A sharp knife is necessary tool. Be it cutting throats or skinning fish, it comes in handy in all walks of life. The knife Sand was using was particularly sharp. It was a silver blur as it fluttered over the body of the deceased carp, sending a shower of crimson, black and white scales flying off a short distance away to pile up into a mound. It belonged to the Vampire Princess. A replacement for the blade he had lost during his fight with the undead serpents. A beautifully crafted, perfectly balanced dagger built with silver alloyed with mithril. The way the blade glimmered under the firelight – like it contained stars embedded in it – confirmed the presence of the magical metal Sand had only heard of in his previous life.

Mithril was an extremely good conductor of mana that made for the best edged weapons. It was found in traces in silver mines. Very minute traces. The rarity meant that just a single bar of the metal was equivalent to a month’s produce of Silveros’ mine. The number of mithril weapons in the Desert could be counted upon the fingers of one hand and each one had many legends woven around it and was wielded by the strongest Orcs.

If there was something Sand disliked about the dagger, it would be its hilt. A ruby encrusted monstrosity that made a proper grip next to impossible and rendered the blade impractical in a fight where death was always one slippery hilt away. If he was interpreting the original purpose of the dagger correctly from the manner of Igor who had handed it off to him, it was meant as a letter opener. A legendary letter opener. Sand couldn’t help but be inwardly flabbergasted at the luxury of it.

Well, now it was a kitchen knife. A much nobler calling in Sand’s opinion.

Finishing descaling one side of the fish, Sand flipped it over on the flat stone he was working on and began on the other side. He only removed the scales, keeping the thin, nutrient rich skin of the fish intact. Though a lot of people found fish skin unappetizing, it was necessary for the dish he had in mind. He was careful to limit his display of knife-skills within the realms of his prepared excuse for his culinary expertise though – often nicking the skin and leaving a scale or two behind.

Soon, all that was left of the formerly gorgeous carp was a pitifully denuded lump of tender white flesh encased in a thin film of translucent skin. Only the intact tail and head spoke of its former glory. Even an emperor was but a mortal when stripped of his royal robes. Two well placed chops of the sharp blade and even they were gone.

Setting the head and tail aside for future endeavours, Sand slit the belly of the fish and cleaned its organs out carefully. Washing it out with some blood from a tub beside him, he made an incision all around the body and lifted the resultant slab of fish-meat off, exposing the spine and bones of the carp. Placing the slab to the side, he broke off two of the larger spines of the fish, using them as tweezers to debone it – flicking his wrist to send the fish-bones flying onto the pile of scales nearby.

Nodding with satisfaction at the two slabs of meat, Sand felt like a painter looking at a blank canvas contemplating his next masterpiece. Cracking his knuckles, he went to work. Placing the slabs skin side up, he scored lines into them with the knife, drawing up a rectangular grid of bite-sized pieces. Within each cell of the grid, he scored a cross-shaped mark.

No dish was truly complete without a secret ingredient. Putting down the knife and unscrewing a jar, Sand liberally smeared the two fish-steaks with a rust red paste that he kneaded into the lines he had scored into the skin. The palette had been prepared, now it was time to paint.

The old man in a child’s body walked over to the arrangement he had put in place for this day’s cooking. A circle of stones of even size lay near the campfire with firewood stacked shallowly within it. Bringing a burning branch from the campfire, Sand lit the firewood and soon, a cheerful blaze occupied the stone circle.

Tossing the burning brand back into the campfire, he bent down to pick up a circular slab of stone he had painstakingly selected from the lithical assortment scattered about the Dungeon. It was smooth, it wasn’t too thick and – most importantly – it conducted heat well. Grunting with the effort of carrying the stone with his young body, he staggered over to the small blaze and set the stone down on the circle of stones, causing the flames to lick around the edges of his impromptu cook-top. He waited patiently for the stone to heat up, blowing on the flames with a pipe made from one of the sections of the weeping willow rattans. When the air began warping above the heated stone, licking his finger, he touched it briefly to test the degree of heat. Withdrawing it with a hiss when the stone turned out to be hotter than he had expected.

