I kept my pace steady, not taking any more breaks until I could find a reasonable camping spot. The problem was, I never found a good place to camp on either side of the road, and the night was closing in quickly. About 600 feet ahead, I saw the outline of a campsite with several wagons, like a merchant caravan. A large fire was already blazing in the center of their camp, as if they had been expecting the early darkness.
When I got about 60 feet away, I called out to them, "Ho there! Is it safe to approach the camp?"
A lovely lady with fox ears and a bushy tail confidently responded, "If you're not here to cause trouble and can keep your hands to yourself, you're welcome to join us by the fire tonight."
I smiled and replied, "Ma'am, I’ll mind my manners. I’d even be happy to cook for you all if you’ll let me share the fire."
Her mood lifted noticeably. "That would be very convenient!"
Now, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly a cook, but I do know a couple of things that are sure to please—assuming you’ve got some good meat and the ability to let me make something called flatbread or pizza, depending on how it’s prepared.
“Well, we’ve got some fantastic meat and are more than willing to share a bit if you’ll do the cooking. I can’t say I’ve ever had flatbread. Isn’t bread always flat once you cut it?”
I chuckled. “I suppose you’re right about that. This is more about the process of keeping it flat—or flat-ish—when you put the toppings on and then bake it. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that most people in the region have never had it and will absolutely love it.”
“Oh, you’ve got my appetite going already,” she said with a smile. I couldn’t help but notice the faint hint of an Irish or maybe Welsh accent in her voice.
She gave me a brilliant smile, one that, if I wasn’t mistaken, revealed canines just a little sharper and longer than a normal person’s. But then again, I was still new to this world, and she did have animal ears that looked like they belonged to either a wolf or a fox.
My internal monologue was going something along the lines of, Oh my god, her ears are so cute — I’m gonna die!
I was actively working to make sure I didn’t reach out and try to touch her ears. With an almost stuttering start, I began to ask the forbidden questions.
“I hope you’ll forgive me for asking, and I don’t mean any insult by it, but you’re the first person I’ve met with animal features like your ears and tail. Do you have a preferred name or nickname for people like yourself?”
I barely got the words out before I hurried to continue, not wanting to give her time to get upset — if that was even likely.
“Please don’t be offended. I truly didn’t mean any offense. It’s just that I come from a very remote place, and I’m not really sure about the local customs. I don’t want to walk around being ignorant of any cultural or behavioral differences I should be aware of.”
“That’s just fine, and you’re not the first person to have similar questions. Although, I will admit—you’re much more polite in your method of asking compared to some of the demands I usually get. And just to get it out of the way—yes, you can touch my ear real quick.”
“Really!?” I practically lit up with excitement when she nodded, though it was with a sort of resigned motion—still wearing a big grin. Taking a step forward, I slowly reached out and gently rubbed her left ear with my right hand in one simple stroke. I made sure to stop myself right there, despite its incredible softness. I knew that if I didn’t, I’d end up rubbing her ears for hours.
“Ohh, light touch—I approve,” she teased with a playful smirk.
“How often do you have this conversation, out of curiosity?”
“My kind is fairly common, especially in the cities. But every once in a while, you go to a remote area where they’ve just never actually seen one of us—or the type they’ve seen before is radically different from myself. I know of at least twenty other beastkin heritages that are common in the kingdom, but I believe most of my fellow kin live far to the west, on the other continent.”
“So just confirming—you prefer to be referred to as a beastkin when I’m not using your name, obviously?”
“That’s the current nomenclature,” she said with a little grin, as if she was enjoying the conversation—or at least the fact that it wasn’t turning into one of the usual awkward versions. She then offered some practical information. “Now, we don’t have a huge amount of cooking equipment, but that wagon over there has a moderate supply of salt and several cooking pans and pots if you need them. We’ve also got some basic herbs and vegetables from the last town, and a cut of ribeye we were planning to cook tonight.”
“That’s perfect. I’ll make a spread.”
Hesitating a moment more, I asked, “Have y’all ever had a pan sauce?”
“I’ve had gravy, if that’s what you mean… but if this is something a little different, maybe not,” she replied with a curious tilt to her voice.
