Regis floated above Vraz; he'd directed his employee to the pantry to begin the bond formation. There wasn’t an existing thread connecting the two through their mana, unlike with Strum. Meaning the process might prove more treacherous than before, but Regis felt like they'd be able to manage. After all, after the poisoning, Vraz needed this to ensure his safety.

Due to Strum guarding the entrance to the kitchen, Regis didn't fear any oncoming attacks. He hadn't felt a flicker of goblins at the entrance. That meant the annoying vermin were busy barricading the kitchen in.

A very foolish endeavor. As if their pathetic little tribe could whip up anything worth consuming that was comparable to his product. He knew that the goblins would come around in a short time. When they did, they'd submit and apologize to get the chance to eat his food.

“Are you prepared?” Regis hummed as he floated around Vraz. With a shaky confirmation from the cook, Regis pressed ahead. A stream of red shot forward from the core, wrapping around the goblin like a snake. Streaks of violet twisted in the crimson energy, constricting closer and closer until they converged and rammed into Vraz's chest. Vraz began to convulse as Regis injected his mana directly into the goblin's core.

The energy flowed in a river, winding its way and pouring everywhere in the goblin. It was searching. Then it found it, the small glimmering core of energy, which didn't surprise Regis. Most creatures lacked any significant core due to their lack of magic. Without fuel, it was like an unused muscle. However, if Regis injected a bit of mana into it to start with, it was like igniting a flame; the core would roar to life.

Something was odd about Vraz's mana core. As he forced his energy into it and let it latch—so they could form the bond—the core twisted with a dark essence. Vraz let loose a scream as he fell to his knees before plopping onto the pantry floor on his face. That was for the best. Regis was still learning this process, and he functioned primarily on intuition when it came to magic.

The chef’s body began to morph, his skin lightening to a shade of blue— the core refused to accept Regis’ fire mana, converting it as fast as it could manage. The peculiar situation struck Regis as wrong. Strum’s body readily accepted the fire mana; it’d been like starting with a blank slate with his manager. Vraz had something… else. Something was hiding in there, like shadows at the edge of the candlelight.

Regis studied it, prodding at the core and marveling at the hunger radiating from it. Their bond solidified without problem. In time it would strengthen to the level of the one with Strum. But the mana within the goblin refused to adapt to his will.

Fine then, I shall let it manifest however it wishes. More fuel, more hunger. An all-consuming void that surprised Regis—until finally, he felt it spark. It swirled, repulsing further energy as it reached that maximum amount it had the ability to soak up. Regis withdrew and observed.

Vraz’s pale blue skin began to darken to violet color. His ears grew longer, more jagged. His teeth sharpened, and the cook's fingernails elongated and became pointed. Oddly, the muscle seemed to reform into a more compact and dense structure than an organic creature would typically have. As Regis attempted to make sense of it, his instincts told him that more muscle mass was there, except not on the same plane. Like how he saw the metaphysical layer, some of the body existed somewhere else. Odd.

The transformation reminded Regis somewhat of that half-gremlin obsessed with his manager. Yet this physical form was far more slender and refined, elegant but with a purpose to it.

The exterior changes stopped, and Regis watched, curious. No runes like Strum. At this point, he began to understand the process. Injecting mana into their core allowed it to expand and change into some kind of subspecies? It was impossible to say, really, but the results spoke for themselves.

After a few hours, Vraz stirred to life. His eyes opened, and a dim yellow glow came from his pupils. Ah. Vraz groaned, rubbing his head, those extra sharp claws of his accidentally nicking his forehead and drawing a line of blood.

“Crap!” Vraz muttered, getting to his feet, and he wobbled as his body struggled to adapt. The cook looked at his hand, eyes widening as he uncurled his fingers. “What the hell am I?”

“It’s impossible to say. When I interacted with Strum, his mana was more of a blank canvas—it took the strength of my affinity and adapted to it, changing him into the physical form he has now in response to our ties. I’d initially thought yours would prove the same, given it was difficult to locate. But it was shrouded with a mana-type I’m unfamiliar with. So, I filled it, made our bond, and this is the result.”

Vraz stared at the crystal, lightened eyes narrowing. “You have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to stuff like this, do you?”

“Do not be absurd. I am incredibly intelligent. There are few others with my expertise, skill, and professionalism. Petty little concepts like magic are nowhere near the difficulty of creating delicacies on my level. If an utter moron like Wort can manage magic to some small degree, someone of my pedigree is able to accomplish great feats even with minor experience in the field.”

