III-36 Competition

"I'm not sorry, father! He deserved it! He deserved every second of the pain I gave him! I should have hurt him more! More!’

"I'm not asking you to be sorry. I'm telling you to be controlled. Are you a Pathbearer, Adam?"

"Yes."

"No. If you were a Pathbearer, then you know that what he said couldn’t be forgiven—but the magnitude of your retribution should have been controlled! You must take responsibility for your actions, but you also must feel their weight and choose the wisest option! The right choice! Always. The burden is impossible, but we must bear it. Because if not us, who will?."

"He said things about Mother."

"I know what he said, and that's why I do not blame you for your emotions, but condemn your actions. Do you think it doesn’t bother me to hear your mother invoked this way? It does. I want to kill him for what he said. But I'm also over my emotions. And I choose what to do with my anger. You beat, Adam. You beat him in a sanctioned duel. He was humiliated and broken. But you kept going even after the match ended. You—It is only by my name that you are not suspended, or worse. My name, and Captain Irons’s direct intervention.”

“What? Captain… Why?”

“Because he knows the cost of falling. Of letting our anger win better than even us. And he moved to spare you what happened to him. Adam… Come here. Come here. Let me hold you. There. Listen to me. I know. I understand. I am angry, too. But we must be better than our enemies. We must be greater than our wounds. We must. It has to be us. There’s already too much darkness. Someone must bear the light. Someone must do the right thing—no matter what it costs their heart. Otherwise, the price only grows. And so does the pain.”

-Adam Arrow and Roland Arrow

III-36

Competition

Band didn't cook like a chef, but rather a conductor guiding an orchestra of dimensionals in a marriage of musical and culinary artistry. Fire, air, and water dimensionals emerged from pockets of vibrating Dimensionality—vibrating because they were summoned forth from the shivering strings of Band’s violin. The dimensionals formed a small whirlwind around Band, carrying him aloft at the eye as a maelstrom of ingredients hovered around him.

At the very bottom of the whirlwind were the fire dimensionals. They channeled heat and infused it into the various ingredients hovering above them. The air dimensionals guided the cooking materials on their path, spinning them in the air as if a belt of asteroids. Beyond that, the air dimensionals also formed veils of protection around the more vulnerable ingredients—shielding the mushrooms from any spillover heat. Finally, at the top was a small army of water dimensionals who unleashed sprays of moisture to help some of the ingredients retain texture and maintain moisture.

Shiv observed his new rival with consideration. Band was an interesting chef. He wasn't directly cooking himself, but he had his eye on every single ingredient in flight, and with a few pulls on his violin, he guided his dimensionals toward the completion of the side dish. Air dimensionals carried the vegetables through the air. Fire dimensionals seared cauliflowers and only singed the mushrooms. The glass peppers were entirely spared—to be placed around the outside per Shiv’s earlier orders for both aesthetic and taste-related reasons.

Not everyone wanted peppers, but if one wanted a bit more sting on their palate, it was just a bite away.

As the violin-wielding orc did turn in the air, he winked at Shiv. From behind a curtain of hovering cauliflower and simmering mushrooms, Shiv shook his head as he called out to Tequila. "Sauces, are they ready?"

"Come take a look for yourself, Insul," Tequila said with a loud chuckle.

The orc had both his wands out, but what Shiv noticed first was how thoroughly stained Tequila's apron was. It had the deep purple of loom grape juices painting its bottom, while its center was dappled in splashes of orange. Before the orc was two fifty-meter-long containers. They were translucent and plastic, originally used to store the raw mangoes and loom grapes before they were probably pulped and made into paste.

Originally, Shiv guessed Tequila would move the mangoes and loomgrapes into other containers they had nearby. But instead, and with a few mere gestures from his twin wands, the forces of physics performed Tequila's work for him. Claws of gravity came down, not hard enough to crack the containers, but just enough to smear the fruits into a fine, powdery paste. The orc drew circles in the air with his wands, and his Dynamantic field began to churn. They went from fruit to paste as the mass of loomgrapes became a thick curdle of deepest purple while the mangoes shone a near gold beneath the mana core’s light.