Sucking his mildly burnt finger, he walked over to where he had left the marinading fish. The paste had seeped into the grooves he had scored into the fish skin, imbuing it with flavour. Slicing one of the fish-steaks in half along one of the scored lines, he carried both halves over to the cook-top, laying them both side-by-side, skin down on the heated stone.

The sizzling sound of melting fat and the aroma of his secret spice paste permeated the surroundings. Sand couldn't help but swallow his saliva at the appetizing fragrance and even Vlad, the Thrall with the hobby of acting like a statue, couldn't keep the glint of anticipation out of his blood-red eyes, causing them to glow brighter from within the depths of his cowl.

Playing it by ear, after a few minutes of letting the steaks cook in their own fat, Sand used a crude spatula he had crafted out of a branch to flip them over to let the tender, fleshy side cook in the sizzling fat that now overspread the stone. The spice-paste had seeped into the skin of the fish, dyeing it a beautiful rust-red shade. Shifting them over the surface of the stone and flipping the steaks over once in a while to evenly distribute the heat, Sand waited till they were well done to remove them off the heat and onto a large serving tray.

Following through, he sliced the other portion of the fish in halves – cooking one till it was medium rare and the other one rare. Arranging them on the tray, he sliced them along the scored grid into bite sized pieces before covering it with a lid.

As far as portable residences went, Dungeons had every tent in the world beat in terms of space and convenience. After all, it was a personal world. Carrying capacity or weight wasn’t really a consideration. Consequently, Lirael had tricked out her Dungeon with all the conveniences she could ever need. Cutlery, tableware, furniture… a portable wardrobe… a washroom. She had it all.

“I’m done,” announced Sand, washing his hands and picking up the tray.

Nodding his acknowledgement, Vlad raised two fingers to his mouth with both hands and whistled, a sharp, piercing sound that spiralled up into the sky. Sand had to resist the urge to rub his aching ears, faintly jealous of the Thrall. Despite his advantage in years, he never had managed to crack the trick to those ear-piercing whistles.

As the last reverberations of the whistle faded away, a faint humming sound was caught by his recovering ears. The sound grew louder till with a sudden burst of speed, a transparent hummingbird arrived, flitting restlessly around the two of them, studying the tray in Sand’s hands with undisguised curiosity in its ruby eyes.

Suddenly, the Core Spirit paused, hovering in mid-air as it received some instruction from its Mistress. With a staccato cry, it bloomed with a white glow that covered all three forms. The scenery blurred around them, receding swiftly as they were dragged through space at blistering speeds before coming to an abrupt halt. The oddest thing was that there was no feeling of acceleration or deceleration – just a short journey with no beginning or end.

Sweat instantly soaked Sand’s shirt through as sweltering air that smelt of blood, ash and brimstone assaulted him. Despite the warmth, the air was moist – the oppressive heat refusing to let his sweat evaporate and cool him down. Instinctively, the Netherfire Aura shard activated, wrapping him in a protective layer of phantom flames. The thunderous sound of crashing water assaulted his ears as a broad river of blood dropped off a precipice into the fiery abyss a short distance away – steaming and boiling even before it plunged down into the depths. A broad column of bloody mist rose up into the firmament like a pillar that supported the sky.

They had arrived at the centre of the Dungeon.

With a happy chirp, the avian spirit zipped away towards a direction and following its path with his eyes, Sand found three figures located around a neatly laid table by the riverbank. One sitting on a chair, one standing at attention behind her and another seated regally on the table itself. Lirael, Igor and Leo.

Sweating profusely, Vlad hurried to follow the hummingbird towards the table with Sand close on his heels. As they neared the table, Sand felt like he had crossed an invisible barrier – a thin, intangible curtain of water. Lirael’s Domain. The temperature dropped from ‘midsummer madness’ to ‘last week of autumn’ in an instant and he seemed to have left the volcanic stench behind.

Breathing deeply of the fresh air, Sand placed the tray on the table and bowed deeply. “Mistress."

“Rise,” she acknowledged.

Straightening up, Sand saw her appraising him. “I never expected to have good things to eat this far from home,” she said with a smile. “I strongly doubt that the Orcs teach life skills to their slaves – especially not their gladiators. I’ll have you tell me how you learnt the art of cooking. I'm sure it'll be an interesting story. But before that… we’ll see how good you really are. Hmm?”

