The boundary between the magnificent Odelia Empire and the Wasteland of Despair was not marked by towering walls or heavily guarded checkpoints. Instead, it was defined by a sudden, horrifying shift in atmosphere. In Lumina, the sky was a bright blue with cotton-like white clouds symbolizing prosperity. Here, however, the sky became a permanent, oppressive gray—as if the clouds themselves were made of ash from fires that had burned for thousands of years.
"This place is really unfriendly to normal human lungs," Rian complained, covering his nose with a torn strip of cloth from his once-pristine imperial chef uniform, now ragged and stained with dust. "It smells like a mix of sulfur, month-old wet socks, and pure despair."
Rian glanced back. The capital, Lumina, was no longer visible, swallowed by the thick fog clinging to the border. They were now high-value fugitives. No longer heroes, no longer nobles—just a group of outsiders trying to survive in a land so cursed that even official imperial maps refused to acknowledge its existence.
"The Wasteland is a region where the world's mana was contaminated by the remnants of the Ancient War of Retribution," Seraphina explained in an academic tone tinged with unease. She continuously focused her mana to maintain a Sphere of Purification, a transparent magical barrier enveloping the group so they could breathe relatively clean air.
"The plants here evolved into predators, the water contains bitter spiritual mercury, and the living creatures… they've learned that mercy is a sign of weakness."
Lila, usually the most energetic and explosion-happy of them all, looked unusually drained. She hugged her backpack filled with leftover gunpowder and canned sardines.
"Big Bro Rian, Lila hungeeey. But all the plants here have teeth and bite back. Lila saw a flower trying to steal Lila's shoe."
Elena remained alert at the very front. Her hand never once strayed from the hilt of her holy sword. Though she had just abandoned her status as a hero for Rian's sake, her protective instincts had only grown sharper.
"Stay close. Imperial bounty hunters may not dare to venture too deep because of the mana curse, but desperate mercenaries and feral Beastmen are a far greater threat."
Suddenly, a rustling sound came from behind dark-purple thorn bushes—Void-Thistle, a plant known for absorbing the blood of living creatures. Without warning, eleven figures leapt from the shadows of the cliffs, surrounding them in a flawless hunting formation.
They were not human.
They were Wolf Beastmen—massive, two-meter-tall bodies, dirty and matted gray fur, wearing rusted armor that looked looted from old battlefields. Their glowing yellow eyes locked onto Rian's group with pure hunger.
"Humans in our territory?" their leader growled—a male wolf with a long claw scar crossing his left eye. His voice grated like stone scraping against stone.
"You look far too clean and far too fragrant to be here. How fortunate. Our mining slave stock is running low—and your flesh looks… tender enough."
Elena immediately drew her sword. Pure white holy light erupted from the blade, slicing through the gray fog and forcing the Beastmen to recoil, their darkness-adapted eyes burning from the glare.
"We're not looking for trouble, and we are no one's slaves," Elena declared, her voice vibrating through the air.
"Step aside, or this blade will ensure you never see the moon again."
The wolf leader spat on the ground, baring his fangs.
"Holy light? An Imperial Hero? Your heroes have brought only death and discrimination to our kind for centuries. Kill them! Don't let that knight cast a second spell!"
The tension snapped tight. The wolves prepared to pounce.
But before Elena could swing her sword, Rian stepped forward casually.
He held no weapon—only his Black Pan in his right hand and a small pouch of gacha spices in his left.
"Whoa, whoa! Brother Wolf, let's talk as fellow creatures with stomachs," Rian said lightly, sounding more like a night-market vendor than a man facing death.
"Business? We don't need human gold!" the leader snarled.
Rian didn't answer with words.
He lifted the lid of his pan.
Inside, he had prepared a Strategic Bait since crossing the border. The moment the lid opened, an aroma utterly alien to the sulfur-stained Wasteland exploded into the air.
The savory scent of garlic sautéed to perfection.
The rich fat of seared meat infused with warm spices.
A sharp hint of fresh ginger that cut clean through the heaviness.
It was the smell of fullness.
Of comfort.
Of being alive.
The Beastmen froze mid-motion. Their noses—thousands of times more sensitive than a human's—flared violently. Drool dripped from their sharp fangs, splattering onto the barren ground.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" Rian asked with a sly grin, already knowing he'd won without spilling a drop of blood.
"I mean real hunger. Not the kind that makes you eat mole rats or carrion. I can see your ribs through that rusted armor. So how about this: I cook, you eat until you're full, and in return, you give us information and safe passage deeper inside. Fair?"
The wolf leader—later known as Varg—hesitated. His stomach growled loudly, betraying his pride as a hunter.