As this went on, Tequila kicked out with his foot several times, and Shiv wondered why. He got his answer, as with each kick, the mango seeds started shooting out from the viscous mixture. The seeds blasted skyward a dozen at a time, and each of them was stacked together, vertically at first and horizontally thereafter. Soon they hovered above Tequila and Shiv wasn’t sure what the orc was doing.

Then, each of the seeds began to twist and wither into dried-out clumps. The moisture ripped out from them, condensing into a dense sphere of water.

"Save me a little bit of Hydromancy later," Tequila grinned.

"Hydromancy?" Shiv asked. He examined the orc's mixture. The paste looked fine. It glowed soft and pale—The Chef Unwavering was pleased. There was nothing wrong with the paste. “It’s moist enough.”

"Not for the sauces. For the rice wine." Tequila chuckled. "I'm just waiting on some rice. Now, where’d that goblin run off too… Said she’d be back soon…”

Shiv wasn't sure how the orc intended to ferment the wine with such a short period of time, but he grunted and called Whisper over.

"Here, chef," Whisper said. His expression was entirely controlled, a little too controlled. Shiv’s  scolding had Whisper on his best behavior, and Shiv thought he could make use of that.

"You're going to help me portion the meat," Shiv instructed. "Here's what we're going to do. Leanest meat on one side—no fat there. Those are going to be our pure flavored meats. Grape or mango. Then, section out the other meat based on fat. They will be our mixed-flavored meats: mango paste on the outside, loomgrape within. Got it?”

Whisper nodded. "Of course, Deathless. Is that all?"

"For you," Shiv grunted.

Whisper frowned slightly. “I apologize for getting carried away earlier—”

“We’re done talking,” Shiv said, walking away. “To the task.”

Mortar let out a mocking sigh. "Oh, Whisper, look what you've done. You managed to talk yourself out of a proper job. Wait, you didn't talk to him this time. You just acted. That’s the kind of mistake I would make.”

Whisper scowled at Mortar. “Yes. I did. I suppose you always bring out the worst in me, Mortar.”

The large artillerist orc regarded his stealthy counterpart and sneered. “You gonna do something about it or just bitch?”

“Knock that shit off,” Shiv called out. “We’re cooking. Not fighting. Keep it separated.”

"Yes, Insul," Whisperer said.

"Got it, chef," Mortar agreed. 

The two orcs briefly shared eye contact and bared their jagged teeth at each other.

Tequila just giggled. “Ah. Classic Clique warfare.”

Shiv stared at the sauce-mixing orc. “What?”

“Cliques. Orcs have their own separations as well.” Tequila shrugged. “Most of us belong to one philosophy or another. And being of a philosophy puts you at odds with another.”

“Huh,” Shiv said. That’s interesting. I should remember that. Might explain why the orcs are sniping at each other sometimes. Or maybe it’s just bullshit. Could be anything—they’re godsdamned orcs. Either way, there’s history between Whisper and Mortar. Ugly history.

As Whisperer departed to help Shiv portion the meat, the Deathless looked in Band’s direction and nearly did a double take. Streams of well-roasted cauliflower soared through the air, guided by the currents of the air elementals. At the same time, water elementals ran their whip-like limbs across the cauliflowers. Some were infused with a bit more moisture, others had moisture taken out. Shiv could feel how thoroughly the vegetables were cooked through his Biomancy. 

The finished cauliflowers began to spill down into a large ceramic cauldron some hundred meters wide. After that came the glass peppers, glistening bright after administrations of moisture by the water elementals. Finally, the mushrooms fell as well, with columns of smoke rising from them, releasing a hearty, earthy aroma in the air.

With that, Band pulled on his bow a final time, as his dimensionals scattered, spreading across the sky, and awaiting further instruction. The orc dropped in front of the ceramic cauldron and grinned. “Done.”