“In some ways, it’s similar to gravy—I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Walking over to one of the five wagons, I saw exactly what she meant about the cooking supplies and setup. One side of the wagon folded down into a good-sized countertop area for prepping and chopping.
This was going to make things nice and convenient.
The wagon was settled by the campfire, the warmth of the flames licking my skin as I pulled out a small sack of flour and a flask of water. The firelight flickered against my cast-iron pans, which were already warming up over the heat. Tonight, I was going all out with cooking—something to fill my stomach and boost my morale after the chaos I’d been through.
First, I started with the pizza dough. I measured out the flour and poured it into a bowl, adding a pinch of salt. Using my new magical kitchen knife, which could shift into whatever shape I needed, I sliced through a handful of fresh herbs from my garden. The green leaves glimmered softly in the light, just enough to give the dough a subtle kick. Then, I grabbed my yeast, activating it with a touch of mana ( a trick from a book i read in the study). I slowly added the water, kneading everything together. The knife shifted seamlessly into a dough scraper as I worked the mixture, making the process quicker and smoother. When I was satisfied, I set both halves aside to rise after splitting them into equal portions, the dough’s glow subtly pulsing as the magic worked its way through.
Next up was the pizza sauce. I placed a small pot on the fire, tossing in crushed tomatoes. They started to bubble and simmer, filling the air with that familiar tangy scent. I used my knife again to chop up some mana-infused basil and other herbs from my stash, letting them join the sauce. The leaves shimmered as I stirred them in, and the sauce began to thicken. I crushed a few cloves of garlic, added a drizzle of olive oil from my pack, and tossed in some spices to give it depth. The sauce became rich and glossy, like liquid gold. Lastly, I added a touch of brown sugar to cut the acidity, along with some onions from the garden for added complexity.
By the time the sauce was ready, the dough had risen nicely. I worked it into a round shape on a makeshift wooden board, the dough smooth under my fingers. Then, I grabbed the mozzarella cheese—a perfect, creamy ball of it. With my knife transforming into a cheese grater, I shredded it effortlessly, scattering it over the dough. I spooned the tomato sauce on top, then sprinkled a bit of mana-fortified oregano for that extra magic.
But I wasn’t done yet. The next thing on my list was cinnamon rolls. I grabbed the dough from earlier and rolled it out into a flat rectangle. I spread a generous amount of mana-infused cinnamon, brown sugar, and butter over it, rolling it up into a tight log. The knife sliced through it easily, cutting perfect rounds that I placed in a cast-iron pan the merchants had. I let them rise a little longer before baking. The fire crackled, and the sweet, spicy scent started to fill the air, making my stomach rumble in anticipation.
While those were rising, I turned my attention to the cast-iron steak. I seasoned it with salt and pepper, then placed it on the hot pan, the oil sizzling as the steak hit the surface. The smell of searing meat filled the air. I moved it around, letting it form a perfect, crispy crust. After a few minutes, I checked it, knowing I wanted it medium-rare, and pulled it off just as it reached that perfect level of doneness.
With the steak done, I turned to the final touch: a savory pan sauce. I added a bit of butter to the pan and deglazed it with some water, stirring to mix in the leftover flavors. Then, I grabbed my knife again and chopped up some mana-infused thyme and wild garlic from my garden, tossing them in along with a pinch of Flame Heart Chili and Blood Leaf Cilantro. The sauce simmered, thickening as I added just a bit of cream. The rich, dark hue deepened, and I poured it over the steak, the flavors melding perfectly with the crispy meat.
I stepped back, admiring the spread: the pizza, the cinnamon rolls, the steak—all ready to be devoured. My stomach growled, and the warmth of the fire made everything feel right again. As I set the food down on a flat rock, I thought to myself: This is exactly what I needed. I was ready to dig in.
I wanted to make sure I gave them an experience they wouldn’t forget and see if there was actually a market for my recipes once I made it to the city. If I could become a supplier of cinnamon for cinnamon rolls, that alone would probably keep me in the black. I had a sneaking suspicion, though, that since starting to train with Fu, I’d need a lot of Mana crystals, and the low concentration I was working with probably wouldn’t be enough in the long run.
