87: Right Track

This wasn’t training.

This was torture.

 

I groaned as Hari struck me again with the wooden stick he was using in place of a sword. He was taking it very seriously, and now—on the second day since we’d started—I was beginning to understand just how poorly trained we really were.

I couldn’t even land a hit. Every time I swung, I left myself wide open for a counter.

 

“Trev, you need to make sure you’re not leaving your side open like that. What if I had a dagger? You’d be dead,” Hari said, tapping me for what felt like the hundredth time.

I was frustrated. It felt like everything I’d learned was wrong. And if that were the case—why had we been taught anything at all?

 

I swung again, too wide. Hari stepped casually to the side and tapped me on the back.

“They really didn’t teach you much, did they?” he sighed. “That’s okay. We’ll get you up to at least a basic level.”

 

I felt embarrassed.

 

Thankfully, no one else was watching—at least, not openly. On the first night, Liane had been outside watching, but Hari had sent her away to give us some privacy. At the time, I hadn’t understood, but now… I was grateful.

 

“Why didn’t they teach us properly?” I asked, pausing to catch my breath.

“Two reasons,” Hari said. “Mainly, cost. No orphanage can afford proper trainers, so you’re getting someone unqualified trying to do their best. Then there’s the fact that it doesn’t matter to them. Every soldier gets a set of armour and a spear. They’re used in formation lines. If you tried to solo a demon, it’d shred you apart with its claws before you even drew your sword.”

He stepped back and gave a small nod. “That’s enough for tonight.”

He stored his stick away, and I slumped down, sore all over.

 

“Will I be able to learn properly?” I asked.

“Yes—eventually,” Hari said. “But I’m only going to teach you how to defend yourself. You’re a support class. You should know how to protect yourself, but don’t mistake that for a reason to fight with a sword unless you absolutely have to.”

 

I nodded. I couldn’t lie—since Hari had agreed to train me, I’d definitely imagined being a front-line adventurer, sword in hand, battling monsters.

That fantasy had faded quickly.

 

“Are all new adventurers like this?” I asked as we walked back to the structure Milo had prepared.

“Yes. At least, anyone from the orphanage system. There’s one in most towns,” Hari said. “That’s why they often get treated poorly in the adventuring teams they’re assigned to. A lot of people see them as a burden.”

“And you?” I asked, curious if Hari felt the same.

“Honestly, Trev… I used to believe it was,” Hari admitted. “When we were first assigned an orphan, we weren’t happy about it. But I learned—far too late—that it wasn’t the orphan’s fault. It was the system.”

There was a sad tone in his voice that made my stomach twist. Were all of my old friends being treated like that? Looked down on? Dismissed?

I didn’t know what to say.

 

“Don’t worry yourself, Trev. You’ll get there. You’re still young,” Hari said as we stepped inside.

 

Everyone was already sitting around. I was surprised not to see Lily. For the past three nights, she’d shown up and waited for food.

Feeding her for those three nights had earned me two level-ups.

I pulled up my status to take a look.

 

Name: Trevor

Class: Arcane Chef

Rarity: Rare

Level: 23

Experience: 9158/20651

 

Hit points: 233/290

Mana: 236/650

Stamina: 78/290

 

Strength: 13

Dexterity: 33

Endurance: 29

Intelligence: 65

Wisdom: 32

Charisma: 10

Willpower: 13

Perception: 8

Luck: 6

Unspent: 6

 

Abilities:

• Precise Palate: 3
• Butchery: 4
• Carving Touch: 2
• Resonate Balance: 3
• Chef’s Pantry: 4
• Culinary Transformation: 3
• Arcane Foraging: 3
• Ashborne-sous: 2
• Stock Reduction: 2

 

“Do you think I should put some points into Strength?” I asked Hari after looking over my stats.

Milo answered first. “Absolutely not.”

Stolen story; please report.

Hari quickly agreed. “I understand you want to succeed at swordsmanship, and you can become proficient. But your class won’t involve combat, and it gains nothing from Strength—except maybe shifting large monster carcasses. That would be a poor investment.”

Milo nodded along, clearly in agreement.

 

“Besides,” Hari added, “your class is giving you Dexterity—and lots of it. You should be nimble, quick, and able to dodge. Strength would never be your stat of choice. You just need to train.”

“Right! That’s enough sword talk!” Liane interrupted loudly.

“We need our chef back!” Jen added with a laugh.

Micca joined in, chuckling, and even Crisplet seemed to take their side—firing off a few playful embers in agreement.

 

“Fine, fine! I’ll cook dinner,” I said with a tired chuckle. I was still aching from training, and I had a strong suspicion Lily was either already watching or would be soon.

So, I got to work.

 

I wanted to keep it simple. I pulled out one of the boars I had stored, figuring a roast with a Honey and Garlic Grass glaze would hit the spot. Fresh rolls would go well with it, and if Lily did appear, I could cut off a large portion for her.

Once I had the plan set, I got started. I was surprised when, instead of letting me use a stone spit, Crisplet practically insisted I use the one he formed from ash.

Who was I to say no to my Ash elemental sous chef?

 

I gave Crisplet some Treant wood scraps along with regular firewood to test how diluted the magical effect could get and still carry through in the cooking.

With that underway, I moved on to preparing the rolls. I wanted to try something new—an ingredient Jen and Micca had picked up from the market. It was a small black seed called the Nerelta Seed. I’d seen it used on bakery rolls before; when roasted, it gave off a nutty burst of flavour.

I mixed that into the dough along with some Virfolium, then portioned out several rolls and set them aside to rise.

 

Finally, exhausted, I collapsed to the ground. The boar was on the spit and turning slowly under Crisplet’s supervision. The rolls were in the stone oven Milo had built next to the fire.

I could finally relax.

 

Just as I leaned back, I felt something soft—and cold?

Looking around, I realised I’d leaned back into Lily, who had once again appeared out of nowhere. Startled, I nearly jumped up, but she didn’t move—just lay there calmly, her gaze fixed firmly on the boar.

 

Sighing, I sat back down. “That’s not all for you, by the way,” I said, feeling far more comfortable around her now. I knew she understood me perfectly.

 

She gave me a look. Then what appeared to be a sigh.

 

“If you want lots of meat,” I added, not thinking it through, “you should make sure you bring me something to cook.”