Y’cennia hated life, and she regretted all the decisions she made that led her to this point.

  She hated that the feast yesterday was the most delicious food she had ever tasted, and maybe for the rest of her life might ever taste.

  She hated the fact that it was fish, and she was falling into the stereotype that “cats like fish”.

  She hated that she only stopped at 4 servings, despite her stomach pleading for it to end at 3.

  And most of all…she hated that it was over.

  Okay, so maybe she was being a little dramatic, but she was allowed a little drama when the world around her felt like it was crumbling. After all, how could simple [Cooking] be so…powerful?

  She’d heard the comparison between her class and [Cooking] countless times before.

  “What’s the difference between the two?” some people might joke. “You’re just throwing ingredients into a pot.”

  Anybody who said that with a serious face was The Big Dumb.

  Y’cennia could begrudgingly admit to the similarities that might have led to such a misconception. At its core, [Alchemy] really was trying to blend two random things together, usually in a pot, to make something much better than either part alone. The only difference was that [Alchemy] was magical.

  Okay, so that wasn’t the only difference, obviously, and after last night, Y’cennia started to suspect that cooking, real [Cooking], might be magical too.

  There was no way it couldn’t be magical if it turned a known Fish Despiser like Jessica into a fiend that nearly stole her servings!

  For the first time in her life, Y’cennia was giving serious contemplation to switching classes. Maybe she was meant to be a [Chef].

  A groan escaped her lips.

  Y’cennia was alone in their inn room, and at the moment, she was grateful for the privacy. She fidgeted as she lounged in the not-too-comfortable chair, twisting and turning, this way and that, to find the least aggravating position. Even the slightest movement made her belly protest.

  She indulged too much.

  Now she believed strongly in a simple truth: beware of dragons bearing buffets. Especially if they’re disguised as gnomes.

  The fact that there was likely only one such combination alive in the world to complete said scenario was, of course, ignored.

  Y’cennia glanced over to the table, where her [Alchemy] kit lay strewn about, completely ignored. She made good progress yesterday before the feast, and she was due a day off. Level 347! Nearly 350! And with any luck, she’d clear that mark by a mile before the end of the week.

  If the old stiffs back home could see her now, they’d be green with envy, begging her to join their shops or be a part of their guilds. Or maybe they’d be red with rage and try to snuff her out. Not that they’d be able to.

  Y’cennia snorted.

  Lady Meliastraza wouldn’t let them.

  For better or worse, Y’cennia was part of a dragon’s hoard.

  Which was a little weird, whenever she thought about it, because dragons were supposed to kidnap princesses, breathe fire, siege castles, and sit on top of piles of gold and jewels.

  And then a knight was supposed to appear and vanquish the dragon.

  A laugh actually escaped Y’cennia’s lips.

  If any knights tried vanquishing this dragon, they better come prepared with a lot of food.

  Y’cennia never considered what a true [Gourmet] might look like. She never considered herself part of that select corner of society composed of food critics and enthusiasts. To her, a meal was a means to an end, the way in which a body kept going. Yes, if it was tasty, it was better, but she never thought she’d actually experience the cooking of a high-level [Chef] herself.

  The cost of eating at those restaurants, let alone the reservations and wait times, was prohibitive.

  And after last night, Y’cennia understood why.

  Each different course that Melia prepared contained a food buff. Each one seemed to boost a different stat by a tiny amount, and after sampling everything on her plate, Y’cennia found herself under the effects of [Well Fed]. A flat five percent increase to all her stats.

  On one hand, it wasn’t much, especially since the buff only lasted for 30 minutes after she was done eating. But on the other…Lady Meliastraza didn’t seem to be aware that her food was going to have any buffs of any type!

  As in, she was just cooking for the fun of it, and she wasn’t putting real effort in! Y’cennia could only imagine what it would have looked like if the dragon had gone all out.

  Maybe that’s how she destroys the world.

  Again, Y’cennia’s eyes drifted to the table where her gear was spread out. As a crafter, it was her livelihood. But after the fiasco in the dungeon, everybody agreed that she needed something…more. If she was going to accompany her teammates into the heart of disaster again, she needed to be more prepared.