Shiv didn't expect this. He thought it would take Band far longer to complete the side dish, but when one could summon an entire kitchen staff of dimensionals using a violin, progress was a quick thing.

"Not bad," Shiv said.

"New. Task?" Band said, showing his pointed teeth in a large smile.

"Yeah," Shiv replied. "Have one of your dimensionals keep the side dish warm. You help me on main. Then we talk.”

“Only if food isn’t shit.”

Band gave Shiv a broad grin, but his gaze was filled with a slight hint of provocation. He gestured at his fire dimensionals, and he pointed at the side dish. One of them hovered over the bowl and unleashed thick waves of heat to keep the cauliflowers, mushrooms, and glass peppers in prime condition.

Just then a blade tapped Shiv on the shoulder and he turned. He saw a small swarm of gleaming knives sorting the basilisk meat in neat rows. The entire rearrangement took mere seconds, and so fine was Whisper's control over the weapons that he used their plat sides to pick the meat up and move them around. Soon, the leanest meats were stacked high at the front while the fattest waited at the back.

"It is done," Whisper shouted. He held his arms behind his back and Shiv gave him a brief nod.

I’m going to ask him just want kind of Knife Proficiency Skill Evolution this is.

“Good job. You’re on standby. I'll call you when there's a need. If anyone else needs help with anything, you call out to Whisper, too.” Shiv looked at the other orcs and waited to see how they might respond.

"Oh, Whisper," Mortar said immediately. "There's something you can help me with."

"I'm not sticking my head down your Mortar," Whisper replied dryly.

"Chef!" Mortar grumbled. "Sure, if I think this one needs to be thrown out, he's not being part of the team.”

Shiv ignored Mortar's comment as he turned to stare at the mixtures. There was Mango and Loomgrape paste. Both tasted different. Both had an exquisite flavor. The Mango was sweet, and when properly heated, it would create a slight crusty coating over the meat that should crack upon being bitten. Most of it would sink deeper into the flesh and seep in there as well. This made it ideal for the leanest meat. The loomgrape was the same, except it had a sour aftertaste.

But there was a problem with mingling loomgrape and mango—they both had different temperature thresholds. He couldn’t just mix them casually. The fat in some of the meat would walso catch the Mango paste, preventing it from achieving a full infusion. Meanwhile, the loomgrapes were of a lesser thickness and often seeped through fine. Shiv learned this fact back at the Swan-Eating Toad. Mixing different condiments and seasoning was dangerous business. It was very easy to throw the taste off after getting something wrong.

But now that he was a Biomancer, he could reshape the meat. His current plan was to use his biokinesis to shift the fat around and have it choked full of loomgrape. The outside could remain dominated by the mango paste. This allowed a full spectrum of flavors, while the fat served as an insulating later for the loomgrape as well.

This allowed for a perfect fusion in Shiv’s opinion. The loomgrape was sweet on its own, but it also had some sour in the aftertaste, allowing it to synergize with both the mangoes and meat. If done right, it could become an evolving flavor, something that danced upon one's tongue with each bite. But it needed to be done perfectly to truly reach its flavorful potential.

Shiv explained what he wanted done in detail to Band and the other orcs, and they followed along, offering grunts and acknowledgement. And while Shiv spoke, he observed the Band’s features. Slowly, that taunting look in the orc's eyes faded, and a sense of focus emerged thereafter in the form of a glare.

"Is there something wrong, Band?" Shiv asked. He looked at the stacks of meat glistening and at the ready, at Whisper standing by, at Mortar still heating the Skysplitter with puffs of Pyromancy.

"No. Chef," Band replied. "But. Meal. Hard. To. Make. Easy. To. Be. Shit.”

"Of course it is," Shiv said in agreement, "but that's why we do it right, to make art from food. Otherwise, why move beyond scrambled eggs?"

