The afternoon sun hung high over the eastern training grounds of Aetheron Royal Arcane Academy, casting sharp, elongated shadows across the neatly trimmed grass and the ancient white stone pillars that lined the field. The air carried the faint scent of mana-infused flowers mixed with the distant smell of earth and pine from the nearby forest.
Will Harlan arrived slightly out of breath, the Mother's Worn Pot strapped securely to his back like an oversized traveler's bag. The Inherited Kitchen Knife was tucked safely into his belt beneath the Simple Apron, which was already showing faint new oil stains from the morning's cafeteria work. His heart was beating steadily — nervous, but not terrified.
A small team had already assembled near the forest edge. Three second-year combat mages stood chatting confidently, their embroidered robes glowing with active runes. And among them, standing with quiet grace, was Einsfel.
She wore her deep blue and gold-trimmed academy uniform, the fabric flowing elegantly with her movements. Her long silver-gray hair was tied back in a practical ponytail for combat, though a few loose strands still framed her face beautifully. When their eyes met across the clearing, she gave him a small, secret smile — warm, encouraging, and filled with quiet pride.
The team leader, a serious senior named Marcus with short brown hair and a stern jaw, glanced at Will and raised an eyebrow.
"So you're the famous soup boy everyone's been whispering about," he said dryly. "Special Auxiliary Chef Will Harlan, correct? Your role today is logistical support. Stay behind the main line, provide whatever assistance your… unique skills allow. Try not to get yourself killed."
One of the other mages let out a soft snort of amusement but said nothing.
Will nodded calmly, adjusting the pot on his back. "Understood, sir."
Einsfel stepped closer under the pretense of checking her staff, her voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear.
"Be careful out there," she said softly, her blue eyes full of concern. "If things get dangerous, prioritize your own safety. I'll protect you."
Will gave her a small, reassuring nod, his chest warming at her words.
Marcus gave a quick briefing. A horde of Shadow Lurkers — formless shadow creatures with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp claws — had slipped through a weak point in the academy's outer barrier. They were low-to-mid level individually, but their numbers made them troublesome. The goal was simple: eliminate the threat before they spread further into the training grounds.
"Move out!" Marcus ordered.
The moment the team stepped into the treeline, the shadows came alive.
Dozens of Shadow Lurkers surged forward like living darkness, their amorphous bodies twisting and stretching, red eyes burning with hunger. The combat mages reacted instantly — fireballs exploded in bright orange bursts, lightning crackled through the air, and sharp wind blades sliced through the darkness.
Will stayed at the rear, observing carefully.
Then he noticed a critical detail.
The Shadow Lurkers weren't attacking purely on instinct. They kept pausing mid-charge, their shadowy forms shivering as they sniffed the air repeatedly, drawn toward something they couldn't resist.
Spices.
A spark of inspiration hit Will.
He quickly found a relatively flat rock, unstrapped the Mother's Worn Pot, and set it up with practiced speed. The Inherited Kitchen Knife flashed in his hands as he diced ingredients at blinding speed — dumplings wrappers, seasoned meat filling, and a special blend of savory spices designed to be irresistible. Within minutes, a large batch of Aroma Bait Dumplings was simmering in the pot, releasing a rich, mouth-watering aroma that rolled across the battlefield like an invisible wave.
The effect was immediate and dramatic.
The Shadow Lurkers froze mid-attack. Their red eyes widened, and then — as if possessed — they abandoned the mages completely and swarmed toward Will and the bubbling pot instead.
"Here we go…" Will muttered under his breath.
He scooped several steaming dumplings onto a large serving spoon and flung them forward like throwing weapons. The dumplings arced through the air, landing perfectly among the charging shadows.
The moment the creatures consumed them, chaos erupted.
The Shadow Lurkers began to writhe violently, their dark forms destabilizing from the overwhelming savory flavor mixed with hidden spices. One by one, they melted into harmless black mist with comical popping sounds, like overfilled balloons bursting.
"What the hell—?!" one of the mages shouted in disbelief.
"Did he just… season them to death?"
Even Marcus looked momentarily stunned, his usual stern expression cracking.
The last remaining Shadow Lurker — noticeably larger and more aggressive than the others — let out a furious shriek and lunged desperately at Will, claws extended like black blades.
There was no time to cook more dumplings.
Will reacted on pure instinct. He grabbed the Simple Apron with his left hand, spinning it like a makeshift shield, while his right hand slashed forward with the Inherited Kitchen Knife. A concentrated burst of aromatic steam exploded from the blade's edge, slamming directly into the creature's face like a spicy shockwave.
The beast let out a garbled, almost pitiful shriek and dissolved mid-leap, leaving behind only a faint puff of black smoke that smelled suspiciously like over-seasoned soup.
Silence finally fell over the training grounds.
Marcus stared at Will for a long moment, then let out a low, impressed whistle.
"…Well," he said finally, "that was certainly one of the strangest support tactics I've ever seen in my three years here. Effective, though. Good work, Chef."
The other mages looked at Will with a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and newfound respect.
Einsfel walked over calmly, maintaining a professional expression for the sake of the team, but her blue eyes were shining with open pride and warmth.
"You were incredible out there," she said softly when no one else was close enough to hear. "The way you turned cooking into combat… it made my heart race the entire time."
Her fingers brushed against his hand in a hidden, intimate touch that sent a pleasant shiver up his arm.
"Tonight," she added, her voice dropping even lower, warm and full of promise, "after you finish your shift… come to my room. I think you deserve a proper, private reward for today's performance."
Will's ears turned noticeably red.
Before he could respond, she stepped back with perfect composure and rejoined the mages as if nothing had happened, leaving him standing there with a racing heart and a faint, determined smile on his face.
As the team began cleaning up the remnants of the battle, Will looked down at the Mother's Worn Pot in his hands.
The silver-gray light along its rim was glowing more steadily now — a quiet but visible sign that his cooking and Einsfel's magic were slowly, beautifully resonating with each other.
He wasn't just surviving in this academy anymore.
He was starting to carve out his own place — one bowl, one battle, and one promise at a time.
And with Einsfel's quiet support — and the sweet promise of tonight's reward — he felt truly ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.