  Maybe it was her greed for rare and unusual ingredients getting the better of her, but she found herself wanting to go again.

  So far, the group had thrown out multiple suggestions for her to try and incorporate into a “battle build”. Mostly bombs and poisons, which she had the basics for, but if she truly wanted something devastating, with (sometimes) less of a chance for it to blow up in her face, she needed a few levels in [Engineering]. Those options were attractive and she planned to explore them, but they were ranged. Y’cennia hoped she never had to get up close and personal with a monster again (that bat was enough), but her team made a good point.

  Why risk it when they had the option to train themselves? Lady Meliastraza offered to teach her the dagger, which was a whole lot more appealing to Y’cennia than something unwieldy like a sword or an axe.

  To top it off, daggers and poisons complemented each other very well, so that would be much easier for her to combine and learn.

  But Y’cennia wasn’t convinced she wanted to take a combat class, and she was positive if she learned both daggers and poisons from Lady Meliastraza, she’d end up gaining the [Rogue] class.

  Y’cennia wasn’t Jessica. She didn’t need to pick up [Rogue] in order to gain an evolution. As she said, she would much rather pick up [Engineering] or [Cooking].

  …maybe Ellesea’s infamous “black matter” could teach her the ways of weaponized [Cooking]?

  Alastair looked around the empty field about a mile away from Lakeridge, and for the first time this morning, he questioned his decision-making skills. Usually, past-him was pretty good about this sort of thing, but today Al was feeling like he might have made a mistake.

  When Melia first mentioned her willingness to help lead them to whatever goals they desired, Alastair took it to mean she’d support them in a very broad, hands-off sort of way, cheering them on.

  He underestimated her resolve.

  This morning, content from last night’s feast and eating his fill, the group was having a lazy day. Days like this happened, where they didn’t want to go out and fight any monsters, for whatever reason, but they didn’t want to slack off entirely either. Usually, they all stayed somewhat local and focused on their individual interests or self-improvement, which was what Al originally planned when he saw his teammates in their lethargic, coma-like states.

  Except Melia, of course, who was, of course, still eating. Of course.

  It made a certain amount of sense if Alastair could look past the tiny gnome and see the gigantic dragon. But as he was contemplating magical transfer of energy, Melia noticed him and struck up a conversation. It was harmless enough; she was simply curious what he had planned for the day, and he gave a vague reply of most likely settling into some devotions. She nodded her head, satisfied, content to leave things at that, but for some reason, Alastair felt compelled to elaborate.

  He really wanted to practice his healing spells, but currently that wasn’t something practical to do.

  At this, Melia perked up and tilted her head in that way small children and most dogs did when they encountered something they didn’t understand.

  Alastair chuckled, explaining that there were two methods most experts believed to be the most effective ways to train healing: using spells to heal damage, or deepening one’s connection to their power source. In Alastair’s case, as with any [Paladin], it was his faith in his patron deity. Through careful studies of the scriptures, immersing himself in their teachings, he could bring himself closer to the Light.

  It was a slow, steady, methodical approach that would improve him as a person, not just a healer, over the course of his entire life.

  But if he wanted to see rapid results with instant gratification?

  Few people could deny the effects of living through a trial by fire.

  There were several reasons Alastair couldn’t simply practice his healing spells on his own. First, if he healed somebody who didn’t need it, all he would achieve was a flashy waste of mana. It would be impressive, sure, especially if a more powerful healer, say a high-level [Priest] or a [Bishop], were the ones casting. The spell would look amazing, the target might get a boost of energy or feel really good for a few minutes, but ultimately, he wouldn’t get any stronger.

  Training healing by repairing damage meant finding somebody who was actually hurt.

  Doing so was a common form of outreach for members of the cloth. Local charities and clinics often arranged healing days for people to bring their sick and injured. Alastair could very easily wander the streets of Lakeridge, seeking out people in need of healing, and most likely, he would find an abundance of scrapes and bruises, perhaps a sore or two. Real injuries were surprisingly uncommon to encounter while they were in a fixable state, since they needed to be treated quickly before the damage became permanent.

  Unless one had access to incredibly powerful healing spells, like one or two of the [Archbishops], or maybe a [Saint].

