Smoke drifted lazily into the twilight sky.
By the river, Grey sat quietly, stealing glances at the noble boy across the fire.
Yeats stood by a deep cast-iron pan bubbling with oil. He was leaning over a barrel lid, prepping ingredients with graceful precision. The setting sun painted golden strokes across his calm face and slender fingers, which moved with the practiced rhythm of someone who'd done this a thousand times before.
He sliced the cockatrice's drumsticks with clean, confident strokes, dredged them in whipped egg and a fine blend of flour and ground spices, then lowered them into the hot oil.
The sizzle was instant, loud and satisfying, sending a savory fragrance wafting through the camp like a magic spell. The surface bubbled and crisped, turning from pale to deep amber as the skin puffed slightly—just enough to hold in the juices within.
Nearby, the snake tail was skinned and deboned with care, cut into even chunks and skewered between cherry tomatoes, green bell peppers, and sliced sweet onions. He brushed the skewers with a glaze made of fermented plum sauce, wild honey, and a touch of river mint before laying them over the glowing coals.
The snake meat hissed as it met the fire, its surface slowly caramelizing. The vegetables sizzled beside it, their juices crackling into fragrant steam.
[Fried Cockatrice Drumstick – ★☆☆]A golden, crispy drumstick crafted from the cockatrice's leg meat. Crunchy outside, juicy inside. Grants a temporary reduction in stamina consumption.
[Spiced Grilled Snake Skewers – ★☆☆]Snake tail meat grilled with fresh vegetables. Smoky, sweet, and herbaceous. Grants a temporary boost to poison resistance.
Yeats scanned the panel with interest.
So this is what my talent means by "bonus effects." The more exquisite the ingredient, the higher the star level… and the stronger the buffs.
He couldn't help but wonder what a dish made from ancient dragon meat would look like.
He immediately shook the thought from his head.
Nope. Not worth getting eaten alive.
-------------------------------------------------------
"So… the cockatrice," Farkas mused by the fire. "Chicken on one end, snake on the other. But which is the real head?"
"People have debated that for centuries," the old butler added, stroking his beard. "The academic community has yet to settle it. A true enigma!"
Grey, sitting on a large stone, rolled her eyes.
"What kind of eggheads spend centuries arguing about a chicken-snake's butt?"
Then she lowered her voice, glancing toward the fire.
"And you're really not gonna stop your young master? He's making food out of a magical beast! One wrong bite and he'll be the one getting roasted!"
"This is the first meal he's ever made for me," Farkas replied, eyes misty with pride.
"If I have to take an antidote afterward… so be it."
Grey: "…"
This man is ready to die for dinner.
Her stomach gurgled in betrayal.
She looked down, arms wrapped around her legs, torn between hunger and survival.
No. I won't eat it. Not a single bite. Better to starve than die vomiting.
The law was clear: magical beasts were off the menu.
She gave herself a firm nod.
Then the smell hit.
It was rich and full-bodied—the kind of aroma that seemed to wrap around her like a warm coat. Butter, garlic, sizzling fat, grilled herbs, roasted sweetness—it was overwhelming.
Yeats approached with two steaming bowls of rice.
Each bowl was topped with a glossy, golden-fried drumstick, nestled beside a pair of caramelized skewers still crackling from the fire. Thin shreds of scallion were scattered over a soft blanket of egg, the yolk just barely set, gleaming like morning sunlight.
"I have the answer, Farkas."
Yeats was composed as ever, food in hand, theory in mind.
"Cockatrices lay eggs. So which end is the head depends on which end hatches first. That's why there's no academic consensus."
"It varies individually."
The silence was stunned.
What… an outrageously cold take.
Grey felt her soul leave her body. She'd been hungry, then burned at the stake, and now she was getting fed cursed trivia before dinner?
She sighed.
Her stomach rumbled again.
Then came the bowl.
Hot, fragrant rice gently steamed beneath a silky layer of soft-scrambled egg. The crispy drumstick sat proudly on top, its coating bubbling slightly as it soaked up the rich juices. The grilled skewers glistened with sticky glaze, their roasted vegetables adding bursts of color—deep red tomatoes, charred green pepper, and caramel-browned onion.