While I had been cooking, one guy in the group kept giving me the stink eye from the moment he saw me. It wasn’t outright hostility, but there was a definite lack of trust. The guy just seemed grumpy in general—not to mention probably a heavy drinker. He kept taking swigs from a silver flask every five minutes or so.
I’d had to get creative with the cooking techniques since I wasn’t used to cooking over an open fire, but I’d watched a lot of YouTube videos back at home before coming to Sky. I didn’t get much time to test out what I learned, but they gave me a rough idea
of how to work with minimal tools and equipment. I liked how everything worked out.
As I portioned out the massive amounts of food, each person came up one by one to grab a filled wooden tray, and I got my first real introductions to the group.
The smell of the food I’d made filled the air, and the group of traveling merchants had already gathered and lined up.
Thomas Grant, a rather large and grumpy-looking man, gave me a long, appraising look. His eyes were sharp despite his round face, but his posture betrayed the chronic pain he was in. He was the one who had given me the stink eye while I was cooking. There was an air about him—someone who wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here, but wasn’t going to say no to a free meal. His gaze flicked between the food and me, probably sizing me up to see if I was worth any more trouble. His size didn’t hide the fact that he was fairly handsome in his own rugged way. His beard and a few stray graying hairs only added to his weathered appeal. Beneath all that grumbling, I couldn’t help but think there was more to him than met the eye. He looked to be in his early 40s, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in his mid-30s and had just aged quickly from the looks of things.
Olivia Valen, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more different. Her beastkin ears twitched as she smiled at me, her bright eyes scanning me with a touch of curiosity. She kept taking deep sniffs of the food’s aroma, and her tail swooshed back and forth eagerly. I learned she was a cloth merchant, and from the way she carried herself, it was clear she knew her trade. There was a playfulness in her smile, a teasing quality to her words whenever she spoke. Every now and then, I caught a flirtatious glint in her eyes, but she kept it respectful—more like a friendly challenge than anything overt. She looked to be in her early 30s.
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Rebecca Bloom, the leatherworker, surprised me with how different she was from my first impression. At first, I’d taken her for a quiet person, but she proved to be the complete opposite—no less intriguing, though. She had a sharp, practical demeanor, the kind you get from working with your hands. Her curiosity was evident as she examined the items I had with me, particularly eager to learn about my gear. She seemed to be weighing their worth, maybe considering what could be traded or sold. The conversation between her and Olivia had been mostly about business, with a sprinkling of personal interests, but every now and then, Rebecca’s focus shifted back to the things I was carrying, clearly fascinated by my strange belongings. And I planned to see what she had for sale or trade, considering I had plenty to sell myself. She appeared to be in her mid-20s, with an athletic build and strikingly light blue eyes.
Then there was Gary Brown, the shy alchemist, who spoke in quiet, cautious tones. He kept stealing glances at the herbs and plants I’d used in the food but had yet to ask me anything about them. It was almost like he was fascinated by them—or maybe just curious about where I’d gotten them. His infatuation with grafting mana plants was obvious, as he kept having discussions with the other young man in the group. As they talked, I noticed Gary scribbling in a little notebook, undoubtedly taking notes on ideas and planning how he could experiment with the plants they were discussing.
Finally, there was David Shield, the young man Gary was talking to, who seemed to have all the ideas. The enthusiastic young merchant apprentice had an energy about him that was contagious, and it was clear that he had a creative mind, always thinking outside the box. The way he spoke about things—his ideas on trading and how he could improve their stall’s sales—made me smile. Before long, the conversation shifted back to plants and alchemy, but David wasn’t afraid to toss out some pretty out-there concepts, the kind that made me think he’d grow into a clever merchant or an inventor. His enthusiasm kept the entire group in good spirits, and I could tell he was the kind of person who inspired others. Gary was in his late 30s, with a reed-thin frame standing at about 5’7’’, while David was probably around 17 and already growing into a monster of a man, easily 6’2’’.
Everyone gathered around the fire, sitting on logs that had been cut and carved into seating by some previous campers. The logs seemed to have been well-used over the years, adding a sense of comfort to the makeshift seating.
As I took my seat, I noticed everyone looking at me, and I got the impression they were waiting for me to take the first bite. Just to be sure, I asked the question.
“Please forgive me, I don’t really know the customs of the region. I come from a very remote village in the north. Are you by chance waiting for me to eat first?”
