Corrin considered his training genius in its simplicity. With channeling, he could build up an unbelievable appetite, and then satiate himself while conducting his research.

  He wasn’t hopeful about his latest mark. In fact, he hadn’t planned on eating at it for another few days, but the plaza was swarming with people, and he was too hungry to wait in line. The stall in question was sitting in one of the side streets away from the main plaza, and unlike the other shops, it didn’t have any decorations or signage other than a wooden board with a few words scrawled onto it.

  One copper for a bowl.

  The only sign it was open was a faint light which spilled out from beneath the blankets hanging over the awning in the front. Still, the chairs were empty along the counter, so Corrin moved the blankets aside and took a seat, his nose treated to a delightful smell wafting up from a covered pot set into the stall. The cook was an older man, leaning against an unlit stove with a bored look in his eyes.

  “Whatever you think is best,” Corrin asked, placing a copper coin on the counter.

  The stallkeeper slid the coin off the back of the counter, letting it fall into a pouch on his apron as he watched Corrin with a discerning eye. He didn’t speak, but quickly set to scooping a strange bean and meat soup into a bowl.

  Once the bowl was full, he pushed it across the counter to Corrin and nodded once.

  Corrin took a closer look at the steaming stew. It was thicker than most he’d seen, filled with beans and vegetables, and the meat, which looked like beef, had been cut into countless tiny pieces, somewhere between cutting it into cubes and grinding it into a paste. Corrin dipped the spoon in, lifted the spoon to his lips, and then he took a bite.

  His mouth exploded with flavor, and his eyes widened. He savored the bite for a moment before swallowing, letting out a satisfying breath of steam afterwards.

  “Spirits,” Corrin muttered. It was incredible. “What is this?”

  The man’s face twitched for a moment. “Phofi, have you never had it before?”

  “Can’t say I have, I’m not from around here.”

  “A traveler then?”

  Corrin nodded. “I’m stuck here during the deep winter. Is the dish local?”

  “That it is,” the man said. “A type of stew only found in the west of the basin. Though, my personal spice blend comes mostly from Elysia.”

  “Oh? Do tell.” Corrin leaned in.

  The man’s lips quirked upwards. “What, and spill my secrets?”

  Corrin took another bite, savoring the intense flavors. “It’s great, so much more flavorful than the stews I’ve made.”

  “If I could be so easily outdone by a boy less than half my age, I'd be concerned.”

  Corrin chuckled. He ate more, and with each bite, he became more confident.

  “This is it,” he said. “This is what I’ve been looking for.”

  The man raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m looking for a master,” Corrin explained. “Would you consider taking me as a student?”

  The man paused. He looked at Corrin’s face, then down, then back up again. After a moment, he slowly hung the ladle back on its notch.

  “You’re a strange one, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I’m not interested in an apprentice, much less one who will only study under me for two months.”

  “Please sir. I've tried almost every stall in this plaza, I've eaten all their food, but none compare to that stew. One recipe, that’s all I ask. I’ll owe you a favor, any favor for the rest of my life!”

  “A favor?” The man snorted, looking Corrin up and down. “What’s a favor from a runt like you?”

  Corrin puffed up his chest. “I’m going to be a spirit knight someday. Just think of how much that favor would be worth then.”

  “A spirit knight? You? Isn’t that something you grow out of by your age?”

  Corrin just grinned.

  Something changed in the man’s eyes. “Alright then mister future spirit knight. I’ll tell you what—let me scoop you up a new bowl. If you can finish that one, then I’ll give you one lesson. One.”

  “All I have to do is finish it?” Corrin frowned. “That's easy enough.”

  “There is one more stipulation, you may not drink water until you have finished the bowl.” The man scooped up another bowl. This time however, he reached under the counter, and then sprinkled a deep red powder onto it before mixing it in. “If you drink or eat anything else, I will consider it the same as admitting defeat. But if you think it will be so easy, then by all means, go ahead.”

  He pushed the bowl across the counter, a wolf's grin on his face.

  Corrin glanced at the stew. Nothing appeared changed, only the inclusion of the powder.

  “As it was meant to be eaten,” The man said cryptically.

