James pushed open the creaking door of Willem’s hut and slipped inside before anyone could follow. The air still smelled faintly of broth and smoke. Outside, laughter and clattering bowls echoed down the lane, the aftertaste of victory. Inside, silence waited like a held breath.
The panel blinked awake the moment he exhaled.
[Quest Complete: Feed Them All]
[Rewards Available]
① Ironwood Ladle (Bound Item) — Converts residual heat into sustained simmer. Perfect stews, less fuel.
② Effective Cooking Lv. 1 (Passive Skill) — When cooking for more than three people, ingredient efficiency +20%. Dishes gain an extra morale effect.
③ Chef (Title) — One who kindles both fire and hope with cooking. Gain double experience every time you cook for someone.
James rubbed his chin. “Alright, three shiny buttons. One tool, one perk, one title.”
He squinted at the Ironwood Ladle. A magical utensil that kept stews simmering with less fuel? Tempting. A chef’s best friend was consistency, and that ladle promised miracles. But then again, miracles burned out fast if you lost them.
His gaze slid to Effective Cooking Lv. 1. Efficiency and morale in a single package. Useful, but safe. The kind of thing an accountant would choose.
Then his eyes landed on the third reward.
Chef (Title). The description pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. One who kindles both fire and hope with cooking.
He smiled despite himself. “That’s dramatic. I like it.”
The faint glow of a timer appeared in the corner of the panel, its bars draining slowly. He stared for three seconds, sighed, and muttered, “Fine. The universe loves deadlines.”
He tapped the third option.
[Title Acquired: Chef]
Gain double experience every time you cook for someone.
The panel flared gold, then dissolved into glittering dust that vanished into his chest. Warmth spread through him, steady and deep, like standing too close to a hearth.
Another notification slid into view.
[Level Up!]
+10 Stat Points
James blinked. “Wait, just like that? No skill menu? What happened to the fancy options screen?”
He frowned, scrolling through the interface. Nothing. No new abilities, no flashy choices, just the clean line of numbers and the promise of ten unspent points.
“Guess the system ran out of coupons,” he muttered. “I’ll ask Willem later.”
He straightened, then called out the one panel he never got tired of seeing.
[Status Window]
Name: James Gordon
Title: Chef
Class: Mishlin Sage ★☆☆☆☆ (1/5)
Rarity: Unique
Level: 3
Progress: 12%
Mana: 80 / 90
Stamina: 100 / 170
[+20 Stat Points]
Strength: 5
Dexterity: 4
Endurance: 4
Intelligence: 5
Wisdom: 3
Charisma: 5
Willpower: 3
Perception: 3
Luck: 7
He nodded slowly. “So Luck stayed the same, everything else crept up by one, just like the first time. Automatic scaling, then. Nice. Less math for me.”
The numbers blinked, waiting for allocation. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Twenty points to spend. How to split the loot?”
He glanced again at the Luck stat. Still 7. Willem’s words echoed in his head, that not everyone had a visible Luck parameter, and those who did were rare. “If that’s true,” he murmured, “then pushing it to fifteen might pay off later.”
He tapped the glowing icon.
Luck: 15
“Done. Future James, may the odds stop laughing at you.”
Twelve points left. He eyed the physical stats next.
Strength, Dexterity, Endurance, the body trio. His muscles carried the memory of the kitchen’s pace, not weight but repetition. “Three each,” he decided. “Even spread, fewer regrets.”
The numbers rolled upward, one after another.
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Strength: 8
Dexterity: 7
Endurance: 7
Three points remained. His eyes drifted over Charisma, Intelligence, and Wisdom, the traits that made words sharper, flavors bolder, and ideas last longer. He thought about the crowd outside, the laughter, the way people leaned closer when he spoke. "Alright," he said. "One for charm, two for brains. If I'm going to cook for mobs, I might as well understand why they cheer.”
Intelligence: 6
Wisdom: 4
Charisma: 6
The panel shimmered and locked the updates.
