Chapter 18

  Ren was up before the sun.

  The Sleazy Snake—his humble stall that had once been little more than a tarp, a firepit, and a half-stolen cutting board—looked… different now. Real walls. A reinforced canvas awning. Hand-painted signs showing off his signature dishes and that ridiculous triple-challenge some fool had actually beaten last week. A proper counter with clean stools. Hell, he even had a waitlist most nights.

  But tonight? Tonight wasn’t just another night.

  It was Festival Eve. The Flamewake Festival, to be exact—a regional celebration that drew travelers, merchants, and more importantly, nobles and guild representatives from all over the southern territories.

  And Ren was cooking for all of them.

  He adjusted the lacquered menu board outside, smoothing out its corners, then stepped back to take in the décor: lanterns borrowed from Farin’s storeroom, red and gold streamers cut from salvaged velvet scraps, and a low-hanging charm that pulsed with a bit of minor illusion magic—just enough to give the illusion of flickering flame along the signage.

  Subtle. Warm. Eye-catching.

  His fingers tapped the edge of his apron as he ran through his checklist again.

  Three starters prepped. Five mains. Two desserts, these dishes for the public as well as the main starter, main course and dessert which will be judged.

  The equipment was oiled, sharpened, and arranged in military order behind the counter. Every pot, pan, and enchanted spoon had its place.

  Ren stepped inside and flipped the ‘Closed’ sign to ‘Special Event Only.’

  Then he examined his stats.

  Ren Saito

  Class: Mana Chef (Outsider Variant)

  Level: 9

  HP:110

  MP:120

  Strength: 8

  Dexterity: 16

  Constitution: 11

  Perception: 17

  Intelligence:12

  He’d finally confirmed the system logic. Ten HP per Constitution. Ten MP per Intelligence.

  He allocated his new Free Stat Points quickly—Dexterity to keep up with the increasingly intricate knife work his recipes demanded, and Constitution just in case.

  Slow, steady growth.

  Ren closed the book and looked at his reflection in the polished steel of his grill.

  “I’m gonna nail this.”

  The city was buzzing by the time the sun crested the rooftops.

  Stalls were blooming like flowers across the plaza—meat skewers, steamed buns, crystal sugar fruit carts, grilled wyrmkin-tail (which Ren tried not to think too hard about), and even a shaved ice vendor with imported mana crystals that chilled the syrup on contact.

  His competitors were out in full force.

  Especially Orbin.

  He had met him again after their initial meeting.Briefly.He hadn’t even remembered him, had simply told him to do his peasant cooking elsewhere.

  He was now directly across from The Sleazy Snake.

  With embroidered curtains. Velvet chairs. A dish named Caramelized Dream Hare in Essence Foam.

  Ren grinned.

  He’d asked Farin what the rules were. There was no official competition, but every festival had a “favorites list”—a quiet ranking done by the local council and guild representatives that could make or break a stall’s future. If your food impressed the right people, you could end up with permits, grants, even a permanent storefront.

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  If it didn’t?

  You went back to slinging soup to drunk adventurers.

  That was fine, Ren figured.

  He was used to pressure.

  By late morning, the crowds were rolling in.

  The firepits were lit, the stocks began to simmer, and the first waves of curious eaters approached. Most knew him. Some were travelers, murmuring about the daily specials or asking about the challenge dishes they’d heard rumors of.

  And he was ready.

  Starter: Sweetfire broth redux. A thinner base with chili and sourberry vinegar layered in. Instead of straight fire-aspect infusion, he’d temper it with a hint of air mana to lift the heat, make it bloom in the nose before settling on the tongue. Like a proper tom yum met a mana furnace.

  Main course: Herb-roasted root medley with duskfat reduction. He’d add slow-seared pork belly marinated in dark ale and root sugar, then hit it with a double infusion—earth and wind—to give it body and aroma. Think slow-cooked stew meets a Sunday roast, with the mana acting like a seasoned sous chef in the pan.

