NOVEL NEXT Chapter 50
Chapter 50
Orion
Day 44, Day 4 on the Road
Kronfeldt
The younger one, Nax, spoke first, his orange fur streaked with white stripes gleaming in the light. "I’m Nax, and that’s my older brother, Fleetpaw.” The gray cat stood in the shadows, arms crossed, barely acknowledging the introduction.
After catching the two fleeing from an attempted swipe at my decoy coin purse, I dragged them back to my food stall. The lunch rush had passed, and the men from the docks and mines returned to their posts. Now, the food market trickled with a dozen onlookers. Nax and Fleetpaw stood in front of my empty booth, watching me closely, their expressions a mix of apprehension and curiosity, wondering what I’d do next.
"I'm Clark," I said, the lie slipping easily from my mouth. "You're going to help me run this food stall. We don’t have much time before the dinner rush, so we need to move fast. Work well, and I’ll give you this."
I held up a Second Mint coin. Their eyes lit up, hands reaching out instinctively as if drawn by the gleam of the metal.
Without wasting a moment, I led them to a latch just behind the wood booth, revealing stone steps descending into the food cellar. As I opened it, cool, musty air rushed past, bringing scents of onions, dusty flour, sweet honey, and pungent fish sauce. Lidded baskets and glass jars filled with oil, salt, and dark vinegar lined the shelves, while simple clay plates and trays were stacked neatly in one corner. A basic bedroll lay rolled out in the center, clearly Slink’s, the previous rat vendor, old sleeping spot.
The two cats helped carry everything up and laid it out in the stall. I surveyed the supplies quickly, then ate a piece of old boar jerky to gain a three-hour buff, chewing slowly as I gave them their orders.
“You,” I nodded at Nax. “Head to the vegetable stalls and have them send over all the tomatoes and potatoes they’ve got. Lot 14-B.” Without hesitation, he darted off.
“And you,” I said to Fleetpaw, glancing his way. “Pickled cucumbers and lettuce. One jar and a few heads should do.” I handed him a few Thirds.
“Bring me my change,” I warned, my voice flat but pointed. “If you don’t, I’ll come find you.”
The gray cat's fur bristled, and his tail stiffened, but he went. I had seen that look before, a silent rebellion held back by necessity. He'd do as told—for now.
With them gone, I got to work. The copper wok came out, the fire flickered to life under my control, and soon the aroma of boiling water filled the air. Anika’s tea blend simmered quietly. Honey followed, stirring the concoction into something that tasted sharp, sweet, and slightly bitter, reminiscent of the ginseng iced tea I used to buy in tall green cans for 99 cents back home.
Firecracker Berry Infused Sweet Tea — D
Increases alertness and energy for 2 hours
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, but it would have to do. I stored the pitcher in the cellar, letting the tea cool, then turned my attention to the onions. The soft ones were tossed aside in a garbage bin as I sliced the firm ones paper-thin. The steady rhythm of the knife was meditative, the repetition grounding me at the moment, my Cook class making simple work of the onions.
By the time the onions were sliced, Nax returned with a rat vendor carrying crates of green tomatoes.
“That’ll be four Thirds,” the rat said, his beady eyes staring through my boar’s mask with suspicion.
Nax leaned close and whispered, “Lord Clark, it’s too much for those sour fruits. Two Thirds only.”
“I’ll give you three,” I replied. The produce vendor smiled, more than happy to take the offer. I could’ve pushed harder, but haggling wasn’t my style.
With the onions set aside, I crushed the tomatoes into the wok and simmered them down into a thick gravy, balancing the tartness with honey and salt, before setting the jar of the makeshift sauce in the cellar to cool. It wasn’t quite ketchup in appearance, more reminiscent of green salsa, but it would pass for now.
Soon, the potato delivery arrived, more than I had asked for, but I paid the runner five Thirds, anyway. Nax had managed to work him down from seven, though I wasn’t sure if it was out of skill or the seller’s desperation to get rid of the product.
I showed the eager cat how to slice the potatoes into long, thin sticks and set him to rinse them in a bowl of water. Nax beamed as he sliced the potatoes, humming softly to himself, his tail flicking to the rhythm. His enthusiasm for doing such a mundane task tugged a faint smile to my lips. It reminded me of Cass—just enough to make me pause for a moment longer than I intended.
I tried not to think about the trouble Cass was probably getting into back at home while I started prepping another sauce.
The previous vendor, Slink, left behind a massive pot filled with murky water used for boiling meatballs. I heaved it over, the cloudy water splashing out into a sewer grate as I replaced it with a fresh helping of oil, its golden sheen catching the light. I lit the charcoal beneath the pot, watching the slow flicker of heat rise. Now I just needed something to act as a wire basket.