David spoke up first, offering a kind reply. “It’s just a tradition for caravans. There are a lot of reasons behind it, some not so nice, but also to make sure the person preparing the food isn’t left to eat alone after doing all the work.”
“Ah, I guess I’ll start then.”
I picked up a slice of pizza, folded it in my hand to keep it from flopping down, and took a careful bite, making sure it wasn’t too hot. The moment the flavor hit, it exploded in my mouth. Honestly, it was the best pizza I’d ever eaten, and I was pretty sure that was thanks to the mana-infused ingredients I’d used.
I couldn’t help but moan involuntarily, feeling the warmth and satisfaction of the food settle in my stomach. I realized then that I had been hungrier than I’d thought. My stomach grumbled again, reminding me of how long I’d gone without eating properly.
I tore into the pizza, savoring every bite. I’d made three pizzas, but as I ate, I started to think I hadn’t made enough. Unfortunately, I was a bit limited on the cheese and couldn’t make more, maybe an eighth of a block left, but I was starting to wonder if I should’ve taken the risk and used the last of it.
All around the fire, I heard more involuntary moans of pleasure, little “ohhh’s” and “ahhh’s,” as everyone dug in. Olivia’s reaction was particularly noticeable. She let out a very sensual exhale as she took a bite, her tail doing that slow roll-in-on-itself motion before unfurling and spreading back out. It was like her body had been tightly wound up, and now it was finally relaxing. I hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until seeing how at ease she looked now.
“Jake, this is… amazing!” she said, her voice full of more enthusiasm than I was expecting. It came out a bit louder than I think both she and I had anticipated, almost like a shout.
Everyone else just gave grunting replies, murmuring things like “Mmmhmmm,” and nodding appreciatively.
“What is this? What did you put in this?” Thomas asked, his voice intense, his eyes wide with a fervor I hadn’t seen before. I even saw a tear fall from his eye, his face mixed with confusion and relief.
Looking at him, I realized he’d been the first to dig into the steak, and apparently, he really liked the pan sauce I’d made.
With a thoughtful look, I replied, “Um, it has quite a few ingredients. Are you allergic to anything? If it’s too spicy, I’ve got something that can relieve the heat if you need.”
“No... No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Just... what did you use? My pain’s gone.”
I thought about it for a second, then muttered aloud, “That could be the chili plant from the garden, or maybe the cilantro. Both have pretty strong effects, positive ones, as far as I’ve read. They’re supposed to increase the flavor dramatically, but you’re not supposed to use them too much, as there can be some... negative effects if you overdo it. But I only used a small portion.”
Thomas paused for a moment, clearly processing that. Then he nodded, and I could see the relief in his expression. The tension in his shoulders had visibly dropped. “Whatever it was, it worked wonders,” he said with a small, appreciative smile.
I gave a quick nod, feeling a bit proud of myself. This little bit of cooking might have been exactly what everyone needed.
“A chili plant?” Gary asked, curiosity and excitement lighting up his eyes. “And I’m not familiar with cilantro. What are their uses? Other than food, that is.”
“Well…” I said, thinking back to the description, and began to read aloud. “There’s the…”
Blood Leaf Cilantro
- Base Effect: Alters the emotional tone of nearby auras. Can elevate empathy, pacify aggressive intent, or invoke emotional honesty, depending on how it's prepared.
- Raw Flavor: Spicy-citrus with an herbal kick.
- Preparations:
- Raw (Crushed Leaf): Brief burst of emotional clarity.
- Boiled in Broth: Creates a calming effect in a group. Used in negotiations and peace talks.
- Incense from Dried Leaf: Opens emotional pathways; used in therapy, truth-seeking rituals, or diplomatic trials.
- Tincture or Tea: Can cause temporary empathic merging between individuals (used carefully).
- Side Effects: Prolonged exposure can cause emotional vulnerability or unintentional aura leakage.
- Use Case: Diplomacy, interpersonal therapy, magical empathy rituals.
And then there was...
Flame Heart Chili
- Base Effect: Accelerates natural healing and tissue regeneration.
- Preparations:
- Raw: Fast-acting regenerative pulse; burns mouth and throat slightly.