"Why. Indeed," the orc replied. And gave Shiv a genuine smile right after. “Fine. Do. The. Hard. Do. The. Art.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Shiv smirked. Shiv remembered what Angelo said to him, as he considered just what it took to advance his skills. Strain, challenge, complexity. And to Shiv, the sting of failure was an acceptable bitter taste compared to the foul, fetid stench of mediocrity. He was going to be a Pathbearer on the battlefield and in the kitchen as well. If he was going to accept mundanity, he would have stayed a Pathless mortal.

"But you think it's too difficult, you can step back. I'm not going to force you to perform beyond your level," Shiv said, taunting Band slightly.

The orc narrowed his eyes became pinpricks of yellow. He pierced Shiv with a stare. "Bastard."

The Deathless laughed. He learned something about Band—the orc was pretty happy to bite, but not so receptive to being bitten in return.

Yet, before they were about to begin, a voice called out in interruption. A familiar voice Shiv knew.

"Right, hold up, hold up!" Siggi cried. She let out a large, loud grunt as she and several other Pathbearers lugged a large crate of some kind that ground across the floor. The sounds of wood splintering filled the air.

Shiv blinked. "Siggi, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what the hell am I doing here? I got some of our rice over from the camp! This guy said he was going to make us some booze!”

That's when Shiv noticed how large his audience was. Previously, it was only Adam, Uva, some Umbrals, a few Weaveresses, and a couple of mercenaries. Now, there were well over fifty people nearby, observing this culinary adventure.

"Where the hell did all of you come from?" Shiv muttered. 

As soon as he said that statement, all four of the orcs tilted their heads.

“A bit too overfocused, aren’t we, chef?” Whisper said. There was a hidden threat under the orc’s words, 

Shit. I need to keep my guard up. They’re gauging me for weakness even now. They probably have a guess about my Awareness being lacking. Not great.

Shiv shook his head. There was nothing for it now. He still needed to finish this meal. Just then, Tequila waved his wand, and the top part of the crate blew off. Siggi flinched back as the orc rushed over.

“Wonderful!” Tequila called out. Then, with a wave, the water he squeezed out from the mango seeds came splashing down. “Now. To ferment this thing quickly…”

“Siggy,” Shiv said. “When did he ask you to bring this over?”

“Earlier,” Siggy said. “While you were staring at the dimensionals roast the cauliflower and stuff.”

Shiv blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Siggy said.

"You were busy watching Band's trope perform," Tequila grinned as he began casting spells into the water. "It was a good performance, so I don't blame you for being distracted.”

"No, it wasn't," Adam snarled off by the side. "You were whispering. You threw a pebble at her to get her notice. Now. My sauces are done, so, permission to begin mixing my rice wine, oh, Deathless ONe?" Tequila asked.

Shiv slowly gave the Orc a nod, too stunned to do anything else. Man, I really zeroed in on Band. I need to level my Awareness more. Speaking of Band…

Shiv stared at Band and cracked his neck. "All right, Band, you ready? You know what to do?"

"Yes," Band said. "You?"

Shiv chuckled humorously. "All right, smartass, let's do this."

A Woundeater flared across Shiv's arm as he reached out with his Biomancy. At the same time, Band leaped back into the air, drawing hard and long on his violin. A scream of notes sounded, and the air elementals washed down, crossing through Band's body and lifting him high into the air. He drifted above Shiv and briefly sneered down, as if a god staring at a pathetic mortal.

But these psychological tactics no longer worked on Shiv. The Chef Unwavering was active, and now all that existed was the meat, the paste, the kitchen, and himself. The orcs ceased to be people in Shiv's mind. They were just variables he had to account for. The whiteness of The Chef Unwavering consumed the world. 

Shiv entered a trance. He focused on dipping a piece of lean meat first. He drenched them, massaged them, drew varieties of paste into them with pulses of Biokinetic power. Once more, Biomancy proved invaluable for cooking. He could feel the flavors seeping in, feel the mango and loomgrape juices spreading through the outer layer of the meat—spreading faster as Shiv stretched the structure of the flesh outward, letting the insides soak faster.