  Corrin took a hesitant bite, but the same flavor greeted him. “I mean, it still tastes great. Why would I have trouble eating…”

  Then he felt it, a prickling sensation building on his tongue. It was weak at first, but slowly grew until he felt as though his mouth were on fire. Corrin had eaten peppers before, but this spice was on a whole different level.

  “The hell did you put in my food?” He panted, breathing heavily as he felt his eyes start to tear up. His heartbeat picked up, racing as he started to sweat.

  The man laughed boldly. “You’re panicking quickly for someone who claims to want to be a spirit knight! Can you not handle the heat? This is true Phofi boy! This is real food!”

  On instinct, Corrin reached for the glass of water, ice cold in the winter air, but the man grabbed his wrist. “Are you going to forfeit the challenge so easily?”

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  Corrin’s eyes blazed. He dipped the spoon in and took another bite. Once again, the flavors burst on his tongue, providing a deep yet fleeting satisfaction, and then came the burn, intensified further.

  “Just give up!” The man sneered. “You’re not ready for this, admit it!”

  Corrin swallowed another bite, his nose running. “Screw you!”

  Fire engulfed his mouth, he’d never eaten anything so hot before. It was taking over his body. He began to channel mana, purely on instinct, but it did him no good against the heat.

  He felt a rush go through his body, and before he knew it, he was going for the next bite all on his own. Then another, and another. He ate and cried and ate and sweat and ate and ate and ate and ate and—

  And then the bowl was empty.

  Corrin collapsed onto the counter, reaching for the glass of water and downing it in a single motion, but his mouth continued to burn. It hadn’t helped nearly as much as he thought it would.

  He breathed harder through his mouth, trying to bring in the frigid air to sooth his tongue.

  The chef, on the other hand, simply nodded. “Not bad kid, not bad at all. A deal’s a deal. One lesson. I’ll teach you how to prepare one part of the stew.”

  Corrin glared up at him, still gasping from the heat.

  “How—” Corrin took another breath. “How did you prepare the beef? That was different than if you’d just thrown it in.”

  “That’s a big question, but it’s also a good one for a novice.” He poured another glass of water. “Drink this and listen.” The man reached under the counter and took out a chunk of beef. After inspecting it for a moment, he cut it in half. “Now first off, this isn’t beef. It’s lamb, though this technique works for either one. Second off, there’s a trick to it, and winter is the best time for it—you partially freeze the meat.”

  “Partially freeze—” Corrin caught on. He swallowed, wincing from the stinging in his throat. “It makes it easier to cut.”

  “Exactly. Cut it into thin slices, just like this.” He demonstrated, his knife passing through the meat with practiced ease. “Lay those slices down, and cut them into even finer strips. Then… turn the strips sideways and mince it into tiny pieces.”

  When he was done, the result was the finely chopped pieces Corrin had seen before.

  “Alright, now come back here and give it a shot.” The man gestured to the remaining half of the lamb that he’d separated before starting.

  “Seriously?” Corrin asked.

  “Does it look like I have anything better to do? Nobody in this damn city has any taste...”

  Corrin looked around at the plaza. The streets were bustling in the fading glow of twilight. Most of the stalls were packed with people, and men and women, old and young travelled amidst the stalls eating food.

  But Corrin and the old man were alone.

  “Ah, that must be frustrating,” Corrin apologized.

  “It’s fine,” the old man grunted. “I have a few regulars, and that’s enough. When you can’t afford a big fancy stall, or pay contracts for the premium spots, that’s just how it goes. Besides, it gives me more time to teach newbies like you don’t it?”

  Corrin met the man’s eyes, bowing his head slightly. “Thank you.” Then, he got up and walked around to the back, reaching for the knife when the man slapped his wrist.

  “Wash your hands you damned animal. You’re handling food.”

  Corrin blinked at the sudden change in demeanor. “Sorry, I uh—”

  “I don’t need the whole spiel just do it.”

  Head still spinning from the heat, Corrin felt a bit overwhelmed. He almost dunked his hands into the bucket with the drinking water before the man grabbed his wrists and shoved them into the correct one. One minute and a bar of soap later, Corrin finished drying his hands and returned to the knife.