[Status Window Updated]
Name: James Gordon
Title: Chef
Class: Mishlin Sage ★☆☆☆☆ (1/5)
Rarity: Unique
Level: 3
Progress: 12%
Mana: 80 / 100
Stamina: 100 / 200
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 7
Endurance: 7
Intelligence: 6
Wisdom: 4
Charisma: 6
Willpower: 3
Perception: 3
Luck: 15
Abilities:
[Food Sense Lv. 2]
[Butchery Lv. 2]
[Knife Precision Lv. 3]
[Recipe Creation Lv. 1]
[Seed Maker Lv. 1]
James grinned. “Knife Precision leveled again. Guess the gods appreciate proper cutting form.”
He closed the panel, light fading from the air. The faint warmth of his new title still pulsed beneath his ribs. “Not bad,” he said softly. “Let’s see what kind of uniform the Mishlin Sage set is.”
James glanced at his reflection in polished surface of a pot. The borrowed shirt hung loose around his shoulders, and the trousers barely qualified as heroic. “I’ve been wearing other people’s clothes for days,” he muttered. “At this point it’s basically a hobby. Time to wear something that actually belongs to me.”
He flicked his hand. “Alright, let’s see what the Mishlin Sage Set looks like.”
The inventory bloomed into existence. Light unfolded in neat compartments, every square pulsing faintly. The Mishlin Sage Set sat at the center like royalty among peasants: deep red fabric trimmed with gold, boots polished enough to shame mirrors.
He tapped the icon.
[Item Details – Mishlin Sage Set (Unique)]
Boots: +5 Dexterity
Trousers: +2 Dexterity, +3 Charisma
Shirt: +2 Endurance, +3 Charisma
Vest: +5 Charisma
Coat: +5 Charisma
Set Effects:
1. All stats +2
2. Gain experience from every cooking-related action (+50% bonus experience)
3. The outfit never stains, never smells, and never needs washing
James blinked, jaw slack. “Okay. Either the gods love me, or they really hate laundry.”
He scrolled through the effects again. “Gain experience from every cooking-related action… that’s basically what Chef title did. Wait a second.”
He frowned at the air. “System, listen carefully. I’d like to exchange my Chef title for Effective Cooking. You can keep the fancy name, just give me the function back. Deal?”
Silence. The panel didn’t flicker, didn’t hum, didn’t even pity him with an error message.
“Of course,” he muttered. “You talk to me when I don’t need you, and ignore me when I do. Typical.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “If I had known this outfit doubled my cooking experience, I would’ve taken the other reward. Chef title, my foot.”
The air stayed quiet, glowing faintly with smug golden patience.
James groaned. “Fine. Keep your silence. But I’m keeping the coat.”
He began equipping each piece one by one. The trousers came first, perfectly fitted despite the fact that he had never entered a single measurement. Then came the boots, light as air yet firm around his ankles. The shirt and vest followed, their fabric smooth and cool against his skin. When he pulled the coat on last, the world seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
Warmth rippled across his skin, subtle but real, like stepping into sunlight. The set shimmered once and locked into place.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the difference instantly. His balance steadied. The air felt sharper, sounds cleaner. His limbs moved with a quiet precision that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
He exhaled. “Alright. Let’s see the numbers.”
The familiar grid unfolded before him.
[Status Window]
Mana: 80 / 120
Stamina: 100 / 240
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 16
Endurance: 11
Intelligence: 8
Wisdom: 6
Charisma: 25
Willpower: 5
Perception: 5
Luck: 15
James stared. “Twenty-five charisma. Seriously? That’s not a stat anymore, that’s a personality cult.”
He brushed the front of his vest, the golden embroidery gleaming faintly. “So this is how nobles feel. Flammable and fashionable.”
He turned once, testing the coat’s weight. It flowed behind him like liquid wine, never catching, never wrinkling.
“Well,” he said at last, grinning. “If this keeps up, I’m going to be the most charismatic chef in the world.”
He lifted the collar, admiring the gold stitching. “And definitely the cleanest. Take that, mud and goat fat.”
Outside, laughter still echoed from the street, the faint clatter of bowls and spoons mixing with the afternoon wind. James straightened his coat, adjusted the cuffs, and smirked. “Alright, world. Let’s see what happens when the chef actually looks like one.”
The door creaked open just as James was admiring his reflection in the polished surface of a pot.