Gray cat—Fleetpaw—had returned, hauling a bundle of lettuce and a jar of pickled cucumbers. The pickles floated in a yellow brine, thumb-sized, mingling with garlic cloves and unknown herbs. I reached out, hand open, for the change.
“Sorry, sir. Was all I could get with a mere 5 Thirds,” Fleetpaw said, shaking his head. He shot a sharp sideways glance at his brother, Nax, before casually inspecting his claws.
When I slid my dagger from its sheath, the older cat’s confident posture crumbled. His fur bristled as his paws trembled. Reluctantly, he fished three Thirds from his pocket and handed them over. I glanced at the coins and nodded before splitting one between the two
“What’s this for, Lord Clark?” Nax asked, eyes wide as he marveled at the gleaming coin in his paw.
“A reward for getting me a good price,” I said warmly before returning to work.
With the lettuce shredded, I moved on to the sauce. Nax and Fleetpaw, now fueled by the promise of payment, tackled chopping potatoes with enthusiasm. It was hard to believe—was a Third really that much? It felt like pocket change to me, but to them, it might as well have been a week’s wages.
The sauce was a simple matter. I cracked open several eggs, separating the yolks into a bowl before whisking in some pickle juice. Slowly, I poured oil into the mixture, whisking furiously until the liquid transformed into a rich cream-color emulsion. I tasted it—decent, but it needed something. A dash of salt. Another splash of pickle juice. Finally, the balance was right.
I finely chopped some pickles and mixed them into the sauce, then reached for my earlier green ketchup concoction. After a quick taste, I adjusted the seasoning—more honey, more salt. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work well as my generic burger sauce.
An hour and a half had passed according to the buff. The potatoes were chopped, rinsed, ready for frying. I checked my supplies—almost everything was prepped, but I still needed a few more items before the dinner rush.
“Orange, come with me,” I said, emptying my bag of unnecessary items onto the workbench. “I need to buy a few more things.”
“It’s Nax, you nitwit! I’m Fleetpaw,” the gray cat snapped, crossing his arms and glaring.
“You stay here, Gray. Guard the stand, and If you do it well, you’ll get a bigger share of the profits later,” I replied, leaving the fuming cat behind.
Nax scampered alongside me as we walked. “What are we getting, Lord Clark?” he purred, pausing to lick his paw and swipe it across his face.
“I need cheese and a wire basket. Where can we find tools and cheese around here?” I asked, scanning the market stalls.
“Lord Clark, you can get trinkets at Maxby’s General Store. This way,” Nax gestured, leading me to a shop just two doors down from the bakery where I’d ordered the hamburger buns.
Maxby’s was a small wooden building with a wide porch and creaking swinging doors. Inside, shelves were packed with an eclectic assortment of tools, lanterns, nails, sacks of charcoal, and even clothing—leather boots, wool socks, straw hats hanging from hooks. The clutter felt strangely comforting.
Behind the counter, Maxby, a moleman with jet-black fur and a peach-colored nose, was busy with a green frog customer. His beady eyes squinted behind round copper-framed glasses perched on his twitching nose. Seeing the frog caused a momentary knot to tighten in my gut, and my hand instinctively reached for my dagger. I clenched the hilt briefly, reminding myself it wasn’t the same ones who attacked my village.
I took a breath and turned my attention back to the shelves, grabbing a metal sieve, a sign, yellow paint, a stack of clay cups, and a flat iron trowel. My eyes landed on a small hourglass—perfect for timing in the kitchen. I also couldn’t resist a deck of cards, an impulse buy, before heading to the counter.
There was a wall full of masks for Lumindawn and I picked out a Cat one to fit in with my employees. I had been filled in on Sophie’s plans and it involved my boar’s mask so I would need to change it.
Maxby was free now, the frog customer tipping his hat as he left.
“Have you found all that you seek, sir?” Maxby’s voice rasped as he peered at me.
“Do you have any cheese?” I asked.
“I have within my humble cellar two exquisite cheeses that may please thy palate: a Red Wild Rose and a Whisper Farm Blue.” Maxby said, a twinkle in his eyes as he adjusted his spectacles.
“I need something that melts easily, but nothing too pungent,” I replied.
“Ah, the Red Wild Rose should do nicely,” he said, disappearing into the back for a moment.
When he returned, he handed me a small paring knife to sample the cheese, an orange log brick wrapped in red wax. It was sharp and tangy, reminiscent of an aged cheddar. The taste was too strong, maybe overpowering. Not exactly what I wanted, but close enough.
Maxby totaled up my purchases using bone tally sticks. “That’ll be three Seconds and four Thirds,” he announced.
