The Wielder of Death Magic

“Hey there, boy,” said the fisherman, “-what are you looking for?”

“Nothing much,” said he checking the time, “-was curious about the eatery, tis all.”

“Oh, so you like cooking?” the hefty arms twisted into a horizontal slice, “-how much do you know about fish?” he asked rhetorically and hung the larger creature to dry.

“I’ve never seen such a water-based monster before.”

“Obviously not,” the smile gave a sense of pride, “-this right here is the Kord. I know, I named it after me, and rightfully so. I first caught it around a decade ago, you know, when the monsters became active. It’s docile and doesn’t disappear after being caught or killed. I’m telling you, it’s a fish. The damned Guild thinks it otherwise, they say it’s different from living things,” the words slowed to a normal pace, the would-be rant stopped before long. “Sorry about that,” said he dousing the fish in a yogurt textured liquid. “I have a habit of going into unnecessary details. So, what did you want to know?” No reply came, the boy gawked at a few live specimens. ‘I can see why the guild thinks it’s a monster,’ thought he squatting for a better look, “-the one eye is haunting. It’s staring right in my soul, the fins and tail are colored in rainbow, what the hell is this?”

“That’s the antenna,” said the fisherman, “-it helps in sensing prey.”

.....

“How did you go about cleaning and eating?”

“I cleaned it the same as any normal fish. The flesh of Kord is rough with a mellow taste. I don’t get it myself... honestly, I think it’s the best thing ever. You can taste and do just about anything. No part of the beast is wasted, that’s the happier part.” Time showed 07:15. “Mr. Kord, can I help?” the sleeves rolled, “-I’m a cook.”

“You sure you can handle the beast?” asked he smirking, “-it may be docile – still,” the pause felt long, “don’t underestimate the power of a cornered rat,” emphasis on the underestimate. A sense of caution rose within, he stared at the beast, the antenna, the eye, the pupils expanded to a pitch-dark circle.

“A cut straight across here,” instructed Mr. Kord.

*Chop,* the pressure of slicing through the ugly creature cringed a little. As disgusting as it looked, the texture of the inside was the same. Reminded to pressing one’s sole onto a cockroach, the crispy sound gave chills, so did the Kord.

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the man, “-you’ll get used to it after a while,” the unassuming smile gave a sense of relief.

“Igna, time for school,” said éclair plastering a massive red blinking clock across the field of view, “-Lady Haru awaits.”

“Phew,” wiping the sweat, “-Mr. Kord, I’ve prepared the fish to be fried. Will this be ok?”

“Good, good,” changed into a plainer and easier outfit, “-good pair of hands-on you boy,” he slapped his shoulder, “-most of the workers I hire quit by the end of the day. You don’t seem bothered by the prospect of eating such a disgusting thing.”

“No,” before laid countless morsel of yet to be fried batter, “-the change from raw to cook is always nice to witness. Such an ugly creature is reborn anew for the enjoyment of another.”

“Well then boy,” he smiled, “-consider yourself an honorary staff of my eatery. Running this joint is easy enough, if you’d like, I’ll pay you for helping in preparing the fishes early morning.”

“I’ll be glad. I have a favor first.”

“Go on,” the buckets of living Kord were taken to an enclosed space in the dark, “-what favor?” a massive tank glowing white and blue held small to medium-sized Kord.

“Can I come with you when you set off to fish for more?”

“Sure, but I doubt I’ll go anytime soon. You see,” he stood, “-I’ve gotten more than enough to last me a year or so. They reproduce faster than you think – the best part, the fishes feed off weeds.”

“Alright then. I’ll head to the academy, for now, goodbye, Mr. Kord.”

“See you later, take a few croquettes on the way out.”

“Will do.”

Filled by a sense of familiarity, the day woke firmly. Scattered rainclouds were about. The shopping streets filled with students on their way to the academy, the crowd included adventurers and helpers alike. A frosty chill settled, “-you!” glared Ila, “-don’t get any wrong ideas,” her fingers gestured menacingly. Anna followed blankly, ‘-what’s her problem?’ He cut and throttled across the park following a dirt-path. The ground was moist, each step dug the soles into the mud. It took ten minutes, the path wasn’t limited to a flat-landscape, no, on the contrary, the path twisted around hedges, tall grass, tightly packed trees guarded by the foliage of branches and twigs. ‘A park’ or so he thought, described the nicer place of hangout – not the still untouched forest before construction. ‘The staircase,’ the path stopped and merged against grass, it continued to the cleaner-stone path. Clueless students examined the boy who came from seemingly nowhere. Commonsense said to not go deeper into the unexplored forestry, though he had done so on mere curiosity. The price for such an endeavor was spoiled shoes. ‘Glad there’s a tap,’ not good as new, most of the dirt was cleaned. Lady Haru sent a message a while back, *-come to the gymnasium as soon as lectures start.*

Over yonder, farther than Igna’s reach, Group C hurdled in the cafeteria. “Have you seen Igna?” asked Lampard scouring the landscape.

“No,” returned a tired Rena, “-maybe he left early?”

“I don’t buy it,” said Leonard, “-he took all his belonging, surely...” a moments doubt pricked his throat, he frowned.

“Something the matter?” asked Jen.

“Yes,” the mouth felt dry, “-he’s gone.”

“How can you say so, come on Leonard, he’s not running away again, is he?”

“Lampard, it’s the truth, my friend,” the head lowered onto the table, “-we’ve pushed him away. You girls are conniving and selfish; the conversation yesterday... you knew damned well he wasn’t sleeping... Rena.”