Yeats smiled.
"Try it. My talent guarantees it's edible—and delicious."
Grey salivated instantly.
She looked at the food.
Then remembered what it came from.
That freakish snake-chicken hybrid with a face only a mother could hate.
"Take it back. I'm not eating magical beasts," she said, arms crossed.
"And our contract says nothing about being forced to eat suspicious meals. I checked."
Yeats simply shrugged.
Beside him, Farkas lifted his own bowl, tears welling as he looked to the heavens.
"My lord, your son… he can cook. He's truly awakened."
The former Yeats had been a walking disaster. But Farkas had stuck by him through everything, ever since he'd saved the baby boy from bandits all those years ago.
This meal meant more than food.
"Eat before it gets cold, Farkas," Yeats said gently.
"Yes, Young Master."
The butler pulled out a tiny antidote vial and set it beside him. Then, with solemn dignity, he picked up a skewer and took a bite.
He froze.
"This… this is incredible."
There was no bitterness. No residue. Just tender meat with a smoky edge, hints of plum sweetness and roasted vegetables that melted on his tongue.
"Better than anything I've had in years."
Yeats smirked.
"Told you. I'm a life-skills main."
Grey didn't understand the jargon. But she did notice one thing: Farkas wasn't dying.
She stared. Her stomach roared.
Screw it. I'm eating.
She grabbed the drumstick, shut her eyes… and bit down.
Crunch.
The shell cracked, giving way to juicy, succulent meat that practically gushed into her mouth. The flavor was rich but not greasy, balanced with salt, garlic, and something sweet—just enough to make her eyes widen in shock.
"This… is amazing!"
Farkas beamed.
"Quite the surprise, isn't it?"
"It's so juicy!" she squeaked, already chomping another bite with cheeks puffed like a squirrel.
Yeats glanced over.
"Didn't you say you weren't going to eat magical beasts?"
Grey wiped her mouth, red-faced.
"This is a one-time thing, okay? Just because I was starving. Next time I'll definitely say no!"
Yeats: "…"
Lying Dragonborn.
He sat and took a bite of his own bowl.
Delicious.
Crispy crust. Tender meat. Just enough fire-charred edge to make it addictive.
His eyes gleamed slightly.
If ancient dragons tasted like this…
No. Stop that. Get those thoughts out of your head.
He exhaled and looked toward the rising moon.
"Eat up. Then get some rest. We'll be meeting more magical beasts on the road, no doubt."
"Mmmf!" Grey mumbled through a mouthful. "Roger that!"
----------------------------------------------------------
Dinner wrapped up.
Farkas took the dishes to the river. Grey offered to help.
"No trouble at all, Miss Grey," he said, beaming with satisfaction. "Today's been… incredible."
"Don't be polite." She rolled up her sleeves. "I'll—"
CRACK.
She froze, staring at the shattered bowl in her hands.
"Oops. First time washing porcelain. Totally an accident."
Yeats: "...Totally?"
"Don't you start!" she snapped, flustered.
CRACK.
Another bowl died an untimely death.
"Miss Grey," Farkas said through clenched teeth, "please… step back."
----------------------------------------------------------
The stars emerged, glittering above the hills.
By firelight, Farkas unfurled a sheepskin map.
"Tomorrow we'll pass through low hills—watch for mud slimes and stone rams."
Yeats stroked his chin. Already, recipes were forming in his head.
Farkas pointed to a red circle.
"Some bird-type beasts nest here. Adventurers say they've found rare pet eggs in that area."
"Tamed beasts are worth more than enchanted swords," Grey murmured, now fully considering herself part of the group. "But you can't raise just any magical creature. You need the right match."
Yeats raised a brow.
A magical pet…
His talent was powerful, but didn't give him combat strength. He hadn't even reached Tier One yet.
If he could bond with a magical beast—and feed it buffed gourmet food?
He could raise a monster into a legend.
He wasn't even asking for much.
Just something adorable. Something soft.
Something to cuddle on cold frontier nights.
A little joy in the frozen lands of Morningfrost.