I looked at Nax, but he shrugged, clearly unaware of the prices. With no reason to haggle, I paid, leaving me with:
22 Second Mints
61 Third Mints
As I stepped out of the door, I glanced back at Nax and told him to watch over the stall. I moved quickly, seeking the cover of a narrow alley to don the new cat mask, tucking the old boar mask deep into my bag. When I returned, Nax and Fleetpaw looked up, their surprise barely noticeable, but there was no mistaking the flicker of approval in their eyes at my new cat mask.
Not long after, the rabbit from the bakery next door arrived, a crate of bread in her arms. The first fifty of my burger buns had arrived. Without a word, I handed her a Third mint as a tip for the goods. She accepted it with a solemn nod, her ears twitching only slightly before she turned back to the bakery.
Now was the most important part of fast food service. The logistics and assembly line.
Fleetpaw oversaw the fries. I fried them first in low heat, using the Firewielder skill to keep the charcoal-fueled flames steady, low, beneath the pot. After frying all the fries once in low heat, we would prepare the second higher-heat fry to order. With a thought, I intensified the flame; the fire responding to my Firewielder skill, licking hungrily at the iron pot filled with bubbling oil. It would take three turns off the hourglass. I told Fleetpaw this. When the time was up, he was to salt the fries heavily.
Nax, the younger of the two, would handle orders, pour the tea, and assemble each meal with precision.
We had our system in place, but before the crowd arrived, there was one last thing to do. A family meal for ourselves, a small test run. It was not simply for hunger, but to ensure everything was in its right place.
To track the orders, I used the playing cards I bought from Maxby’s shop. Familiar yet altered, the deck had five suits instead of four. No hearts, no diamonds. Just ranks and letters: D, C, B, A, S. The Jester stood where Jack once did, and there were no Aces, only ones.
Nax would give me two cards: one for quantity, and one for the meal type. A 3 and a King. Three number one meals.
I placed six balls of ground venison on the griddle, the iron hissing, as they made contact. With the trowel in hand, I pressed them down hard, flattening each into a thin cracker-like patty. The meat seared instantly; the aroma rising—rich, smoky, and strong. I layered thin slices of onion on top and flipped them over. The onions hit the fat and caramelized, their sweetness blending with the scent of charred meat. The onion flavor and aroma steamed into the meat while they both cooked. Behind me, Fleetpaw and Nax watched, their eyes wide and mouths watering, waiting.
“Don’t watch. Get on with your jobs,” I snapped. They snapped into action.
Nax filled three cups of sweet tea, setting them on the counter as Fleetpaw lowered the fries into the oil and then turned his hourglass once. The bubbling sound joined the hiss of the griddle. Our work, precise and calculated, moved like clockwork. A few onlookers gathered, drawn by the smells.
I threw the buns onto the griddle for a quick toast, then laid slices of cheese over each patty. The steam rising from the hot iron melted the cheese into a gooey, molten layer. One by one, I assembled the meals. Sauce, lettuce, patty, pickles, another patty, and more sauce. Each is stacked neatly, with a crown of toasted bread on top.
Smashburger Royale - B
Burger Imperialism
You receive that status effect that makes the food you cook more appetizing than those around you. People around you are more hungry and will pay more for your food.
Improves the morale of those around you
Cook - 9
With that B-level dish, I finally hit level nine in my Cook class. Just one more level till I meet the Dealer and get a new skill.
Fleetpaw pulled the fries from the oil, salted them as instructed, and set them down. The three of us sat at the counter, our meal laid out: the burger, fries, tea.
Finally, I bit into the burger. The crisp, cracker-thin smash patty crackled with each bite, mingling with the tangy bite of sauce, fresh lettuce, and the gooey melt of cheese. Behind my lifted cat mask, tears welled in my eyes as memories surged through me like a forgotten river. My dad, taking me to a diner after a hockey game to celebrate. Cass and I sneaking out to get burgers instead of enduring Mom’s leftover lasagna. Birthday parties, after-school hangouts, barbecues, social events—each moment wrapped in the comfort of a burger, a taste of home between two buns.
I looked up. Fleetpaw and Nax were lost in quiet awe, their first taste of something sacred. It wasn’t just food to them now. It was a revelation. I made two new missionaries of the gospel of the burger and together we would spread the word.
It was no accident that hamburgers conquered the Earth, reaching every corner of the world. Even the bland, microwaved frozen patties served by high schoolers couldn't dim their magic. And while this might not be perfection, it was as close as I could get.
The dinner rush would start soon. A line had already formed, curious faces waiting to taste what had lured them in. I stood, grabbed a large plank, and painted two golden arches before placing it against the front of the stall.
“Welcome to McOrion’s,” I said, my voice steady. “How may I take your order?”