Chapter 9

  The notification blinked just after breakfast service, subtle and quiet, as if it didn’t want to interrupt him.

  [You have reached Level 6.]

  +1 Dexterity, +1 Perception.

  Ren wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned on the kitchen counter, letting the warm scent of simmering stew and roasted root vegetables ground him. He stared at the message for a few seconds, watching the text slowly fade from his vision.

  No fanfare. No skill choices this time.

  “Huh,” he muttered. “Slowing down already?”

  It made sense. The early levels had come in a rush—new skills, unfamiliar systems, mana headaches, burned fingers. But now, his world was narrowing into repetition: prep, cook, serve, clean. Practice mana control when he could, squeeze in an experiment here and there, and keep from collapsing into the stewpot by nightfall.

  It wasn’t a bad life. Just steadier. Quieter.

  Still, a tiny ember of impatience smoldered in his chest. He wanted more. Not just levels—but answers. Ingredients. Depth.

  And, right on cue, the tavern door slammed open.

  Kaela’s voice rang out like she owned the place. “Chef! Got anything left that doesn’t taste like sawdust and regret?”

  Ren blinked. “You’re… early?”

  Kaela grinned as she sauntered in, her coat singed and one of her daggers chipped. “What can I say? Good food pulls us in like gravity.”

  Garron ducked in behind her, limping slightly but looking pleased. Tallen brought up the rear, his usual herb pouch crammed with greens that seemed to faintly glow at the edges.

  “We brought you something,” Tallen said, placing the pouch on the counter. “Sample from the wild. South bank of the Ashwhistle stream. The algae there is acting weird—definitely touched by the dungeon’s aura.”

  Ren raised an eyebrow and opened the pouch, the scent hitting him immediately: clean and sharp, like rain on stone, with a strange, salty bitterness undercutting it. His fingers twitched.

  “Very mana-reactive,” Tallen added. “Might pair well with heat-aspect or fermented bases. We figured… maybe a trade?”

  Ren narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”

  “We want you to come with us,” Kaela said, dead serious now. “Not deep into the dungeon. Just the edges. A short trip. You cook, we guard. You help us get better meals—actual food that doesn't taste like bark and soul-crushing failure—and in return, you get first pick of anything edible we come across.”

  “Field research,” Garron said, nodding sagely.

  Ren hesitated. He was already halfway into planning an infusion technique for the algae. The idea of tasting something wild—something untamed—that wasn’t just imported or dried or half-understood… it hit him like hunger.

  Still, he hesitated.

  Later that night, after the tavern emptied out, he brought it up to Farin first. The alchemist listened with folded arms, chewing on the stem of an unlit pipe.

  “You’ve got more control now,” Farin said slowly. “But control isn’t immunity. A single mana burst in the wrong place can burn your nerves clean.”

  Ren nodded. “I won’t be casting. Just… watching. Smelling. Cooking.”

  “You think the monsters will care?”

  Ren didn’t have a good answer to that.

  Then came Maela. She didn’t look surprised. Just tired.

  “You’re not from here,” she said as she scrubbed a pan down to the metal.

  He froze. “…What makes you say that?”

  “You ask questions like someone seeing it all for the first time. You look at raw slimeback meat and think, ‘what if it’s sweet?’ You’re careful. But you’re also reckless. Outsiders usually are.”

  Ren didn’t confirm or deny it. He just waited.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Maela finally looked up.

  “You walk into that dungeon thinking it’s some exotic pantry, you’re gonna end up in a cookpot.” She tossed the cleaned pan onto the rack. “You come back missing a finger, don’t expect a discount on bandages.”

  That was the closest thing to permission she was ever going to give.

  The next morning, Ren watched the trio gear up outside the guild. Nothing flashy. Well-worn boots. Mismatched armor. Hope.

  He tucked the pouch of dungeon-tinged herbs into his coat.

  He wasn’t going to fight. He wasn’t even going to explore, really.

  He was going to taste.

  And taste everything this world had to offer.

  ________

  The air had turned brisk again—morning mist clinging to cobblestones, dew beading on the warped wooden signs of shopfronts that hadn’t existed a month ago. Ren stepped outside the tavern with a bundle of dried roots tucked under one arm and a notebook in the other. The streets were already busy. Merchants haggled under half-assembled canopies. Laborers hauled timber down from the hills, some of it still dripping sap. The sound of new construction was everywhere now—hammering, sawing, shouted measurements.

  This town was changing. Fast.

  Faster than he’d expected.

