Pedecree sat in the sand beside Bromy, a small fireplace between them illuminated the cold night.

“A long, long time ago, during the great culinary war in Godsrest, the three great chef-gods fought…” Pedecree began.

Bromy paid attention to the story.

“Gordan Ramsknee, Guy Fury and Uncle Ben… first name ‘Uncle’ surname ‘Ben’.”

“All three sides cooked like there was no tomorrow,”

“Entire forests were annihilated to find the right truffle to top some pasta…”

“Zones full of animals were hunted and cut up to find the perfect cut of meat for a steak,”

“Entire species of fish went extinct in search of the right fat-to-flesh ratio,”

Pedecree crossed his arms.

“No price was too great for the title of number-one chef,”

Pedecree cleared his throat.

“If a chef can’t make a meal with the rubble and blood and flames left from this war then they don’t deserve to be called a chef…”

“That was the go-to excuse back then…”

“…”

“That’s pretty fucking stupid…” Bromy remarked.

“Eventually, a request was sent to the other two from Uncle Ben…”

“He promised the final cook-off, the one who won would be crowned the winner and if nobody won this time, he would step down from the competition,”

“Needless to say, the other two plundered the world again, Gordon arrived with the head of the last fire-dragon on his back, Guy Fury came with the bodies of ten-thousand boars.”

“Still, Uncle Ben won the fight – seeing as how he came with an army,”

Pedecree turned to look into the base, as usual, no lights were on.

“His armies surrounded the other two chefs, thousands of armed fighters,”

“He exclaimed: “You would cut down a forest of a single mushroom? Why!? A whale for the sake of a small slab of flesh?” …”

“The armies charged, the two chefs fought until the end, taking down no more than a dozen people each since at the end of the day they were still chefs.”

“In the end, Uncle Ben couldn’t celebrate, because his own forces turned on him,”

“Originally a fighter by trade, Uncle Ben could put up a decent fight, though the thousand fighters were too determined, they saw the end of the age of the tyrannical chefs at their fingertips,”

“In the end, he took out one-hundred fighters before being stabbed through the heart with two-hundred swords,”

Pedecree breathed a sigh, nearing the end of his tale.

“Their bodies were never buried, three artefacts remain from the two chef-gods and one chef-demon, the book of sacrifice, the lamb sauce of dreams and the sausage of destiny,”

“…”

“You made that up on the spot, didn’t you?” Bromy asked with folded arms.

“I take it you’ve never seen the culinary-index?” Pedecree questioned.

“I thought you guys didn’t have an index!” Bromy exclaimed.

A profession-index is a max-level unlockable, there exists one for every profession, it covers some lore details like the first inventors of certain items, big names for the profession and it usually carries a few hidden recipes that need to be deciphered to be usable.

“Mm, it’s not common knowledge, but the FoodGuild_ has managed to find the recipe for it…” Pedecree explained, “I can’t go into more detail...”

Bromy let out a sigh.

Pedecree moved over to his cart, laying down on the wood.

“I’ll try and get some shut-eye… I’ll go there tomorrow; I can’t beat him in the star game… that means...” Pedecree went silent.

Bromy kept watch for a bit longer before heading to sleep.

They woke up in the morning, Pedecree didn’t eat anything as he took his suitcase into his hand.

“The critique-exorcism failed… I have no choice but to challenge Uncle Ben to a culinary duel…” Pedecree explained.

“Remember the story from yesterday?” he began.

Bromy nodded.

“The moral of the story is that using a lot of ingredients is bad practice…”

“If I can appeal to that reasoning of his, I might be able to win this!”

“Well, guess that’s that!” Bromy exclaimed.

“No way some undead hack is going to beat you in cooking!”

Pedecree turned to face Bromy and grinned.

“Obviously!”

He marched towards the building; the doors were already open for him.

“I’ll be out in exactly half an hour!” Pedecree called out as he stepped into the building, the doors shut behind him.

His confident look faded away as he walked into the kitchen.

Inside, Foxly’s possessed body stood.

“You’ve entered my kitchen…” he remarked.

“I take it you wish to challenge me?” Uncle Ben asked.

Pedecree nodded.

“And I take you know the stakes aren’t just some blood this time…?”

“I understand, in a spirit-duel, both sides wager their souls,” Pedecree nodded again.

“Alright then… let’s get started!” Uncle ben exclaimed as lights came on in the now spotless kitchen, a vast selection of ingredients appeared.

Pedecree began his cooking process.

“I can’t be holding back for this…”

“I’ll make a rolled turkey-breast with truffles and lemon-apple sauce…”

Outside, Bromy was met with all kinds of scents, half an hour passed like it was nothing.

“I hope he’s alright… I’m pretty sure it’s been half an hour already…” Bromy remarked.

A bright red light flashed inside followed by a pained groan.

“Fuck!”