  Alastair was neither, and he didn’t think a [Saint] had been seen since the Age of Upheaval.

  That left healing any injuries he might find…on his teammates, or himself.

  For obvious reasons, he wasn’t going to ask his party members, his friends and family, to simply wander into range of an aggressive monster and allow themselves to be attacked. And following the same logic, they weren’t about to let him go out alone and do the same thing to himself.

  That’s when Melia spoke up.

  She couldn’t help him with the faith side of his dilemma, but she was more than happy to assist with…temporarily induced trauma.

  Even with the knowledge that Melia was a dragon, level 3700 and probably invincible by all mortal standards, he didn’t feel comfortable letting her harm herself just so he could practice healing. She gave a sad laugh and shook her head, telling him to wait as she retreated to a side room to change.

  When she returned, Alastair’s eyes shot open and he felt his gut clench. He instinctively tried to [Inspect] the bizarre new outfit she was wearing, but he couldn’t see everything and she had to explain the rest.

  [Glory of the Contender]

  Level: 1000

  Class: Pugilist

  Set: 3 of 5, active

  Your strikes hit harder, ignoring 8% of your target’s Defense and Armor.

  [Prize Fighter’s Top]

  Level: 1000

  Rarity: Epic

  Class: Pugilist

  Strength: 3378

  Agility: 4492

  Mo cuishle.

  [Southpaw Shorts]

  Level: 1000

  Rarity: Epic

  Class: Pugilist

  Strength: 3010

  Agility: 5100

  Aaaaaadriaaaaaan!!!!

  [Ali’s Treads]

  Level: 1000

  Rarity: Epic

  Class: Pugilist

  Strength: 5444

  Agility: 4555

  Float like a butterfly, sting like a…ehhh, this one’s overdone.

  Alastair fought the urge to blush and look away. He was pretty sure he had never seen any clothing so…revealing, and that was saying something, considering what Melia usually wore and her outfit from the last several days being her [Dancer]’s gear.

  Now, she had a tiny, constrictive top that barely covered her chest, leaving her arms and stomach bare. Her…pants, if he could call them that, were comically oversized; they deviated from Melia’s typical pink or black color scheme. They were red, white, and blue, and they looked like they could be shorts for a much larger man. The system itself called them shorts, but they flared out wide, each pant billowing around a leg. The shoes at least seemed normal…though they were slick, understated things that prioritized movement over any sort of protection.

  And that was it. Everything else was exposed.

  Except for her gloves. After a closer look, he found they weren’t the typical gloves one wore as equipment. Instead, they counted as her weapon.

  [Riddick’s Sparring Wraps]

  Level: 1

  Rarity: Legendary

  Class: Pugilist

  Strength: NULL

  Agility: NULL

  On use: create a temporary copy of Riddick’s Wraps to give to a sparring partner. These wraps share all the properties of the original, but they cannot create more wraps and they will expire in one hour, vanishing. 1 hour cooldown.

  On equip: if sparring with another wielder of Riddick’s Sparring Wraps, enter a state of “Training”. When Training, all stats of both wearers are nullified and normalized, bringing parity while splitting the difference between the two, comparable to the original difference in strength. Maximum distribution of stats: 60-40. No damage is dealt to either training member, allowing for extended practice. Caution: physical blows will still be felt.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Take away the hurt, leave the pain.

  Calling them “gloves” was generous. As the name implied, they were wraps; long thin strips of fabric that fighters wrapped around their wrists, hands, and knuckles. They looked like common, dirty linen scraps, stained with sweat, soot, and blood. But, as was painfully evident, they were legendary.

  “I got these from a class trainer long ago,” Melia said quietly, and left it at that.

  Alastair had more than a few questions about the legendary item. First, how were they rated for level 1? He never heard of a legendary item with a restriction less than 500. There was a rather famous hammer that was forged from fiery elementals and blessed by the gods to reach legendary status. That required a user of at least 590 levels.

  Second…what was with those stats?