But as he did two at once, Band directed water and air dimensionals downward and commanded them to pick up the entire series of lean meats. They sailed through the air, hovering in the neat and evenly spaced rows. And there they stayed, in the grip of the air dimensions. 

At the same time, the water dimensionals splashed down from on high, their bodies like coiling ropes of rushing water. They reached out and used their Hydrokinesis to perform the marination. Thick streams of mango paste blasted high into the air. They directed their fluid jetstreams through each chunk of flesh and sank the flavoring deep with clenching pulses of Hydromancy.

Shiv regarded Band's efficiency ever so briefly. The orc was moving fast—his dimensionals using a combination of Aero, Pyro, and Hydromancy to set up and work quickly. Shiv continued on, focusing on his own task. He made sure his lean cuts were prepared properly and soaked all the way through. His meat retained a faint glow of white while the meat that Band prepared, flickered. Something was wrong with Band’s preparations. Something that offended The Chef Unwavering—but Shiv was too deep in his own trance to call a stop right then.

The Deathless walked over to the searing skillet with two hovering chunks of meat, each one the sides of his head. The skillet was white-hot with heat now, made so by the gleaming Skysplitter planted just below. As Shiv threw one chunk of meat atop the skillet, it immediately began to sear. Shiv worked the mango-soaked cut first, watching it cook and manipulating the cut’s shape to let the flames spread out and burn deep.

Rather than using the skillet, Band commanded his fire dimensionals to act, and each of them sent flames upward to burn the meat chunks hovering over them. They cooked fast. They cooked hard. They cooked the cuts inside and out, and channeled their fire all the way through the flesh.

Meanwhile, Shiv was just one Pathbearer. He was a good chef. He made no mistakes and gave all of himself to the task, but even with the aid of Chronomancy, he couldn't keep up with an entire concert of dimensionals.

"Need. More. Efficiency. Chef," Band taunted.

Tequila let out an almost mournful sigh as he continued doing something to the soaking rice. "I'm afraid this struggle was never truly fair. He is but one. One against a maestro with an army.”

Shiv ignored them. He focused on his own task. He felt how his cuts of lean meat burned with Biomancy. Felt how some patches heated faster than the others, and he shifted the tissues around. He was going to make sure it was even. That the flavor was fully spread out. 

Band and his dimensionals worked fast and did good enough, but their cooked food did not glimmer like Shiv's. Rather Band’s finished cuts were coated in fading motes of white dust—unacceptable for the The Chef Unwavering.

The Chef Unwavering 59 > 60

Minutes passed. Band fried dozens of cuts while Shiv finished six. 

At a glance it seemed like the Deathless was far inferior—and far too slow to compete with the music-wielding orc.

“Come on, Shiv,” Adam cheered weakly off by the side. Shiv could feel the Gate Lord’s body tense. Uva was glaring at Band as well.

They’re focusing on the wrong thing. So is Band. Shiv scowled.

Band reveled in his superiority. His violin began to shriek notes of primal triumph. More fire dimensionals emerged into the world. Air dimensionals followed thereafter. Water dimensionals arrived in support. Soon he was reaching out for the fattened meats as well. Two streams rose from the assortment of flavorings. The loomgrape speared deep the first chunk of fattened meat, burrowing deep and fusing within the insides of its fat. 

And that was when the meat lost its pale luster altogether. Something had gone terribly wrong with that act. It got worse as the mango sauce coated the meat's outside. What followed next was fire and a swirl of concentrated air, both unleashed by varying dimensionals. At once the meat seared, burning deep, true, and completely as Band finished his first cut of fattened flesh.

As it was done, Band descended and had one of his air elementals hold the fattened piece of meat over Shiv. "Would you like me to take over, chef?" Band said, with a slight growl of triumph in his voice. He finally spoke a complete sentence, and it sounded like something was wrong in his throat. "Seems like a struggle on your end. Seems slow."

Shiv ignored Band for a moment. Instead, he held out a hand. "Wait. Stop. Watch me.”

