory, only to retrieve it again ten seconds later. For a moment he stared at it so intently that Mira swore a faint shimmer of steam rose off it.

  “James,” she said flatly, “the meat is not looking back at you.”

  Gerrard groaned. “I swear, traveling with this man ages me.”

  Vhara smirked. “It is not the worst curse. At least he cooks.”

  James perked up. “Correct. And now I will cook even better.”

  The city walls came into view at last, and the party’s pace quickened. Min City’s afternoon bustle greeted them, vendors calling out prices, carts rumbling over cobblestone, guards leaning on spears looking half bored and half sunburned.

  But James saw none of it. He saw only the guild hall. And the money it promised.

  They headed straight there.

  The Adventurers’ Guild smelled like a mixture of parchment, sweat, and monster preservatives. The clerks at the front desk were not the same ones from earlier that morning. The stressed ponytail receptionist was nowhere in sight. Instead, two younger attendants manned the counter, both of whom froze the moment the party stepped in, singed clothing, soot-smudged faces, and James carrying an aura of culinary threat.

  The first clerk blinked. “Is that…”

  The second clerk whispered, “Please tell me that’s not an active Heat Sac.”

  James grinned. “Oh no. That one’s mine.”

  The clerks exchanged a look that said yep, this party is insane.

  Vhara placed the sales bag on the counter. “We have materials to trade.”

  Gerrard added, “We would appreciate speed. Some members of our party are unstable,”

  “HEY,” James snapped.

  “Due to prolonged exposure to culinary fantasies.”

  The clerk began cataloging items:

  14 Fire Slime cores

  Slime gel residue

  7 damaged Emberdrake scales

  Blossom pollen dust

  Cracked cavern stones with fire-aspect residue

  Miscellaneous salvage

  She paused. “Is… this all?”

  “Yes,” Vhara said.

  The clerk frowned at their many bags. “Did you not bring the main materials?”

  James stepped forward, straightening proudly. “I don’t sell quality.”

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  The clerk blinked. “Sir?”

  “I keep greatness,” he clarified. “If it is exquisite, rare, or flavor-packed, it stays with me.”

  Mira raised her hand. “Translation: yes, we got a lot more, but no, you can’t have it.”

  The clerk coughed. “Right. Understood.”

  She finished tallying everything and pushed over a small pouch of coin. “This is your total. Seventy-two silver.”

  Gerrard’s eyes widened. “Seventy-two? For scraps?”

  “Fire-aspect materials are always valuable,” the clerk said. “Also… you defeated an Emberdrake. Word spreads fast. Selling slime residue is rare. Most people melt before they collect it.”

  James puffed up slightly. “As it should.”

  Mira rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement.

  When they stepped away from the counter, people turned to look. Whispers floated across the hall.

  “That’s the group that cleared the caverns.”

  “They fought an Emberdrake? How are they alive?”

  “I heard the healer froze half the tunnel.”

  “No, it was the Orcwoman. She broke a drake scale with her bare hands.”

  “Wait, which one is the loud one?”

  “The one looking smug.”

  James did not strut. But he almost strut.

  Vhara gave him a pointed side-eye. “Do not let this go to your head.”

  “It’s not in my head,” James said. “It is in my wallet.”

  “You have a wallet now?” Mira asked.

  “I will buy a wallet,” he corrected.

  They pushed open the guild doors and stepped into the afternoon light. The moment they stepped outside, a familiar voice shouted:

  “YOU!”

  James froze mid-step like someone had thrown a knife made of disappointment at him.

  The innkeeper marched toward them with the solemn fury of a man who had experienced both hope and despair too many times in one lifetime.

  “Chef James,” the innkeeper wheezed, stopping inches away. “Please… please tell me you have reconsidered.”

  James tilted his head. “Reconsidered what?”

  “The job. The cooking. My inn is suffering. My customers are spoiled now that they tasted your food.”

  He raised one shaking hand dramatically. “Well, not all my customers. Just two. I let them try a tiny bit of those… what did you call them… dumplings? There were only a few left this morning, barely enough for a taste, but now they refuse to eat anything else. I served my usual stew and one man burst into tears.”

  “From joy?” Mira asked.

  “No. From disappointment.”

  Gerrard snorted.