  And yet, it felt like his world was slowing down. He’d been here a little over fifteen days,but it felt like an eternity. The panic of his arrival had faded into routine—familiar spice racks, predictable menu cycles, and a steadily growing list of infused ingredients. His control over mana had become firmer, steadier, no longer a slippery thread but something with shape and tension. He could feel it swirl around his knives now as he diced, sense it flicker in oil as he layered in an affinity blend. Not every experiment worked—but they failed less often. That alone felt like progress.

  Still, he hadn’t felt the kind of spark he used to get from discovery. Not in a few days now. Not since the idea of the dungeon took root in his head.

  He turned toward the alchemist’s shop, Farin’s crooked shingles already visible past the bakery.

  Farin didn’t say much when Ren dropped by. Just handed over a small bundle of mana-sealed flasks and a tightly rolled sheet of oiled parchment containing a mixture of dried reagents.

  “For stabilizing any raw samples,” he said, voice flat but precise. “Especially if they pulse or glow. If it hums, don’t touch it. If it sings, throw it in a river and run.”

  Ren tried to thank him. Farin waved it off.

  “You’re an idiot for doing this,” he muttered, then added, “but you’re the kind of idiot who’s smart. So I suppose you might survive.”

  Back at the tavern, Maela watched him pack rations into waxed cloth bundles. She didn’t say anything, just leaned on the doorframe with her arms crossed and an unreadable look on her face. When he offered her a taste of a mana-infused jerky he’d prepared—beef soaked in air-aspected vinegar with crushed emberseed—she accepted it with a grunt.

  She chewed in silence. Then, finally: “You’d better write down anything weird you find.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m not saying I want you back,” she added, “but the floorboards creak less when you’re not stomping around the kitchen.”

  That was probably as affectionate as she got.

  The adventuring trio met him just past midday outside the Guild Hall. Kaela had traded her usual frayed jacket for something reinforced with leather stitching and mana-treated thread, though it still looked like it had been patched by someone with more speed than skill. Garron wore a simple hauberk, battered but well-maintained, his sword strapped across his back. Tallen had no visible weapons, just his forager’s satchel and a thick book with sprigs of dried herbs poking out from between the pages.

  They didn’t act like they were on the edge of danger. They joked and laughed, talking about some squirrel that had nearly bitten Garron’s finger off when he tried to retrieve his boot.

  Ren, meanwhile, was trying to remember everything Farin had told him about mana saturation zones and the signs of unstable convergence.

  They didn’t leave immediately. There was still work to do—final checks at the guild desk, a visit to the supply shop for a spare waterskin, and a last-minute adjustment to Kaela’s belt. Ren sat on a low stone bench outside the Guild and flipped open his notebook, reviewing his plans.

  He had prepared five sample meals for the trip: two trail rations with heat-aspect boosts meant to aid stamina, a mild restorative porridge infused with healing-type mana—which Farrin had generously infused- and a bitter, cooling leaf tea he’d steeped from dungeon-altered herbs. The fifth was a gamble: a broth packed with triple-infused essence, carefully layered to balance volatile air and grounding earth with a tiny spike of passive water mana to stabilize the blend.

  He hadn’t tested that one yet.

  Wasn’t planning to unless someone looked like they needed it.

  Tallen peeked over his shoulder. “You take more notes than some alchemists.”

  Ren shrugged. “I like knowing what went wrong before I blow something up.”

  Kaela grinned. “You’re going to fit right in.”

  They didn’t head for the dungeon that evening. Kaela insisted they rest early and set off before dawn.

  So Ren returned to the tavern for one more night—his pack set by the door, his nerves winding tighter as the sun dipped below the hills. He cleaned the kitchen twice, checked his ingredients three times, and only stopped when Maela swatted his hands away from the spice shelf.

  “Go sleep,” she said.

  He did so.

  When he awoke, the sky was still dark and the town quiet, save for a few flickers of light from early risers and watchmen on their final rounds. He boiled water, steeped a cup of calming root tea, and ate a bowl of plain rice porridge with dried meat.

  Simple. Grounding.

  By the time he reached the gates, the trio was waiting.

  Garron gave him a quiet nod.

  Kaela yawned, stretching her arms.

  Tallen handed him a sprig of something sharp and minty. “Chew this. Keeps your mouth from going dry when you see your first mana beast.”

  Ren did.

  The gates creaked open.

  The road ahead wasn’t wide or paved, just a muddy track winding toward distant hills wrapped in blue mist. Somewhere beyond them, the dungeon pulsed—quietly, like a distant drumbeat felt in the bones.

  Ren adjusted the strap of his pack and stepped into the unknown.