  Melia assured him that the system was not glitching out, it wasn’t corrupted and he wasn’t seeing things. The NULL, as it said in the text, took away all the benefits stats normally gave to people. These were training gloves, Melia said, meant for people with a large gap between them to fight on a fair playing field. Once upon a time, the master, Riddick, used these to spar with recruits. No matter how high one person’s level was, no matter their stats, when sparring against an opponent also wearing these gloves, each hit would be akin to an unpowered individual hitting another. Most might see it as a novelty, since there’d be no reason to fight somebody like that in real life, but Alastair could understand the appeal. And with an item requirement of level 1, anybody could use them.

  It wasn’t until they were out in the field, getting ready to duke it out, when Melia said some extremely unsettling words.

  “You, ah, trust the system, don’t you, Al? I haven’t used these in a very long time.”

  Jessica was never one to say no to watching somebody get the ever-loving crap beaten out of them. So, when Melia walked back into the common area of their inn suite looking like a featherweight world champion, she was all on board for the entertainment that was sure to follow.

  “Wait up, I gotta see this,” she said, quickly hopping up. On a whim, she turned to Ellesea, who was slumped over like a wet noodle, and hoisted her up. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Nooooooo,” the [Mage] complained, but allowed herself to be thrown over a shoulder and hauled away. Resistance was too much effort.

  The group wandered out of town to a nice open area sheltered by the rolling hills, free from any monsters and blocking sight from town. Jessica dumped Ellesea unceremoniously onto the ground under the shade of a lone tree and made herself comfortable. Even if this strange new development turned out to be a bust, at least she walked off some of last night’s feast.

  Fish.

  With rice, crab, and sausage.

  How could such a combination be so tasty? It was disgusting. Not in the flavorful way. It was so delicious it almost made Jessica angry just thinking about it. Fish didn’t have any right tasting that good.

  It had spice, too, just enough to kick her straight in the sinus and make her woof. It didn’t overwhelm her like some traditional A’jole foods; it didn’t make her cry or scream or want to drown herself in water. It simply made her hungrier.

  And now that she was thinking about it again, she sorely regretted not stealing Y’cennia’s fourth plate last night and only taking a single bowl of leftovers this morning.

  …there definitely needed to be an exercise regimen for the group if Melia was sticking around long term…and it really looked like she was.

  Not that the gnome needed any exercise, judging from how she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. Once again, she seemed to be showcasing another bizarre, max-level class.

  Some sort of [Fighter], Jessica could tell. Most people would have evolved it into something specialized, like an actual [Fighter], or else some sort of martial artist, or maybe a [Boxer]. If Melia hadn’t told them she didn’t have any advanced classes, Jessica never would have guessed she was still only a [Pugilist].

  Jessica didn’t grow up in the slums, but her family wasn’t the wealthiest and there were several small-time gangs in the area. She’d seen plenty of street fights, tavern brawls, alley ambushes. She once scored tickets to The Pit in Horizon’s Underground. She, herself, was not afraid to throw hands if the situation called for it.

  The same could not be said for Al.

  Several paces away, Melia was helping Alastair wrap up his hands. Every move she made was fluid, natural, and if Jessica didn’t know any better, she’d have guessed the gnome had spent the better part of every day for the last several years exclusively honing this craft. Once both of them had their hands completely wrapped, Melia bounced several feet away and activated a skill.

  [Avatar]. With a rush of adrenaline that pulsed out in a tangible wave of power, Melia instantly doubled in size. Jessica had vague memories of seeing the giant gnome once before, but now that she wasn’t drugged out of her mind, the sight was infinitely more terrifying.

  Though maybe that was because Jessica knew Lady Meliastraza’s true power now, and it was damningly obvious that Al was about to get his shit kicked in.

  Jessica was wondering how a gnome would ever engage in hand-to-hand combat. Normally, their reach was simply too limited to offer anything other than a mild annoyance to a larger opponent, who, truthfully, might find it difficult to find ways to attack the smaller target. Punches were usually out of the question, since they’d have to aim so low.

  Now that Melia was merely a foot shorter than the [Paladin], that wasn’t really an issue anymore. She’d have to punch up to hit him in the face, but that was actually a blessing in this case. Alastair might have been missing a few brain cells when he agreed to fight the Destroyer of Worlds, but nobody wanted to give him brain damage.