Ban blinked, unsure what Shiv was doing. The other orcs stopped what they did as well. "You don't stop," Shiv said, shaking his head at Mortar. 

The big orc grunted as he continued applying pyromancy to the Skysplitter, managing the skillet’s heat.

Shiv worked very differently from Band. Instead of exploiting a variety of magic and going fast, Shiv used his Biomancy as he unfurled patches of leanness from within his chunk of fattened meat. He let it soak in the mango before flipping the fat deposits out. Then, he infused the loomgrape into the fat—until all the meat was yellow or purple. The process took arduous minutes. And only thereafter did he use his biokinesis to reshape the cut back to its original form.

He cast the cut down on the skillet and sweat poured down from Shiv's brow. Slowly, his body shrank as Plaguefueled wore off, but he didn't notice. He was fully entrenched in his actions, in the process of the cooking. It took a full five minutes for him to finish with that cut, but during all that time, Band just watched, his arms folded, unimpressed by Shiv's performance. 

Whisper, however, was squinting his eyes. Mortar sniffed at the air, smelling the mixed flavors. Shiv grunted as he used his own Pyromancy in a delicate way, directing some heat away from the fat so the loomgrape wouldn’t burn inside. The meat was bubbling, changing, popping from the temperature. The fat expanded and the loomgrape swelled with it as well. Shiv used his Chronomancy when things got dangerous—and he still lost a bit of glow. This wasn’t his best work.

Shiv growled. “Shit.”

But he was going to finish it. No matter what. And he was going to make the orcs try Band’s cut and then his to learn the lesson he was about to teach.

At least I know Band wasn’t trained by Georges now. He would have never put up with what he did.

And after a long and arduous process, Shiv finished his cut. He held it up, and though it gleamed a bright yellow on the outside with veins of purple hidden within, the only color he wanted to see was that wondrous soft white. The Chef Unwavering painted the cut with a faint aura and Shiv sighed.

“It’s fine,” Band whispered. “Can’t be good at everything. Or most things.”

"Everyone stop," Shiv said. "Stop, Mortar."

Mortar stopped channeling his Pyromancy. The orcs gathered around him. "Band," Shiv said, pointing at Band's mixed-sauce cut. "Take a bite out of your fat cut, and then try mine."

Both pieces were the size of Shiv's head. Band frowned slightly, but he accepted. He bit down on his own cut first. His teeth crunched through the mango exterior, but Band frowned slightly as he chewed.

“That missing flavor,” Shiv said, trying not to snarl at Band. “Those are the part of uneven leanness. You missed those with your flavoring. The dimensionals are powerful. Pyrokinesis is useful—but the meat needs different temperatures for different parts. It’s not undercooked—it’s unevenly cooked. The loomgrape didn’t soak in fully and some of it aren’t in the fat. That’s the key here. You tried to shove the saunce in and left holes where there shouldn’t be.”

“Still not bad,” Band complimented himself. 

He held his meat out to Shiv, and Shiv used his Biomancy to pull away a smaller chunk before putting it into his mouth. He bit down, he chewed, and true to Band's words, it wasn't bad. Sweet came first, then the slightly acidic sour of the meat, then sweet again, and another sour, lasting sour this time, the grape's aftertaste. It was a journey of flavors, but it was an incomplete one. There were patches where the meat's sour overpowered the grapes, and it felt like a resurgence rather than a synergy—offering an intensifying sourness rather than a lingering one in the aftermath.

“Too much, too fast, too strong,” Shiv critiqued. “Just like you. Try mine.”

Shiv didn't boast, he didn't need to. And he was on the verge of being genuine pissed off, so he didn’t much feel like it either. Band was about to learn a important lesson about being a chef: not rushing. This wasn’t a competition.

Band bit down on Shiv’s cut, not expecting much, but as soon as his teeth clicked together, Band froze.

“This…” Band said, blinking.

“Yeah,” Shiv growled. “You think about that for now. The rest of you try both." The other orcs gathered round and sampled both Band and Shiv’s mixed-flavor meat. 