  Dessert: Stone-grain tart crust stabilized with mana, filled with a soft-set custard made from goat’s milk, cracked dreamnut, and just enough raw honey to balance the nuttiness. Topped with shaved emberfruit rind, candied with air-aspect pulses. A crunch, a melt, and then something that lingered just at the edge of memory.

  The first bites came.

  Then the silence.

  Then the murmurs. Then—laughter, applause, questions,coins hitting the counter in thick, satisfying thuds.

  The nobles hadn’t arrived yet. But the early crowd? They were already calling him a festival favorite.

  Ren moved like wind and flame. Calm. Intentional. Exact. Every garnish placed by hand. Every bowl passed with a quiet “Enjoy.”

  Inside, his heart still hammered.

  But outside?

  He was the chef.

  And the fire was just getting started.

  _________

  The judges arrived mid-afternoon.

  Ren didn’t recognize all of them, but Farrin had made him memorise the likeness of a few important ones : a silver-badged rep from the Crafter’’s Guild with rings on every finger, a stern-faced woman in ceremonial Adventurer’s Guild leathers, and—most obvious of all—a robed official from the local council whose sheer disinterest made Ren want to plate a fireball.

  Orbin greeted them with a rehearsed bow and a flute of something sparkling.

  Ren just nodded when they crossed to him.

  “Mana Chef Ren Saito, correct?” the guild rep asked, glancing at a small clipboard.

  “That’s me,” Ren said, brushing a smudge of glaze off his apron. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got three fresh plates ready.”

  They exchanged glances, then took seats at the counter.

  Ren didn’t waste time. He’d practiced the plating twice that morning, not to mentioned the amount of time spent during the actually cooking, he just had to hope it would be enough.

  First, the starter.

  The sourfire soup

  The Artisan’s Guild rep took one bite, blinked, then went very still.

  The Adventurer’s rep gave a low grunt of approval and didn’t pause before moving on to the main.

  Ren quickly placed the main course in front on them - The juicy pork belly with the savoury root medley.

  The councilor paused longer between bites. Less impressed, maybe. But he finished the plate.

  Then came the dessert.

  The tart crust which he had loved making back home, which for some reason was heavily affected by the mana here causing it to collapse again and again until he had finally just given up and made it with almost entirely mundane ingredients.

  By the time the last spoon hit the plate, the Crafter’s guild rep was looking sorrowfully at the now empty dish plate before trying to regain his composure and looking at Ren approvingly.

  “Where did you train?”

  Ren blinked. “Kyoto.”

  “Is that near Farspring?”

  “Farther.”

  That got a raised eyebrow.

  The Adventurer’s Guild judge wiped her mouth, then gave him a curt nod. “That was the first time in a year I’ve eaten something which could match up to the cooks in the capital.

  The councilor just hummed. “It was… interesting.”

  Then they left.

  Ren didn’t start grinning till they were two stalls down.

  ____________

  He was cleaning up, taking a rare second to breathe, when someone tapped the side of his stall.

  Kaela leaned in, her ever-present smirk softened slightly by the scent of fried spices.

  “You’re popular today.”

  “It’s not that special.”

  “Could’ve fooled me. Half the plaza’s buzzing about that pork belly. Garon would’ve killed for a plate back then when he could still walk eat properly.

  Ren paused. “How is he?”

  “Drunk. Still bitter. But healing. Tallen’s keeping him from doing anything stupid.”

  He nodded, unsure what else to say.

  Kaela leaned closer. “Listen… after today, you’re going to be on a lot more maps. Just make sure you know who’s drawing them.”

  She flicked a small wooden charm onto his counter—he assumed some kind of rune for good luck or safe paths -—and vanished back into the crowd.

  ___________________

  As the sun dipped low and lanterns began to glow, Ren finally allowed himself a small moment of satisfaction.

  The Sleazy Snake had held its own. More than that—he’d served with pride, precision, and magic he’d forged himself.

  The judges had tasted it.

  The people had loved it.

  And for the first time in a long while, Ren Saito felt like he might actually make this world his.

  He turned toward the firepit and added a bit more wood. The last of the tart was going to a pair of young adventurers who couldn’t stop grinning, and he had just enough left to finish the night on a high note.