"You… you want to cook in the Wasteland? Don't boast, human! There's nothing edible here that won't make your intestines explode from mana poison!"
"For amateur cooks, sure. But for a chef who's dealt with Krakens and Golems…"
Rian turned toward the Void-Thistle bushes. With swift, professional precision, he sliced several purple thorns and yanked out the grotesque, slimy roots of a Gloom-Root plant.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Identifying Forbidden Ingredients.]
[Name: Gloom-Root (Extremely Poisonous) & Void-Thistle Thorns (Neurotoxin).]
[Status: Instant death within 3 seconds if eaten raw.]
[Chef Recommendation: Use "Void Distillation" via the Black Pan to neutralize toxins and convert into high-value plant protein.]
Rian ignited a small flame beneath the pan using residual heat from the Mark of Ignis on the back of his hand. He began processing the poisonous roots.
The Black Pan emitted an eerie sssssss sound, as if sucking out the dark essence from the plants. Thick black vapor vented from the handle and dissipated into the air as waste. Inside the pan, the once-slime-coated roots transformed into crisp white chunks resembling tender fish meat.
In less than fifteen minutes, an impossible dish was complete:
"Wasteland Stew Special: Detoxified Savory Root & Gacha Canned Meat in Butter Sauce."
"Try it, Varg," Rian said, offering a large spoon.
"If you die, your friends can eat me. But if this is the best thing that's ever touched your tongue, then we're friends."
Varg tasted it cautiously.
The moment the butter sauce hit his tongue, his yellow eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets. He lunged for the pan (fortunately, Rian had already transferred the rest to plates) and began eating ravenously, all dignity as a leader forgotten.
"This… this is impossible! This sweetness and savoriness—how can these bitter roots taste like tender ribs?! And this warmth… my mana feels calm!"
Seeing their leader devour the food, the other Beastmen couldn't hold back any longer. They lowered their weapons and swarmed Rian. Luckily, Rian was used to cooking in bulk.
In moments, Elena and Seraphina could only stare in disbelief as the most feared wolf pack on the border now sat in a circle like orphaned puppies, happily eating lunch.
"Rian," Elena whispered as she sheathed her sword, utterly confused.
"You just tamed an entire battalion of wild Beastmen using vegetables that can kill dragons. I don't know whether to admire you… or fear you."
"Stomach politics are far more effective than sword politics, Miss," Rian replied, wiping sweat from his brow while discreetly checking his Corruption Meter.
"A full person doesn't have the energy to stay angry."
[Corruption Meter: 2.80%]
After everyone had eaten their fill, Varg approached Rian and lowered his head slightly—the highest sign of respect among wolves.
"Forgive our rudeness, Great Chef. We rarely encounter food that doesn't make us vomit our own blood. You're looking for Corruption-Delay Mushrooms—Chronos-Fungus, aren't you?"
"Yes. Do you know where they grow?" Rian asked immediately.
Varg's expression turned grave. The atmosphere grew heavy once more.
"That fungus… only grows in the Valley of Silence, atop the rotting corpse of an ancient dragon. But there's a serious problem. The area is currently controlled by the Cult of the Fallen—fanatics preparing a grand ritual. They believe the Demon Lord will soon awaken, and they slaughter anyone who approaches the valley without permission."
Rian's heart pounded.
Demon Lord cultists… are they waiting for me? Or are they waiting for Astaroth to take over my body?
"Varg," Rian said suddenly. His voice deepened, echoing faintly and making Seraphina glance at him with concern.
"Take us there. I have an appointment with a future I need to delay—and I need that mushroom to keep it secret."
Varg nodded.
"We'll escort you to the valley's perimeter in repayment for the meal. But entering it… that's between you and death. The cult possesses Black Knights whose power defies human logic."
That night, the most valuable fugitive group in the world (in terms of bounty) camped together with the most feared Beastmen of the borderlands.
Under the bleak Wasteland sky, Rian sat alone, staring at his hands. The thin black vein-like lines had already crept past his wrists, stark against the firelight.
He glanced at Elena, asleep against a large rock, still clutching her holy sword even in her dreams.
Rian knew that every step he took on this cursed land brought him closer to the point where he could no longer be called "Rian the Chef."
"Just that mushroom," Rian murmured to himself, his voice nearly swallowed by the Wasteland wind.
"I just need a little more time. I want to keep making soup for her… at least until the next chapter."
Unnoticed by Rian, the Black Pan beside him emitted a dim, pulsing purple glow—beating in rhythm with his heart, as if whispering to the darkness waiting within the Valley of Silence.