“Don’t blame me,” she shrugged,”-you continued the conversation, I merely brought up the subject.” Divide between them quarreled into an argument. Lampard and Leonard were happy about the return. Yesterday was nothing more than the awkwardness of not knowing what to say to an old friend. Especially after the friend had done so much, their debt forced a deadly silence, one the girls took advantage of.

“Who cares about Igna,” added Jen, “-the guilt is here...” sugary flutters enchanted the angered Leonard. The hidden clenched fist ease into an open palm. He couldn’t argue, her innocent gaze... a poisonous act of greed. Her actions meant all but one thing, ‘-you’re nothing without the backing of the Goldberg. I’m the one supporting us both.’ Debts left and right, Leonard’s world of love and comfort turned to a suffocating cell of torment. His lover, the one who vowed to protect showed the true terror of being a ‘couple’. Rena as the confidant didn’t bode well for Lampard either. Puppet masters looking upon their toys.

Not to take away credit from the duo, the boys realized it a long time ago. Their many nights of drinking and consoling one another revealed how much the girl’s expectation weighted their feeble heart. ‘Igna’s the beacon who could have taken us to a better land. A better place in life, a bond they wanted to form and share.’ Strength in unity; they knew how strong Igna was. Not physically, the boy was a man of his word and integrity. Regardless of the trouble, he’d rise and conquer, or fall and stand again.

An exchange of mundane head movement called for the white-flag. Thus, Rena and Jen hardened their grip, there was no escape – doomed to forever be indebted.

‘The gymnasium,’ thought he climbing the metal stairs, ‘-I need to see Chef Leko.’ The staff-door sparked by the fire-filled cooking station.

‘Igna’s coming back,’ the prospect brought a smile. The assistants ran about preparing today’s meal. Murmurs of the unusually good mood changed ears the same as ingredients changed hands. ‘Did he pass the Medusa of Cooking’s trial?’ *Click.* One word flashed, ‘-Igna.’

“Hello Chef, I’m sorry for being late.” There he was, dressed in the chef’s outfit. The boy Leko waited for so long, the only person that understood his goal of Dungeon-style cooking.

“Igna,” hands-on the chopping board, “-welcome back.”

“It’s good to be back,” said he holding a cheerful smile.

“Who’s that?’ the assisting line-up revamped with newer recruits. The pressure of teaching novices brought more trouble than due. “I don’t know?” shrugged another hard at chopping.

“Don’t waste time,” voiced another, “-the stagiaire isn’t over.”

One thing stood out; the assistants wore uniform-like attire. A mix of the normal chef’s outfit with an element of being a ‘student’. A badge on the chest resolved the confusion, ‘Leko’s Cooking Academy.’

“Chef Leko, are they students from your school?” said he with a frighteningly friendly tone. *Gulp,* the students were scared for the boy, ‘who the hell is he much to speak so openly to the chef?’ or so went around their minds.

“Yeah,” Leko returned the courtesy, “-alright Igna, show me what you’ve learned. I’ll handle the finer details, prepare the ingredients; I’ll lead, and you follow, is that acceptable?”

“As you wish, chef,” the gifted bandana locked his hair in place, “-bring it on!” Orders came one after the other, the assistant choked at the simple procedure, more were preoccupied with who the new addition was. Fine-dining is a status of one’s standing. Many big-names in the culinary world from wholesaling to hotels and restaurants often sent their heir to Leko’s Academy. Rare was it for someone to not be of the upper-class. Baby-sitting the silver-spoon fed daunted Leko, the inaptitude of many caused heart-break. What could he do, what would he do?

Presently, Igna saw, noted, and took action. Those falling behind were reprimanded, “-stop cutting the cabbage and focus on the fish. You, the broth lacks seasoning, use the spice-bomb at the counter.”

‘Good,’ thought Leko silently, ‘-he’s taking charge and noticing the faults,’ the pot stirred with molten lava-like texture.

“Excuse me,” gritted one, “-who the hell are you?”

“The same can be asked of you,” returned he wiping the fingers, “-do you have a complaint?”

“Yes, I’m Sai from the Eiko Dynasty, my family owns resorts along the beaches of Plaustan. It’s inadmissible to have us, children of high ranking to run around the kitchen aimlessly per the orders of an unknown.”

“Is that right,” he glared, “-should I write a letter to the Eiko Dynasty instead?”

“What letter?”

“An expulsion letter,” he smiled, “-Chef Leko, the aptitude level of any student of Leko’s Academy is subject to scrutiny, am I wrong?”

“No,” came a lowered voice, “-anyone who performs badly is and will be expulsed from the academy.”

“You heard it first hand,” smirked Igna, “-Sai of the Eiko Dynasty. Status doesn’t matter in the kitchen, either you turn and work or get out, decide.”

“You will regret this,” he mumbled back to work.

“Where did you find these apprentices anyway?” wondered Igna casually handing the necessary items.

“You’re an idiot,” he laughed, “-I’m glad you came back. My passion for cooking was starting to falter from the pressure of the academy.”

“Please chef, this isn’t time to reminisce, we have customers waiting.” The focused face of the prodigy of Medusa screamed of talent. No wasted motions, the flow resorted to an acceptable state.

‘What was I thinking?’ he grinned, ‘-I lost my way. Thank you Igna, the pressure of dealing with so many nobles scrambled my aim. What does it matter if you’re noble or not, anyone who doesn’t perform will be eliminated.’ The devilish like resolve erupted, “-SAI, STOP TALKING SHIT AND PREPARE THE FUCKING MEAT.”

‘He’s back,’ laughed Igna. The long-awaited reunion was more than he thought. Leko stood beside a young man with a bright future and no credentials. Depending on where he continued, one needed to have the assurance of an academy, a chef, or a restaurant to prove a person’s worth. As it stands, Igna had nothing more than a few compliments.