The cook didn’t quite show belief on his face, but Regis let it slide. What does a simple-minded savage know of education and raw natural talent?

“So, I have magic now?” Vraz asked, looking over his sleek arms.

“That is an accurate assumption, though what kind remains to be determined. I doubt it will have much direct effect on your cooking aptitude, but I have been surprised before. The more important aspect is that your dexterity is likely increased and that enhancement will go a long way towards augmenting your production speed.”

Vraz gave a slow nod, reaching down and grabbing his bandanna, tying the strip of blue around his head. “I’ll use this new gift to make right my wrongs, I promise.”

“There is the caveat to this bond. If I perish, you shall too.”

“Strum mentioned something like that between you two. I suppose there's a price to pay for everything.” Vraz gave a long sigh. “What I used to be before… With my old tribe. That Vraz has been dead for a long time. I never let go, and it turned me into a monster willing to betray my friends. I’m fine with my life being tied to yours; you gave me a chance, and now? I can’t imagine myself anywhere else but cooking here.”

“Excellent. We shall have to assess the conditions outside our door and begin to devise a strategy to break this siege. A restaurant without customers isn’t a restaurant.”

Phizos leaned back in his chair, staring at the slip of vellum in front of him. Two days ago, their informant in a local goblin tribe missed their correspondence time. Normally, the gremlin wouldn’t give a single fuck for a goblin communication. They were unreliable, smelly, and annoyed him to no end. A typical goblin missing their correspondence was like a bear shitting in the woods.

But this particular tribe he’d been having no end of trouble with for the last couple of weeks; worse, the Dark Lord was very eager to know more about the dungeon it housed. Lord Cygan had a keen interest in the anomalies of the world. And given the reports about this one, this dungeon behaved oddly to the extreme. So it was that the chain of command promoted Phizos and gave strict orders to keep tabs on it while at Fort Milfront.

He’d have rolled over the tribe a month ago and absorbed them into the Dark Lord’s horde if he had it his way. But no, ‘Phizos, you are not to disrupt the dungeon, report on its progress’ Blah, blah, blah.

This outpost was a shit show and about to become a warzone. He only hoped he’d be able to transfer and wash his hands of this assignment before live combat started.

Not that it’d progress into any meaningful fighting. The forces of light knew of Lord Cygan’s existence for years. This conflict was one of many over the years—a token show of force to ‘repel’ the darkness when in reality, Lord Cygan and the nobles of the ‘advanced races’ had an understanding.

Lord Cygan was unlike the other Dark Lords. His goal was to kingdom build, not conquer. A dragon with a cultural obsession, but try explaining that to Bob and Bobson of the bumbfuck-middle-of-nowhere village. Try saying to them, “Lord Cygan has amassed a horde of orcs and is housing them in his growing kingdom. He has raised an academy dedicated to the dark arts, to advance the worlds knowledge,” and all they heard was ‘horde of orcs,’ and ‘dark arts.’ Then their eyes went red, and they picked up their pitchforks.

Pathetic. The recent promotion had been nice originally, but it’d proven to be a massive pain in his ass—a string of annoying goblin bullshit. Phizos ashed the cigar, kicking his feet up and looking at the dreary stone ceiling of his office.

We’ve gotta investigate. He knew it. He hated that he knew what they needed to do. This shaman had been responsive so far, and goblin tribes were notoriously unstable. Now that Lord Cygan was aware of this peculiar dungeon, he couldn’t afford for anything to happen to it before the Dark Lord investigated it personally.

“Damn dragons.” The trail of smoke drifted up from the clove-tobacco cigar. If he needed to investigate, it meant that he’d personally have to lead a troupe of orcs into that damn goblin cave. “I hate my job.”

All he wanted to do was retire somewhere peaceful. Someplace with a beach, a hemp farm, and a bunch of wine. But no. He spent all day babysitting idiots.

Phizos snorted, getting off his chair and tucking away the palpable amounts of self-pity he felt. He pulled up his trousers, affixed his shiny new military badge to his jacket, and strode out of the small office.

“Get me Murdoc and Captain Tuskfang!” Phizos screamed, letting his tiny voice go shrill as he yelled the ear off the first orc that came into sight.

It was going to be a long day. So help him, if he made his way all the way out to that goddamn goblin cave to find out the Shaman simply forgot their communication, he’d burn the entire fucking cave down. All of them. Every single goblin.

This was supposed to be a day for rest and relaxation.