A DAY IN THE LIFE

Jogor Hayes was a misunderstood man. He was born with an abnormally large physique and pursued a career as a soldier during his early years. But he found it distasteful. Jogor decided to open up a butcher shop, using the STR and END he gained as a soldier to skillfully prepare meat of all kinds. He managed to buy the location for a low price due to the fact that it doubled as a secret entrance to Elway's Black Market.

Many came and went, using the entrance whenever they pleased. He established a secret code in order to keep the amount of trespassers to a minimum.

As the years passed, many had mistaken him for a hardened killer. One with ties to the underground thanks to his intimidating, silent nature. Jogor used to be insecure about it at first, but quickly realized that his sales never suffered, and it prevented thieves from trying to rob his store. Business boomed and Jogor became one of the most famous butchers in the city., so he stayed silent.

The man was in the process of unloading the preserved carcass of an Ashen Lizard. It was almost two meters long, weighing over four-hundred pounds. The butcher used his strength to carry it on his shoulder and off the wagon, paying the adventurers and thanking them for their goods.

"Anytime, Jogor. We're glad to have you as a customer."

He often requested for certain monsters, knowing that they were popular goods and would attract more clients. Although he never requested for high-tier monsters, unwilling to put the adventurer's in danger for meat. As he threw it onto the floor of the butcher shop, Jogor inspected the Ashen Lizard. It was missing a portion of its foot and some of its tail, but he figured that it was difficult to subdue one easily even with a fully armed group of adventurers.

Jogor and his employees worked together to separate the corpse into several pieces in order to butcher it properly. He had a close attachment to his cleaver, going as far as to enchant it with greater durability and sharpness. Jogor skinned the lizard with ease, and a few customers waited patiently as the man did his work.

"I'd like the cheapest scraps you got. For my dogs. About two pounds or so." A customer said. Jogor eyed the man with the same blank expression he always had. The man went towards the back and wrapped two pounds of various leftover meats with paper, before tying it and weighing it on the scale. His customer tapped his gnarled fingers on the display case that separated the employees, watching Jogor as he finished giving him the cheapest scraps of meat they had.

"Oh, you minced it for me as well? No need to go that far, but thank you."

"On the house. Dogs like it in pieces. Forty-five bronze." Jogor said gruffly. His voice was carefully neutral.

The customer smiled, and thanked him for his business. His crooked teeth were in full display.

Jogor knew that the man was a slave-trader. He had seen the people in cages, wasting away in their own filth like rabid animals. It was on one of his rare trips around the shady underground market. The butcher's grip on his cleaver tightened ever so subtly as he remembered seeing a child amidst the overpacked cages. Jogor couldn't understand how a man smiled running such a business. He heard rumors about the man paying off the authorities in order to keep his operations going.

He knew that the man fed them the cheapest scraps, and silently continued to work away. One of his most trusted employees, a man by the name of David Walker, noticed the meat Jogor had sold but didn't say anything. David had been working there for awhile and knew that what he had given the man wasn't scraps.

The next day, Jogor heard quiet whispers from customers. Even those who used the secret entrance talked about the event which happened last night.

"You know Caelan got torn apart by his slaves? 'pparently they went berserk and busted out their cages." One of the adventurers said, talking to the silent butcher as he continued to process the meat on his chopping board.

"Mhm. Here's your order of Orc Testicles. That'll be ten silver."

He took the package and paid his dues. "Thanks Jogor. These things really make it a cinch to deal with those dungeon monsters. The strength boost is crazy!"

Jogor waved his hand, thinking nothing of it. And so the butcher did his job. Another day, another coin.

MASTERCHEF

“Are you sure? We don’t have a lot.” Damien asked, looking at him with some apprehension. They had set up camp for the evening, deciding that they had made ample progress. Chester was insistent on making food with the ingredients Damien had bought. He had bought some during his shopping spree, deciding that there was enough space to carry some added food. The shop had some generic packs of food that came with assortments of rice, seasoning, and garnishes. Perfect for adventurers on the road.

“Don’t worry, I’m smart. I know how to cook something like rice.”

Damien worried, regardless of the man's confident assurance. Chester rolled up his sleeves, preparing his ingredients. The makeshift kitchen was simple; a metal pot on top of some flames.

“Let’s do this. Assistant! Fetch me the garlic!”

It was a mess. The vampire yelled obscenities at the man as he tried to create a simple dish.