Bromy sprinted into the building, kicking the door open and revealing Foxly’s body literally draining the life from Pedecree.

They both turned to Bromy.

“Get… out of… here!” Pedecree commanded.

Bromy grinned, he turned to face Foxly.

“You’re Uncle Ben, right?” he asked.

Foxly grinned an unnaturally wide smile.

“Indeed…”

“I challenge you to a cooking battle!” he exclaimed.

The room went silent for a few seconds as Uncle Ben stopped draining Pedecree’s soul.

“Hmm… now, correct me if I’m wrong, but your profession isn’t a chef…” Uncle Ben said scratching his chin.

“Do you honestly think that even when the max-level-chef lost, you stand a chance?” he asked.

Bromy placed his hands in his pockets.

“Come on, does it really matter if I have some cooking-menu in my head? I can cook all the same!” he remarked.

“…”

“…”

“Alright…” Uncle Ben grinned.

“I take it you want to wager your soul in return for me leaving and returning the others back to normal, correct?” Uncle Ben asked.

Bromy nodded casually,

“Exactly!”

“HOLY SHIT, I CAN DO THAT?! I just wanted the ghost-chef gone; I didn’t realise we can get the guys back!” Bromy thought.

“No… it’s pointless… no matter what I do…” Pedecree breathed a sigh.

Uncle Ben nodded, “Mm, his meal got a ninety-nine percent score and he still lost…”

“Alright, what did you make?” Bromy asked looking at Pedecree.

“Rolled turkey breast with truffles…” he explained.

Bromy nodded.

“Good, good.”

“And you?” he asked looking at Uncle Ben.

“Curry,” he replied smugly.

Bromy nodded.

He stepped into the kitchen.

“Let’s get started!” he exclaimed.

The kitchen was spotless again, dozens of fruits and vegetables lined the walls.

Bromy walked over to the stove, he turned the heat on.

He took a pan out and placed it on.

Pedecree watched him carefully, so did Uncle Ben.

Bromy poured some water into the pan.

“How much water was that?” his foe asked curiously.

Bromy shrugged, “I dunno… I eyed it,” he laughed.

Pedecree felt a piece of his soul leave upon hearing those words.

Bromy reached into the nearby shelf and took out a brick of noodles, he placed them in the pan of water and waited for them to soften and soak up the water.

Once the water disappeared, Bromy looked around the spices.

He saw a shelf full of small glass bottles of powders and dry herbs.

“Salt… orange stuff… yellow stuff… red stuff… green stuff looks a bit weird; I’ll pass…”

He threw random amounts of powders into the pot.

He could smell something burning so he shook his pan around a bit.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a stick of butter, he broke some off and tossed it into the pan once the water looked mostly evaporated.

Bromy then removed the noodles from the pan and placed them into a bowl.

“Done,” he said sniffing his food to make sure it wasn’t burnt.

His food smelled ok, but something was evidently burning.

Bromy looked over to Uncle Ben and saw that his rice was burning.

“D-dude! Your rice!” Bromy pointed to his pan.

Foxly’s body shrugged.

He walked over to the bowl of food and observed it.

“Cheap noodles, random spices you only tell apart by colour, an eye-measured lump of butter and some water?” questioned the demon-chef holding the bowl in his hand.

Bromy nodded.

“This isn’t a fancy show-off meal, I bet you actually eat this…” Uncle Ben said gently placing his fork in the noodles and picking some of them up.

“Yup, quick, ok-tasting meal,” Bromy nodded.

Uncle Ben tried some of the noodles.

“Oily… under-seasoned…”

Uncle Ben took another mouthful in.

“Over-cooked pasta…”

He continued to eat more of the pasta until nothing but an empty bowl remained.

“It was… average…” Uncle Ben said.

Bromy nodded.

“I heard that story of yours, and If I was you, I’d be really tired of people shoving truffles and fancy beef my way, I’d probably just eat five-minute curry for the rest of my life,” Bromy explained.

Uncle Ben nodded.

“Many take the story of how I betrayed the others as a story about valuing life and nature…-” he began.

“But that’s a load of bullshit! I just want to eat good, normal food!”

A sing tear fell down Foxly’s cheek as the spirit of Uncle Ben left his body, appearing as a see-through silhouette of a balding man.

“Quick, easy meals that taste marginally better than if a random guy came up with them on the spot! That’s what I want people to eat!”

“Not truffles, fancy beef, expensive wines, Himalayan salt, extra-virgin olive oils, I just… want cheap noodles with butter and powders you memorised by colour…” he smiled.

“I want the chef to spend more time making my food than twisting their moustache and laughing about how gourmet everything they have is!”

Uncle Ben bowed down slightly, extending a hand towards Bromy.

Bromy returned the handshake.

“Thank you, Bromy… complements to the chef…”

And with that, the spirit of the chef was at last free, free to respawn and open a restaurant somewhere.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow but sometime, somewhere, their legacy will live on.