  Melia bounced on her toes for several seconds, familiarizing herself with the feel of her new size. Smiling, she hopped forward and held her hands out. Al blinked momentarily before reaching out his own hands and tapping the top, then bottom, of her gloves.

  Jessica and Ellesea shot up straight as an invisible bell rang out sharply three times.

  “Oh!” Melia cried out brightly. “I forgot about that. Also, don’t mind the timer. When it reaches 3 minutes, the bells will ring again and we’ll take a quick break.”

  Jessica knew what this was; she’d seen a few [Boxing] matches. Rounds, fights went in rounds. Apparently the class worked by fluctuating between bursts of heavy action and small rests.

  “Before we begin, I want you to punch me,” Melia said. She held up her hand, much like one would for a sparring partner to aim at, only she didn’t have the typical padded target. Al gave her a quizzical look, but obliged. Jessica found it hard not to cringe.

  Alastair had likely never thrown a punch before this in his life, something Melia seemed to notice, too. It was slow, obviously telegraphed, easily tracked, and Melia actually had to dodge into it because the aim was atrocious.

  It obviously carried a little bit of weight behind it, because his fist impacted Melia’s palm with a meaty thwack. Melia didn’t comment on his terrible form and instead stared into space, clearly looking at her status.

  “Interesting,” she said simply. “Do it again, as hard as you can.”

  Al obliged, this time twisting his body and fully pivoting as he used his entire frame for leverage. He planted his foot, moved his hips, and really put his shoulder into it.

  Better, he followed through and actually drove Melia back a tiny bit, which surprised Jessica until she remembered the confusing description on the weapons. Something about making the two sparring partners much closer in power. Melia nodded, satisfied.

  “Okay, now…,” Melia took a deep breath and glanced at the pile of potions they’d brought along with them, sitting on the ground next to Ellesea. “I’m gonna do the same. Gimme a hand, raise it up. Good. I’m going to punch you now.”

  She said the last part slowly, stiffly, as if she herself wasn’t sure she really wanted to be part of this…stupidity. Jessica had a sobering thought.

  How must Melia feel? Knowing her every move could potentially end somebody’s life if she lost control? It must be terrifying, especially for somebody who obviously craved touch.

  Al was nothing if not resolute. He stuck his hand out, all the while muttering a quick prayer under his breath. Jessica didn’t care much for matters of faith, but she shot off a quick prayer to Celestara to keep her friend safe, too.

  Melia, much like Al’s first punch, was very obvious with her stroke. Unlike Al’s mockery of a punch, Melia’s was deliberately controlled so somebody who knew nothing of fighting could follow it.

  But it was still a punch, and Jessica winced as she heard it connect, watching Al’s face contort with pain and surprise.

  Surprise, Jessica could guess, for many reasons. Primarily, that he still had an arm.

  How many people in the history of the world could claim to take a punch from the [Destroyer of Worlds] and live to tell the tale? Even with all the red tape and loopholes they added to this spar, Alastair still seemed surprised, and Jessica couldn’t fault him. Melia looked relieved.

  “Okay, let me do a full power one.”

  “For the record, how much was that?” Alastair asked with a worried tone.

  “About half.”

  Alastair closed his eyes and nodded. Jessica didn’t need to be able to read his thoughts to know he was dreading what he was in store for. Jessica was still processing the fact that Melia actually found a way to limit herself so that she could help train her teammates.

  Melia readied herself…and punched again.

  This time Jessica nearly missed it. The form was flawless; the speed was incredible. One second, Melia was bouncing; the next, she crouched slightly, hunching her shoulders, drawing her power to her core, before launching forward explosively. A sharp crack rang out as she struck Al’s palm and the [Paladin] physically jumped back, shaking his hand rapidly, which was turning bright red.

  “Holy…! By the light, what was that?”

  “Full strength,” Melia grinned, looking extremely relieved. Her face turned serious as she pointed to the hand. “Are you going to heal that? That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Right,” Alastair grumbled as he cast a spell. “We are. There had to have been a better way to do this.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” Melia said, unperturbed. “But this is what we rolled with. Do you want to stop? We can.”

  Alastair stared at the bouncing gnome for several seconds before shaking his head.

  “No. We’ve come this far, we might as well follow through.”