Turning back to Igor who was standing behind her, she frowned slightly. “You can take that cloak off now. We aren’t in the company of strangers anymore. Get out of that stuffy thing and take a seat.” Turning to the other Thrall, “You too Vlad.”

As the two of them scrambled to obey, she turned to Sand with a wry smile. “See that? These two are a bit too rigid with their interpretation of my instructions. I ordered them to obscure their forms while in Orcish territory as their identities are quite awkward but they remained bundled up even in the Dungeon. Thankfully, that won’t be a problem in your case.”

She didn’t have to convince Sand. He knew he was lucky to have escaped his Enthrallment with as little mental damage as he had. Even Vlad and Igor were exceptional members of their class for having retained as much rationality as they had. Most Blood Thralls were frenzied war-beasts only leashed and muzzled by the words of their masters.

But he was curious as to what she meant by ‘awkward’. He didn’t have to wait long. As soon as the cloaks came off, he understood.

Vlad was an Orc. A hulking mass of muscle that reminded him of Kreg – if Kreg was ten times more buff and didn’t suffer from hair-loss.

Vlad threw back his cowl, shaking out his untidy dreadlocks. Bare-chested beneath his cloak, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Corded bunches of muscle strained under his dark skin, rolling with each movement. Even his gut was a slab of solid muscle. Prominent veins stuck out over his bulging biceps and forearms, visible even through the sparse fuzz of black bristles that covered his body. The dark veins and the glowing scarlet eyes were the only features distinguishing him from an ordinary orc – well, an ordinary orc with a Tier 3 Strength shard, that is.

Sand knew now that the big guy had been taking it easy on him, holding back massively otherwise with this kind of physique, there was no way he could tank even a single punch – Aura or no Aura. Rather, by dispersing his might into a broader area through his Aura of Strength, Vlad had been cushioning his blows during their spars.

As for why exposure of his identity would be awkward? Bringing an Enthralled orc into the heart of Orcish territory… Sand couldn't decide whether Lirael was brave or foolhardy.

Turning his gaze to the other Blood Thrall, Sand’s eyes widened as he saw something he hadn’t seen in his previous life. A Naga. Four arms, scaly skin and a serpentine head with frills in the place of ears... To be more precise, Igor was a Land Naga. His emerald scales glinted under the light and in contrast with his sea-dwelling cousins who had human faces and serpentine tails instead of legs, he had a fully humanoid body except for his head. His forked red tongue shot out of his mouth from time to time, flickering as if tasting the air. Like Vlad, his viperous, vertical-pupiled eyes too were a vivid shade of red.

Igor held two arms folded across his chest while the other two of his arms hung down idly at his side. When he had worn the cloak, he had only put those two arms through the sleeves giving Sand the misconception that his figure was misshapen. The Naga was less comfortable with upper-body nudity than Vlad and wore a white tabard beneath the cloak that covered his back and chest without hindering the range of motion of his multiple arms. And like Vlad, he wore loose white pantaloons for his lower body. Neither of the Thralls seemed to put much stock in footwear.

After getting over his initial surprise, Sand instead felt that Lirael having a Naga and an Orc for Thralls was logical. She was an Enzeal after all. Their late High Lord was the primogenitor of both those races.

Igor moved over to the table and uncovered the tray of steaks. Picking up one of the bite-sized pieces of fish meat with one of his claws, he tossed it into his mouth – swallowing it whole. The corner of Sand’s eye twitched at the irreverent style of consumption feeling all his efforts go unappreciated down the snake-man’s gullet.

Immersed in dissatisfaction though he was, he didn’t fail to notice four sets of eyes fixated on Igor, waiting for his verdict – even Leo and the hummingbird Spirit who had been disputing with each other on the table stopped their roughhousing to watch. The atmosphere suddenly became constrained.

It wasn’t difficult to guess the reason. With his Naga lineage granting him a high sensitivity to toxins, Igor must have been trained to serve as Lirael’s food taster. After a moment, the snake-man opened his eyes and nodded his approval and the mood relaxed.

“Well,” said Lirael as she speared a piece with her fork and brought it to her plate, “let’s have a taste shall we?”