“The garlic’s burnt! It’s charcoal!" Damien cried out. "You said you used that on your genitals! Don't use it for cooking, idiot!" He looked at the Attainium knife in the man's hand, remembering how often he had used the tool during their travels. Chester waved him off, claiming that he had probably washed it sometime since.

“What do you mean cook the rice first? It’s already cooking, see?”

The finished product looked terrible. Undercooked rice and garlic that had been burnt to a crisp. Some of the ingredients inside weren’t even from their bags. Damien looked on in horror seeing narrow strips of green that looked oddly like grass poking out of the dish.

“Give it a taste, come on now.”

The disgusted boy grabbed his blade. “You’ll have to kill me before I let that touch my lips.” He was completely serious, and was perfectly willing to sling spells at the man for even trying to get him to eat it.

He chased the vampire around the campfire, before relenting and trying it out himself.

"Honestly, you're overreacting. It's not that ba-UGH!"

Chester immediately spat it out, and turned angrily towards the boy.

“It’s your fault! You were a horrible assistant! And the fire wasn’t hot enough!”

The two argued about whose fault it was, with Chester ignoring every valid point Damien had made. He neglected to tell the boy about the notifications the system had sent him, insisting that the horrid dish was mainly the vampire’s doing.

You displayed exceptionally horrible culinary technique. Your Cooking Mastery is now Level -1

“I can’t believe how badly you’ve done.” The vampire couldn't even muster up any anger at the waste of their food. Just shock and awe at the man's horrid attempt at food.

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you do better.”

Damien was usually cool-headed. After being wrongfully blamed, his patience was running thin. He rummaged through the bag, finding the flint and steel.

He began working on a simple dish; using soup stock and foraging for edible plants. In less than fifteen minutes he had constructed the dish that was a common sight in his hometown.

“Soup and salad! I’ve seen the cooks at Wisperium make these before, they’re simple! Although the ingredients are kind of limited...”

On the surface, the food looked normal. Chester could see no immediate faults in the dish. The vampire tasted it and made an unusual face; Chester couldn’t describe it. He curiously tried out the soup along with the salad. His face morphed into one of confusion and bewilderment.

“The soup’s cold, and the salad’s hot! How the hell did you do that?!”

"Atleast it looked presentable! You comm

After several minutes of arguing, they decided to stick to the dried rations for the remainder of their trip. Chester’s motivation to find a proper chef for their journey was renewed.

A NEW WEAPON

With a greater amount of Attainium, Chester fiddled with new weapon ideas. He envisioned several; axes, maces and spears.

The man was especially intrigued by the flail. He recalled the equipment he had seen when shopping with Damien for his mithril blade. Mentally shaping the metal was difficult. He had to create the chain links in such a way that would connect to each other while maintaining its flexibility. He sacrificed the length of the handle to increase the chain length and the spiked head’s density.

Due to his poor craftsmanship, the flail was unbalanced. A regular human would stumble trying to swing the weapon around with little effectiveness.

But as a superhuman that could lift over a ton, it posed no problems. It was like swinging a tennis ball tied to a string, and the momentum of it wasn't enough to unbalance him.

The illusionist gave it a few practice swings. He familiarized himself with the trajectory and how to accurately aim for a target with the spiked end.

“Sort of like a nun-chuck?” He asked himself. Damien watched on from a distance as he prepared their instant cube for a short break.

Chester’s strength and speed allowed him to build a frightening amount of momentum with the weapon. It swung so fast that it created winds reminiscent of an industrial electric fan. He was afraid of it hitting him. Chester exercised great caution when practicing his moves. Every time he swung, the air would become agitated and make a loud whooshing noise. Hearing it whiz past his face gave him chills.

During their break, a massive, brown, ant-like creature erupted from the ground. It was almost two meters in length and the mandibles looked razor sharp. Before Damien could yell, Chester reacted.

His Attainium blurred, and an impossibly loud noise occurred as the spiked end of his flail collided with its exoskeleton.

SPLAT!

You have slain Ankheg (Level 7)

You have learned a new skill! Flail Mastery Level 1.

Chester stared dumbly at the corpse. Its head had been turned into paste with a single hit. The ankheg’s legs twitched pitifully after being killed in one stroke.

The vampire had his mouth agape at the callous display of strength. Seeing a massive insectoid get crushed in one strike was shocking, to say the least.