  “Okay, so cut it into slices… then strips.” The meat was cold in his hand, but the man was right, it was easier to cut. His technique wasn’t nearly as polished, and using a knife for cooking was entirely different from combat. Unlike the thin, uniform slices he’d been shown, Corrin’s ended up a bit thicker on average, and more varied. “Then turn it sideways and mince.”

  Still, the end result wasn’t too bad, and the man took the knife back and mixed the two piles. “We’re not going for a paste, it’s fine.”

  “So what next, just toss it in the pot?” Corrin asked. The man gave him a disappointed look.

  “We cook the meat separately, we want it browned. That will bring out more of its flavor in the stew.” He pulled out a pan and placed it onto a small grated opening in the stall. On the side below the opening was a small switch. The man tugged on it hard, and there was a scraping sound, then orange flames licked up from the sides of the pan before disappearing. Corrin looked into the grates and saw glowing coals beneath. “This stuff is pretty fatty, so we don’t need to add any oil. Let the pan heat up nice and hot before putting on the meat.”

  “What was that?” Corrin stared at the fire.

  “The flames? It’s sparkpowder, good for lighting the coals. Cook over coals when you can, not a fire, they heat steadier. I’ve heard good things about some new magic stone devices that let you control the heat even better, but I’ve never tried.”

  After a wait, he put the lamb in the pan, flattening it out against the bottom with a wooden spatula before letting it sit.

  Corrin’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t you going to flip it? Or stir it? The bottom is going to char!”

  The man snorted. “Ha! That’s not char boy—that’s a crust. And it’s exactly what we’re looking for. I see far too many cooks who take it off the pan as soon as it's cooked through. Don’t fall into that trap, it’s called browning the meat, not graying it. Don’t be impatient, take some time and add your seasonings.”

  “I see,” Corrin said seriously. He hadn’t known that.

  He waited as the meat sizzled against the pan and the man sprinkled some salt, pepper, and a few other spices Corrin didn’t recognize, until finally he flipped it and began to break it up.

  “There we go… smell that, boy?” He grinned, and Corrin could see him coming to life. “That’s what we wanted! Now that we’ve got that crust, cook it all the way through, don’t rush!”

  Corrin scowled. “I heard you, don’t rush.”

  “You heard, but did you understand?” The man asked.

  Corrin didn’t answer, and the man said nothing else. Soon enough, he moved on to the next step. The lamb, fully browned, finally went into the pot, but just when Corrin thought they were done, the man grabbed his shoulder.

  “One last thing. You see those parts stuck to the bottom of the pan from when we formed the crust? They are full of flavor, and if you wish to be a true cook, you cannot let flavor go to waste.”

  “Deglazing then?”

  “Ah so you do know a little something after all,” the man smirked. “That’s exactly right. Stock instead of wine for this recipe, but it’s easy enough.”

  “What about the beans? The vegetables?” Corrin asked.

  The man smiled mirthfully. “Sorry kid, I’m not in the business of handing out my recipes. And I believe our deal was for one lesson.”

  Corrin clicked his tongue. “Can I eat another one of those bowls to learn more?”

  The man laughed at that. “You might be something of a masochist if you’re asking for that boy. Fine, fine, if you come again tomorrow and have another bowl, I’ll consider it. But I’m going to make it even hotter than today’s! And tomorrow's won't be on the house!”

  “You won’t scare me off with a little pain! I’ll be back, you damn sadist!”

  Corrin turned and stalked away.

  “Hey kid!” The man called out.

  Corrin turned. “What?” He paused. The man had stopped laughing, and he was looking at Corrin with a strange expression.

  “Why do you want to learn to cook? That just seems like a waste of time for a spirit knight.”

  The sounds of the plaza, busy as ever, continued in the background. But between the two of them, the silence seemed to stretch for an eternity. Corrin wasn’t sure what answer the man wanted, so as he turned away once more, he decided on the truth.

  “If I ever have to eat dungeon meat again, I’m going to cook it a lot better.”

  Whatever expression was on the man’s face at such a response, Corrin didn’t see. He just pulled his hood up, and trudged away. His ears were getting cold.

  He hoped Eldress Jolaine had saved him some tea.