- Dried & Ground: Used in salves; slower effect, ideal for topical use.
- Alcohol-Infused: Strong medicinal tincture; risky internal use.
- Use Case: Emergency medicine, wound stabilization, recovery tonics.
“That’s amazing!” Gary exclaimed. “I’ve heard of that, but it’s not thought to be available on the continent… and that goes for an obscene amount of gold.”
I tried to calm him down a little, hoping to temper his excitement. “My information must be inaccurate because it didn’t describe it as nearly that rare. I mean, I know it’s supposed to be rare, but not to the extent you’re describing. The stuff grows pretty easily if you have the right plants growing alongside it. They kind of help each other out by emitting mana to each other, similar to cross-pollination. It’s practically a weed if you don’t place it on the exterior of the garden.”
Gary’s eyes widened at the mention of its widespread availability, but his expression grew serious as he spoke again. “All I know is my back hasn’t stopped hurting for 15 years, despite numerous potions and so-called expert healers. I spent hundreds of gold trying to fix it. I hate drinking, but I’ve been forced to rely on this disgusting swill for years, because everything else is too expensive and the quantities I need to keep the pain at bay.”
Trying to lighten the mood, despite feeling glad that Gary was looking a lot better and his demeanor had shifted so drastically, I decided to ask, "But how did the steak come out?"
I flashed an innocent, almost goofy grin as I said it.
Thomas's smile practically stretched from ear to ear. He was barely holding back laughter when he replied, "Best steak I've ever had. Maybe a little more well-done than I prefer," he added, his eyes twinkling with a teasing glint.
I chuckled and responded, "Well then, try the pizza. I need good feedback from people."
One by one, everyone gave their comments, noting how some old ache or previous injury seemed to have disappeared after eating the steak and pan sauce. It was a strange but encouraging response, and I couldn’t help but feel pleased with myself.
"Hope you saved a tiny bit of room, because I guarantee you've never had anything like this next thing. At least, I really don't think you would have."
I headed over to the tray of cinnamon rolls that had been cooling but were still warm. I mixed together a generous amount of heavy cream, powdered sugar, and a bit of vanilla, and then drizzled it all over the rolls. They looked absolutely mouthwatering.
"You're probably going to need to wash your hands after eating these," I warned with a smile. "They're known to get sticky. In fact, depending on how you go about it, they're not just cinnamon rolls, they're called sticky buns." I added a little extra icing, going all in on the traditional style of making them.
Bringing over the warm tray of cinnamon rolls, I asked if everyone was ready for dessert. They all gave me the same kind of gesture—holding out their food trays, showing either that there was still room or that they’d already finished everything else.
As I reached for my new magical kitchen knife, I willed it to shift into a pair of chopstick-style metal prongs, perfect for placing the cinnamon rolls neatly onto each tray. About halfway through the process, one of those random thoughts popped into my head—something from a stand-up comedian I’d watched years ago.
The joke had gone something like,
“I used to be one of those cooks who screamed and yelled at everyone in the kitchen—then I discovered oven mitts.”
The delivery had been priceless, and the memory was so vivid it nearly pulled a chuckle out of me right there as I handed out the rolls.
Olivia noticed and tilted her head, smiling. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
I shared the joke with her, and soon enough, everyone around the fire was laughing.
The group dove into the cinnamon rolls with enthusiasm, and before long, they were all eyeing me for seconds. I had stashed a decent number of them in my personal space, but honestly, I was enjoying the sight of them savoring each pastry far too much to hold back. The rolls weren’t particularly large, so I just kept handing out more and more, watching their faces light up with every bite.
Once I finished handing everything out, I glanced around and asked, “Well, once I’m done cleaning up the dishes, do you have a preferred spot for me to bed down so I’m not in the way?”
Thomas was the one to chime in at this point. “Most of us end up sleeping under the wagons as a sort of makeshift cover. Saves us from setting up tents, and honestly, the wagons are stuffed so full of materials we barely have room inside anyway—not that it’s much more comfortable in there.” He gave a small shrug. “Your best bet is probably the opposite side of the fire, across from the cook wagon. You don’t seem to have a tent on you—do you need us to set one up for you?”
Before I could even open my mouth to answer, Thomas continued with a grin. “And don’t worry about the dishes—that’s part of the growing giant’s job here,” he added, gesturing toward young David.