Willem stepped in first, brushing dust off his sleeves. “Ah, so you are here. I was beginning to think you vanished into thin air.”
Bree followed, carrying a wooden bowl that still steamed faintly. “Everyone ate already, but you never took a bite. I saved your portion.”
James smiled. “Oh, thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”
Willem leaned on the doorframe, eyes narrowing. “Hold on. Why do you look… different? Better, actually. Much better. Where did you find those clothes? Did the merchant give them to you?”
James looked down at his coat, the deep red fabric gleaming softly in the light. “Ah, this? The system awarded it as part of my class progression. Actually, I wanted to ask you something about that.”
“Oh?” Willem crossed his arms. “Go on.”
“Well, the first time I leveled up, the system let me pick a skill. But the second time, it only gave me ten allocatable points. No skill selection. Is that normal?”
Willem blinked. “Wait a second. When you say first time, how many levels do you have right now?”
“Three, I think.”
The man stared at him, dumbfounded. “Three? Were you bedridden your entire life?”
James frowned. “No?”
“Then how in the world did you stay at level one all this time? Did you never hunt, never work, never do anything?” Willem’s gaze flicked over the golden stitches of the coat. “And what kind of class gives you clothing like that as a reward? It looks like something a noble would wear.”
James hesitated, words tripping over themselves. “Ha… ha. Well, you see, I’m… uh…”
Willem raised a hand. “Forget it. If it’s something private, you don’t need to tell me. I was just curious.” He chuckled, rubbing his beard. “Not every level gives a reward anyway. Some people get one every few levels. It depends on luck.”
“Luck?”
“Yes. You mentioned having that stat, right? Not everyone does. If you do, you are fortunate indeed. System rewards are random, different for each person. Some receive gifts every five levels, some never do. Looks like you are one of the lucky ones.”
James exhaled. “Huh. I see. Thanks for the explanation.”
Willem nodded. “No problem. You could not have known, not with how strange your case seems. Still, you are an interesting man, James.”
Before James could reply, Bree spoke up from near the table. “James, I overheard you earlier when you were talking to that merchant.”
He looked up, surprised. “Ah, that? It’s nothing. We were not discussing anything important.”
Her voice softened. “You are really leaving the village, then?”
“I think so,” he said quietly.
Willem exchanged a glance with Bree. “We were talking about that too. Thought maybe you’d stay a little longer.”
James grinned. “You two are too kind.”
“Our daughter left for the city some time ago,” Willem added. “The house has been a bit quieter since.”
Bree nudged him in the ribs, cheeks faintly pink. “Where exactly do you plan to go?”
“The merchant said there’s a big city twelve days west from here. I plan to travel with him.”
Willem’s face brightened with recognition. “So that must be the city of Min, one of the kingdom’s main cities. That’s where Gisabelle lives now.”
James tilted his head. “Gisabelle? Your daughter?”
Bree nodded. “Yes. She found work there.”
“The young ones do not want to stay in villages anymore,” Willem said with a weary smile. “Can’t say I blame them.”
James nodded. “I understand completely.”
Bree hesitated, then looked up. “When you reach Min, would you visit Gisabelle for us? I could prepare a small package, some things she might need.”
“Of course I will,” James said. “It’s the least I can do. You opened your home to me and shared your meals.”
Willem chuckled. “And you gave us meals we’ll never forget.”
Bree smiled gently. “I learned a lot from you, James. Thank you. You’ll always be welcome here, no matter how far you travel.”
James’s throat tightened for a moment. “If you keep talking like that, you’ll make me cry, and not even onions have managed that yet.”
Willem laughed. “Then stop talking and eat your stew before it goes cold. We’ll start packing some things for Gisabelle.”
James sat down at the small table, the bowl warm between his hands. The scent of herbs and roasted broth filled the air again, soft and comforting. He took a spoonful, and for a while, no one spoke. Bree and Willem moved quietly in the background, folding clothes and gathering trinkets, their voices low and familiar.
Outside, the wind brushed through the eaves, carrying the faint sounds of laughter from the lane. For the first time in a long while, the world felt still.
James smiled to himself. “Good stew,” he whispered.