  “You’re both idiots,” Ellesea drawled from where she was leaning against the tree. Jessica nodded in agreement.

  “Now that we know you aren’t going to kill each other, are you going to get to it?” Jessica called out. “I wanna see a fight!”

  “This isn’t going to be a fight,” Ellesea sighed, closing her eyes.

  “You’re really going to take a nap?” Jessica asked in disbelief. “And miss this?”

  Ellesea’s eye cracked open, but the [Mage] was stubbornly quiet.

  “Elsie is right,” Melia said. “You’re not a fighter. Don’t bother trying to attack me. Focus on blocking. Arms up, close together. I won’t start with your face, just some body shots.”

  “For some reason, I don’t find that reassuring!” Alastair grumbled, but he did as he was told. No sooner than his arms were brought together, Melia attacked.

  Just as she said, she let loose three quick body blows. Two lefts and a right hook.

  Only, to Jessica’s eyes, they were as fast as lightning. Whack-whack-crunch.

  Al barely had time to blink; he didn’t react to the punches at all before his body bent left on the impact of the first two hits, and he crumpled to the right on the third. That last crack was loud, he let out a pained cry, and his arms cradled his side protectively. Ellesea’s other eye opened and she sat up straight.

  “Ohh!” Jessica grimaced even as her lips instinctively started to smile. “Did you just break his ribs?!”

  Her blood was pumping and she wanted carnage. Even if it was her best friend getting his rear end handed to him.

  Alastair was not a small guy. He wasn’t as huge as some of those freaks who went down the martial path, but he was over 6 feet tall, and he had to weigh 200 pounds. And he still dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  Melia controlled herself enough to approach him calmly. Jessica could see her instinct to protect her treasure flaring. Was this a thing dragons did? Mistreat their valuables? Melia clearly wasn’t fully comfortable sparring with Al, but her desire to help her team was apparently great enough to suppress her natural instincts. Jessica could respect that.

  “Heal,” Melia reminded. “Focus on healing. That’s what we’re here for.”

  Al writhed on the ground, but eventually, through gritted teeth, he managed to say the words.

  “[Healing Light].”

  A warm, golden glow infused his body as it instantly relaxed, his ragged breathing slowing down as his body knit itself back together.

  “Maybe we should call it there?” Melia asked, visibly troubled. “This was a terrible idea.”

  “No, let’s continue,” Al said, shaking himself off and raising his arms in defense. “That healing felt good. Like it worked, I mean, more than simply going through the motions. Let’s go.”

  “Truly, the most noble of idiots,” Jessica sighed. She watched as Melia slowly nodded, obviously not enjoying herself, and hunkered back into position. Once she judged herself ready, Melia let loose another flurry of blows, slamming into Alastair with the force of a [Berserker]. Left, right, left, right in rapid procession, once again breaking Al’s concentration as he was overwhelmed by pain. His arms lowered, moving down protectively to his side, leaving everything else open. Melia crouched, and Jessica winced. She knew what was coming.

  Telegraphed as it was, Melia let loose a haymaker of devastating proportions. She knelt low, only to explode upward in an uppercut, connecting her fist solidly under Alastair’s jaw. Jessica saw Al’s eyes glaze over as they fluttered and rolled, his whole body lifted up as he rocked with the blow. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Jessica thought she saw his feet actually leave the ground.

  Al sailed, more so than stumbled, back several feet…swayed…and crumpled into a heap.

  Unconscious.

  Even as Melia rushed toward him, her [Avatar] state failing, the ethereal bell rang out again, three quick, sharp notes.

  “Guess that’s round one,” Jessica muttered.

  When Ellesea envisioned learning ancient secrets from a system-titled master, she pictured it with a little more involvement from the master.

  Or words. She imagined a few words. A conversation or two.

  There was nothing wrong with studying from a book, researching hidden truths in forgotten tomes. But Ellesea didn’t even have a book open in front of her.

  What she had was far more bizarre and infinitely squishier.

  After the travesty that was Al’s “duel”, Melia crumpled in on herself and seemed shackled by morose melancholy. At first, she had panicked, but once it was clear the [Paladin] was merely unconscious and not dead, Melia became catatonic, overwhelmed by apparent self-loathing. The girls tried to talk her out of it, saying that it was only an accident and no real harm was done, but Melia was inconsolable.

