3: The Roaring Inn

I woke up late the next morning, Martin’s words still fresh in my mind. After dressing, I made my way through the quiet halls of the temple, stopping at the statue in the main hall.

“Dear Goddess,” I murmured softly, “I still don’t know what you have planned. Any guidance would be great.”

As expected, there was no answer.

Leaving the temple, the faint aroma of roast chicken drifted past me again. It was strange—I’d never seen any sign of poultry in or around the temple, and yet that scent always seemed to linger.

The market was only a short walk away. Despite its name, it wasn’t at the center of town but rather on the western side. This was where most of the food stalls were, along with the two inns. Remembering what Martin had suggested, I wandered between the stalls, scanning over vegetables, cuts of meat, spices, and cookware, waiting for some spark of inspiration—something that might explain how I was supposed to gain experience.

But nothing came.

An hour passed, and the six coppers in my pocket weighed heavy. Spending it recklessly wasn’t an option, not when I might need it for lodging if the temple decided I’d overstayed my welcome. With a sigh, I decided to at least get lunch.

Of the two inns, one was clearly out of my price range. It was the kind of place that catered to rich merchants and successful adventurers—well-dressed staff, polished wood, and an atmosphere that told people like me to keep walking.

The other was The Roaring Inn.

The moment I stepped inside, I was met with the smell of mead, roasted meat, and the ever-present hum of conversation. Several individuals clearly hadn’t sobered up from the night before, slumped over mugs of ale. At other tables, adventurers sat in lively groups, laughing and arguing over what must have been plans for their next big expedition.

“Are you coming in?” a voice called sharply. “Or are you just going to stand there gawking?”

I turned to see a young woman with her hands on her hips, smirking at me from behind the counter.

“Ah—sorry,” I stammered. “I was hoping to get lunch.”

She laughed, the sound warm rather than mocking. “Then sit yourself down. One copper for the meal. You want a mead with that? That’s another copper.”

“No, just lunch, and water, please,” I replied, handing over a coin before slipping into a chair at a small table next to the kitchen entrance. It gave me a good view of the entire inn—a perfect spot to watch without being in the way.

It didn’t take long before a bowl of hearty stew was placed in front of me, along with a piece of jerky, a small bread roll, and a jug of water. For a single copper, it felt like a feast.

As I ate, I let the atmosphere wash over me. Adventurers swapped stories of monsters and treasures. A group of drunks nursed their ales with single-minded focus. It was messy, loud, and chaotic—but it was alive. After two weeks of the temple’s quiet solemnity, this place felt like the world I’d imagined.

I found myself thinking: if I was going to be stuck cooking, maybe this was where I belonged.

A loud sigh escaped me before I could stop it.

“What’s wrong, kid?”

I looked up to see the barmaid; she’d wandered over, leaning casually against a nearby table.

“Oh—sorry,” I blurted. “Just trying to figure out what to even do with myself right now.”

She tilted her head, then smiled knowingly. “Ah. Just got your class, huh? I thought you looked about that age.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Just… not what I expected.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “It never is. You think when I got my merchant class, I saw myself working as a barmaid in an inn? Not a chance.” She filled my water jug as she talked, her voice bright but grounded. “So what’d you get?”

“A cooking class,” I muttered, feeling my face warm.

Her eyes lit up. “A cook? Oh, I’m jealous. You must get to eat amazing food all the time!”

“Not really,” I mumbled, ducking my head. “Not yet.”

She only laughed again and left me to my meal, heading over to serve a group of four adventurers near the bar. They were clearly experienced; their gear looked better than anything I’d seen up close before. For a moment, I couldn’t look away. That was supposed to be me…

When the barmaid returned to her post, she glanced at me again. “So, are you looking for work?”

I blinked. “Maybe? I… don’t really know yet.”

“Well,” she said with a grin, “Larry—the owner—has been looking for another set of hands. Mostly kitchen work, but you’d help out around the inn too.”

I hesitated. “I don’t… have anywhere to live right now. I’ve been staying at the temple, working in the kitchen there.”

She shrugged. “Hang on. I’ll ask him.”

Before I could stop her, she vanished into the back. I stared at the counter in stunned silence. Could I move to the inn? Would they give me a room?

A moment later, she returned with a massive, broad-shouldered man in tow. His face was lined with scars, and he carried himself with the easy confidence of someone who’d fought more battles than I could count.

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“This is the kid,” she said, gesturing toward me.

The man looked me over. “Got a name, kid?”

I scrambled to my feet. “Trevor, sir.”

He studied me for a long moment, then grunted. “Micca says you’re a cook. You look more like a fighter. What happened? See death for the first time and lose your nerve?”

“No, sir,” I answered quickly. “I was at Borgon’s Military Academy until my day of choosing… but I got a cooking class instead of a combat one.”

“Ha!” Larry barked a laugh. “Fate’s a cruel one.”

“Not exactly,” I added quickly. “It’s a rare class. But I’ve spent two weeks at the temple now and… I can’t seem to level it. No experience gain. Nothing.”

Larry raised an eyebrow but didn’t look away. “A rare cooking class that doesn’t level. Huh. Well, if I were looking for a cook, I’d tell you no right here. But I need someone who can carry kegs, wash dishes, and keep the rowdy drunks from breaking furniture.”

He leant closer. “Here’s the deal: two coppers a day. You’ll work until we’re done, and you’ll get one day off every two weeks. Room out back—small, just a converted storage space, but it’ll keep you dry. One copper every two days for rent. That leaves you with nineteen coppers every two weeks. Take it or leave it.”

Nineteen coppers. After the temple’s two copper a week, it felt like riches.