  The innkeeper threw his hands up. “How am I supposed to serve boiled greens and tired bread when they know you exist? Their disappointment in my food has become a physical force. I can feel it judging me.”

  His voice cracked like a man reliving trauma. “One of them grabbed my collar this morning and demanded a refund for food he hadn’t even ordered.”

  He grabbed James’s hands desperately. “Please. I beg you. Cook for my inn.”

  James slowly pulled his hands free. “You need to calm down. This is a negotiation.”

  Vhara muttered, “Oh no.”

  Mira whispered, “Here it comes.”

  James cleared his throat, assuming the stance of a man about to dictate the terms of a peace treaty.

  “I will work,” James said. “But only under certain conditions.”

  The innkeeper nodded rapidly. “Anything.”

  “One,” James held up a finger. “I cook only dinner.”

  “Dinner, yes.”

  “No lunch. No breakfast.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “Two,” James continued. “I do not wash dishes.”

  “Reasonable.”

  “Or clean tables.”

  “Sure.”

  “Or sweep, mop, refill water, wipe counters, greet customers, talk to rude men, fight monsters in the kitchen, or remove rats.”

  “My kitchen has rats?”

  “Hypothetical,” James said. “But judging from yesterday… yes. The sack I saw twitching wasn’t hypothetical.”

  Mira whispered, “James please.”

  “Three,” James said, lifting a third finger. “You will pay me what my skill is worth.”

  “How much?” the innkeeper asked.

  James calmly named a number, exactly double the amount the innkeeper had offered this morning.

  The innkeeper choked. “That’s… that’s… chef, that’s almost what I pay for rent.”

  A bead of sweat slid down his temple, dramatic enough that James briefly considered calling the healer.

  James nodded gravely. “Yes. Because you are renting me. A world-class talent locked in an underdeveloped medieval economy. Frankly, you’re getting a bargain. My future biographers will agree.”

  “James,” Vhara said dryly, “you are not world-class.”

  “I am in this world,” he countered. “Cuisine is the highest form of warfare. And I intend to win.”

  The innkeeper pressed a hand to his heart. “But I don’t even make that in a week.”

  “Then you should raise your prices.”

  “Raise them? People will riot.”

  “No, they will line up because I will cook dinner.”

  The innkeeper stared at him as though he had witnessed both a miracle and a disaster.

  Finally, he whispered, “I accept.”

  James smiled warmly. “Wonderful. You won’t regret it.”

  He turned to the others. “I will need a signature dish ready by tomorrow.”

  Mira gagged. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” James patted the Emberdrake meat. “And I know exactly what I’m making.”

  He whispered reverently, “Tonight, fire learns what flavor truly is.”

  Vhara massaged her forehead. “This city is not ready.”

  Gerrard muttered, “I’m not ready.”

  James beamed. “Min City is about to experience greatness.”

  They left the innkeeper stunned in the street.

  James counted the coins twice, then twice more for good measure. Seventy-two silver from sales. Plus his new salary. Plus future Emberdrake dishes.

  He could almost see it:

  A sturdy wagon. Shelving for spices. A roof rack for cookware. A traveling kitchen rolling across the continent. Maybe even more than one wagon, he thought. A fleet of mobile kitchens. A culinary empire on wheels.

  His pulse quickened.

  One day, he promised himself. One day that wagon will be mine. And when it rolled across the continent, every city would remember the day their cuisine evolved.

  Before the group could disperse for the evening, a bell rang from the guild hall. A clerk leaned out the doorway, waving a parchment.

  “Attention. All active parties, urgent notice. Something has been discovered on the outskirts of Min City.”

  Discoveries near city borders rarely meant anything good. Vhara’s stance shifted a fraction, just enough to tell James she sensed trouble.

  James glanced at the others.

  Vhara rested a hand on her sword.

  Mira’s eyes sharpened.

  Gerrard sighed like a man who wanted to be anywhere else.

  And James… James felt the spark of opportunity.

  “Discovery?” he said quietly.

  Mira nudged him. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “That it might be edible?”

  “No.”

  James shrugged. “Well, it still might be.”

  Vhara stepped forward. “We investigate tomorrow.”

  James nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting.

  “Sure. But first…”

  He tapped the Emberdrake meat.

  “…we cook.”