  Ellesea supposed it was only fair that, since Jessica carried her all the way out there, she should pick up the slack and carry Melia back.

  When they returned to the inn room, though, the gnome didn’t ask to be put down. So Ellesea took the opportunity as it presented itself: to hold onto something small and adorable. Melia had plopped out her horns and tail again, but instead of being reminded that the creature she was carrying could level cities and burn down nations, Ellesea felt like she’d acquired a new plush doll. Sitting down next to Y’cennia on the lounge, she quickly found herself absorbed into what was rapidly becoming the catkin’s newest obsession: [Cooking].

  Y’cennia wasn’t a [Cook] and it didn’t look like she was trying to pick up the class, at least by traditional means. She’d taken the remains of this morning’s breakfast, which was a generous helping of last night’s flavorful rice dish, and seemed to be dissecting it with all the tools she had at her disposal.

  A half-nibbled piece of sausage and a few grains of rice sat in a tiny glass dish with a magnifying lens positioned squarely above it, while Y’cennia continually muttered, “render unto me your secrets,” beneath her breath.

  Y’cennia lamented the fact that she had no advanced [Inspection] abilities to help her pry the secrets out of magical cooking. She’d come to the conclusion that if a food gave buffs, it had to have some sort of magical element, which might possibly leave some sort of physical trace, even if she couldn’t see it.

  Ellesea found this line of thinking fascinating. She took her turn at the magnifying glass, but she was disappointed to find that she could only see the finer details of a piece of sausage.

  …which really wasn’t too bad, all things considered. It was a marvelous sausage.

  “It might be easier to start with this,” said the sleepy voice from her lap. Melia adjusted herself in Ellesea’s arms, digging herself in to make herself more comfortable, and stuck out a hand.

  “Warm,” she said, in a tone that sent shivers up Ellesea’s spine. The [Mage] both did and did not understand the word that came from Melia’s lips. It was like listening to one person speak a foreign language while somebody else translated it in real time, overlapping.

  A deep purple spark appeared at the end of one small finger as Melia lazily drew a complicated shape in the air. Ellesea understood it was a rune, but not one she had ever seen. Instantly, the air in a small bubble around the floating rune heated into something close to being unpleasant, but the area was small and easily avoided.

  “Words have power,” Melia said in an offhand way. “That should last several hours.”

  With that, she turned her head, buried it in Ellesea’s armpit, and went back to sleep.

  Both Ellesea and Y’cennia stared at the gnome in her lap. As fascinating, and frankly impossible, as the rune floating in the air was, she could not believe this gnome.

  To have the…the…audacity to speak magic into existence! And just leave it floating there! For anybody to see!

  Magic workings were, by design, generally invisible. They operated on a plane few people understood, even masters and scholars. What people generally saw from spells were the flashy end results.

  A fireball, for instance, was a magical ball of flame (as the name suggested), but otherwise it was indistinguishable from normal fire.

  Something created by an artificer would be closer to representing magical phenomena in the physical world. But even then, the most an observer would see was a complicated array drawn out by a magical conduit, like [Mithril] or [Gold].

  A magical tool designed for simple heating, which was a very common thing to find during winter, would simply look like a box with randomly spaced wires and machinery.

  It wasn’t the actual, raw magic like they saw floating in front of them.

  A small crunching noise drew Ellesea’s attention as Y’cennia ate the last few scraps of jambalaya, her original experiment obviously over. She raised the magnifying lens, stared at the rune, and let out a soft hum. She got a thoughtful look on her face and retrieved a sketchbook from her storage. Y’cennia handed the lens over to Ellesea so she could have a look.

  …she had no idea what she was looking at. The rune wasn’t some sort of flat, two-dimensional image superimposed onto the world. It had depth, just like the ink from a brush stroke had depth, if only one could see small enough to appreciate it. The purple squiggles floating in the air felt smudged and uneven, much like the tracks left from a finger drawn through mud. She could see bumps, ridges, and tiny little interconnected paths that her brain struggled to piece together.