Several more ankhegs began to pop out of the ground, and Damien joined the illusionist to fight off a (small?) swarm of insects. He had to dodge a set of mandibles as he entered the fray. Chester had a wide smile on his face as he swung with reckless abandon

“Damien, I have joined the Flail Superiority club! Velocity, bitches!”

COMING OF AGE

Your body continues to mature. +1 to STR, AGI, END.

The vampire woke up to a notification in front of his eyes. He flexed his fingers and idly noted that his body grew. It was almost imperceptible, but as someone who had great control of their body, Damien noticed that he felt a bit taller. It reminded him that his birthday was coming soon. An event he celebrated during Wisperium with his family. It would be the first time without them, and it left him feeling a little empty.

‘It will be my birthday soon. 17 years, how quaint.’

He thought back to his relatives. Some of the servants were turned into vampires, and celebrated their ‘death day’ instead, even though the rumor that vampires qualify as an undead were myths.

Damien asked the man as they ran, with their surroundings blurring past as they traveled at a dozen meters per second.

“When is your birthday?”

Chester didn’t expect this question, but he looked down to think, furrowing his brows. It was a question he hadn't thought of in a long time.

‘Shit, when is my birthday?’

The concept of celebrating one’s birth was foreign to the criminal. He tried his best to remember but realized that such an event was celebrated by those who had a regular life. Even before being transported to Aetheria he was incredibly different compared to everyone around him.

He had faked his age several times, whether it was to sneak into bars and clubs as a prepubescent teen, or as an adult that posed as a high-school student to raid their lost & found. Chester had only ever counted the years he had lived; and even then he was unsure of the true number.

“I don’t know, I think sometime during April? I turned...thirty-something.”

Chester asked the boy about his age, and his eyes nearly popped out his skull upon hearing the truth.

“You’re turning seventeen?! But-but you’re a midget! No way you’re over thirteen.”

Damien decided to ignore the ‘midget’ remark, doing his best to explain vampire physiology to the man.

“We mature much slower than you humans. It isn’t until our thirties do we hit the peak, and our aging process becomes even slower by then.”

Everyone he knew in Wisperium looked the same age as Chester; and that was despite the fact some of the vampires had lived decades or even centuries. The most decrepit one was the mad fortune teller, despite being less than half his great-grandfather’s age, she was old and weathered. It was due to the fact she didn't have a high level, but she had still managed to live up to two-hundred fifty years old.

“My birthday is tomorrow.”

“You going to celebrate?”

“No need.” He was nonchalant about the whole thing, deciding to be mature about it. Damien knew that being able to celebrate his birthday every year with his family was a ridiculous notion.

They continued onwards, almost halfway towards their destination. The two didn't conversate much afterward.

Another round of swords, shields, and javelins and Damien came out on top. He got ready for bed, dressing down into his cleanest set of clothes. The vampire tacked on an item that would let them wash their clothes for a future shopping list.

He turned the lights off, going to sleep for the evening as Chester trained outside.

Several hours later, Chester woke him up. Daylight was visible through the crack in the door.

“Hm? You didn’t wake me up for my shift…” The vampire said. They always split their shifts into two four-hour blocks so that both of them received a decent amount of rest. He wondered why the man only decided to awaken him in the morning.

The boy peered down the bunk bed, and saw a plate of food with a few candles placed on top. It was circular, and had cream lining the sides. Damien was reminded of the pastries that his great-grandfather would give him. A message was written in chocolate paste.

HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY DAMIEN

“Happy birthday! This isn’t a real cake, I made it with my illusions. But back where I lived, this is how we used to celebrate. I think.” Upon saying that, the cake shifted slightly, with some multi-colored topping added.

Damien got off the bunk bed and looked at the ‘cake’ with a mix of curiosity. He listened to Chester’s description of how birthdays went, and blew on the candle as instructed. A loud celebratory horn appeared in front of Damien, replacing the cake. It blew out a noise that was slightly grating on the ears.

“Did you make a wish? Don’t tell me! If you say it, it won’t come true! Atleast, that’s what they said…”

For the first time in a long time, he gave the man a genuine smile.

“Thank you, Chester. This was...a nice gesture.”

The illusionist gave him a big grin, and ruffled his hair. The boy let out an undignified squawk, but didn’t retaliate like he always did.

“We’ll find something when we stop by a nice restaurant. Come on, let’s go! We still got a lot of land to clear.”