“I actually do have a tent ready to go,” I said with a small smile.
Stretching out my hand, I made it look like I was pulling it from the ring I wore. With a soft pop, the tent appeared fully set up right where Thomas had pointed out.
David’s eyes lit up, and he blurted out excitedly, “You’ve got a storage ring? Those things go for a fortune! And that’s gotta be a huge space, too!”
Olivia and Rebecca exchanged a look and, almost in unison, cautioned, “Be careful showing that off in the city.”
Looking at each other, Olivia gave Rebecca a little nod, prompting her to speak.
“Although storage spaces aren’t exactly unknown, they’re definitely not something the average commoner has,” Rebecca said carefully. “If that ring has more than ten square feet of space, it’s one of the upper-tier items—and any noble who finds out you have something like that will try to beg, barter, steal, or even kill you for it. And depending on their family’s standing, they might even get away with it.” She gave a wry smile. “Heck, I’d love to buy it myself, but there’s no way I have that kind of money. Those things are super rare dungeon drops. I won’t ask where you got it, but others will if they find out.”
I smiled easily. “That’s not a problem. In fact, I actually have a spare ring that’s similar, plus a bunch of other items for sale. If you can’t afford it, maybe you could help me sell the ring and the gear when we get to the next town or city?”
The look of absolute shock on Rebecca’s face made me burst out laughing.
“Don’t look so stunned,” I chuckled. “I’ve gotten into a couple of fights over the last two days, and let’s just say the spoils from surviving were… pretty great. It’s not like I usually go around loaded with rare artifacts. But I am looking for some specific things—first and foremost, mana crystals. And when I get to the city, I’ll need to stock up on perishables and non-perishables. My home is in a remote location, and aside from my garden and the occasional hunt, I don’t have easy access to much. We can talk more in the morning, but I’m sure most of you could make a decent profit off me with things you’re willing to sell—maybe even help me move some of these items for a percentage.”
Robert, seeing the excitement on everyone’s faces—and with a glint of amusement in his own eyes—chuckled and said, “You’re right. We’ll talk in the morning and see what we can help each other with. That is… assuming Rebecca can get to sleep now.”
He finished the last part with a teasing grin.
I nodded and headed into my tent. It was one of the tents I’d taken from those murdering adventurers after I’d gotten out of the dungeon. It came with a nice cot and comfy blankets… and, unfortunately, one of the most uncomfortable pillows on the planet. Deciding to improvise, I pulled out a different blanket, rolled it up, and used it as a replacement.
Lying down on the cot, I took a moment to look around. The tent had a thick canvas floor and, surprisingly, a very high-end rug spread across the middle. Against one side sat a big, elegant dresser made of dark wood, and next to it was a flat-topped treasure chest banded in iron. Curiosity got the better of me, and I climbed out of bed to open the chest.
My jaw dropped.
Inside was a small fortune. Heck it was a fortune —copper, silver, gold, and even a gleaming pile of platinum coins. Rings, jewels, expensive-looking trinkets… it was enough to make anyone’s head spin. I was impressed, sure—but I was also disgusted. Those adventurers must have killed a lot of people to amass this much, even if they had been dungeon diving regularly.
Without a second thought, I stashed the chest into my personal storage. That was a lot of money. I’d have to be careful with how I used it; the last thing I wanted was to be that guy—like the bank robber who buys a Ferrari the day after hitting a bank, when everyone in town knows he’d been riding a bicycle before. Not a perfect comparison, but the point was the same: don’t make waves, and definitely don’t draw attention to myself.
Thinking it through, I realized I probably should’ve pulled out one of the smaller two-person tents I’d taken from the bandits on the road. Would’ve been a lot less flashy and wouldn’t have revealed the questionable size of my personal storage.
Deciding to check my stats, I pulled up my status sheet to see how this trip had improved things.
[Status Sheet]
( to be completed before publication)
I was honestly impressed by the difference.
Most of my growth had definitely come from my time at the house training with Fu, but even just general activity on this journey seemed to have given my stats a decent boost.
Settling back into the cot, I mentally braced myself for sleep—and for the next morning.
It was going to be a busy one, full of negotiations.