  Like a tiny, miniaturized replica of an entire city district, with paths and roadways, where certain things flowed, and other things stopped. Each part of the rune held some sort of significance, not a speck of it wasted. Ellesea withdrew a sketchbook of her own.

  She had no idea where to even begin trying to piece out the puzzle floating in the air, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that all the professors at the academy would give nearly anything to study such a feat. She had to remember this, burn it into her memory, preserve it in her records.

  If she could crack this code, she knew, deep down, she would discover something fundamental to the nature of magic.

  Darcy Stoutfist narrowed her eyes, scanning the last few lines of her latest missive to the crown. Lakeridge was an important resource for the kingdom, and it had faced far too many threats lately. In the last month alone, they had quailed beneath the shadow of no less than four cataclysmic menaces.

  First was the “great roar”, some unfathomable beast to the west. Next came the dragon from the north, and with it the dire possibility of a monster stampede. And in the last few days alone, there was a sudden blizzard, like some act of an angry god, a tidal wave appeared in the lake out of nowhere, and to top it off, there was the gigantic black shadow, which many people were claiming to be the herald of doom, taking the form of a massive dragon.

  So she had two dragons, not just one. A glint from the frosty artifact on her desk told her that, maybe, she didn’t need to worry about the blizzard returning. Darcy could send the [Core] along with this most recent plea for help, but that would mean giving up her newly acquired air conditioner. She’d visited noble residences in Horizon who used similar systems, usually with ice crystals, and none of them were nearly as effective or refreshing. Her stuffy office had been so much more pleasant after that idiotic gnome simply gave it to her. For a supposedly high-level adventurer, the [Dancer] didn’t seem to have much common sense.

  Then again, truly high-level people seldom did. Getting past rank 8 twisted people, even the longer-lived races like dwarves, who tended to be more grounded and reasonable. This didn’t bother Darcy…because she didn’t have any high-level adventurers of her own to call upon in her time of need. Her guards were the strongest citizens of Lakeridge, and she couldn’t send them away on errands. Who would protect her if she did? Most individuals with any levels to speak of were travelers passing through.

  Midsummer eased that burden slightly with an influx of fresh meat, as many people made the trek from town to town, settlement to settlement, to fuel the bonfires and observe the old traditions.

  That’s what the party of [Templars] currently residing in her town was here for. Following the route of beacons said to be established during the founding of the kingdom itself, when people still needed to fear wild spawns and the safety of their homes was not guaranteed by safe zones.

  The Magistrate was glad she did not have to manage a town in those times. The crown hardly listened to her pleas as it stood when she “only” needed to worry about the threat of water goblins and gnolls. Did royalty not understand how annoying those little fiends were for her fishermen? Or how much of her fish they ate?

  She didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if she had to continually request [Soldiers] because her militia kept getting eaten by random monsters spawning in her town.

  But none of that mattered, because Lakeridge faced a dire, new threat. One more malevolent and devious than any they had ever faced before.

  Food Terror.

  Some rogue [Chef] had taken refuge in her town and was assaulting her citizens with aromas most sinister! Even she, the leader of this humble town, was not spared from this insidious torture. Ever since yesterday afternoon, a delicious aroma had permeated the entire town, and she couldn’t stop her stomach from growling.

  It wasn’t just her, either. In the silence of her office, she could occasionally hear one of her guards shift with the barely audible gurgle of hunger. When she had walked through the mansion earlier, the servants and lower officials had been drooling and staring off into space, daydreaming.

  This could not be allowed to continue! Productivity was plummeting, and if the effects continued as they had after last night’s dinner, belts would soon be growing too tight. She had found her own paltry attempt at cooking dinner was wholly inadequate, and she’d needed to visit a tavern after devouring her insufficient meal.

  …but then again, maybe the sudden influx of coins circulating around her town’s dining establishments was good for the economy, and leather workers that suddenly had an inexplicable increase in the demand for belts could indeed be profitable.

  Darcy took a deep breath and was suddenly haunted by the ghost of a divine aroma. Perhaps it would have been more bearable if she’d been able to sample such an appetizing smell, but nobody seemed to be able to pinpoint exactly where it originated from, and the few rumors she heard were laughable at best.

  Who ever heard of a [Ghost Chef] haunting back alleys?