After they did, Whisper spoke first. "It's rushed." He eyed Band and slowly shook his head. "I can taste it, the unevenness. You're supposed to build on the sour, not overpower it, not kill the sweetness entirely."

“Too many cooks under one,” Mortar chuckled to himself.

Band continued chewing on Shiv’s cut. His face was scrunched in focus. He was trying to find something that was wrong with  Shiv’s meat—

“If you’re looking for a flaw, I already found it. I didn’t heat it well enough. Parts are still uneven. Like yours.”

The orc grunted in discomfort. “Still pretty good.”

"Pretty good?” Shiv snarled. "The felling fuck do you mean pretty good? We didn’t get a bonus to any skill from this. Do you know what that means? Means it wasn’t good enough. Means it was shit. We’re cooking shit right now, Band. Because we are competing with each other rather than trying to finish the food. You think that’s domination?” The orc looked away from Shiv. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Band did. “No, chef.”

“No. Okay. So you’re faster. So you can command a lot of dimensionals and get your cooking done—when was this a race? Tell me. Tell me when it became a race? I want to know.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s not. Great. So. Why the fuck are we doing this? Who won when both pieces are meat are mediocre? Who’s the better piece of shit? Is that what we’re fighting for here? Do we need to go back to scrambled eggs?”

“No,” Band said, looking down at the ground.

Again, the orc seemed almost human—and actually felt shame. The other orcs were quiet too. 

The scene was an odd one, a shrunken, human-sized Shiv chewing out monsters three times his size, but they took it with uncomfortable grace. “I understand you all want to dominate. I understand that you need to hurt, that you need to fight, to feed yourself, to feed that itch inside of you. But what we just did just now was make a lot of mediocre food. Are we going to get good at cooking by making mediocre food? Are we? Is that what we set out to do?" 

The orcs looked at him. None of them spoke. 

"Is mediocrity domination?" Shiv asked. He met the eyes of every orc and shook his head. "No. This is what Georges calls passable shit. Passable shit is still shit! If you are a chef, shit is not acceptable. Shit is what a Pathbearer trying to survive in the woods eats. We are not in the woods. We have time. We have the ingredients. We have each other, so the fault is with us!”

"We do not fight," Shiv began, looking at Whisper, "with our fellow chefs in the kitchen, because it risks the dish. We do not rush through the process, either. This is not a race. If you're going to race, then don't do it in the kitchen. Efficiency is one thing. Missing flavors and felling godsdamned mess-ups for taste." Shiv looked at Tequila and Mortar. He gave them a grunt. "You two did fine. Looking forward to drinking your wine, Tequila. Good job with the heat, Mortar."

"Aye, Chef," Mortar grunted. A slight smirk adorned his face thereafter, and Whisper frowned slightly.

"Now," Shiv said, "we're going to do this together. We’re going to start over from where we left off. We're going to do it carefully, and we're going to get this meal done right. It doesn't matter how long it takes. It's going to be properly soaked on the inside, properly marinated on the outside, and it's not going to have any missing patches of taste—or any overpowering flavors. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Chef," the orcs said as one.

"Good. Whisper, you're back in. No more fucking around with knives—just focus on the meat. Band. Use your dimensionals if you want. It is efficient. Just don't have them do this quarter-assed. They are not the performers. The meal is the performance. The taste is a performance. This is showboating. No one can taste your song. Focus on the godsdamned food.”

"Yes, Chef," Band said.

Shiv sighed. “I don’t know where you got that knife, but I know it isn’t from Georges. He would have never accepted this shit. You would be gone. On the spot. So. We’re going to be having a conversation about that knife after we make something acceptable. If. But congratulations—the mystery you tried to build up earlier is gone now. Nice job.”

Band flinched.

Silver Tongue 25 > 27

Shiv continued. "This was not acceptable. Showing off skills and humiliating me is fine if the dish is finished and finished well—It felling wasn’t! We're going to be chefs, then we're going to do it to the bone. That means that we need to be great alone and perfect together. Not scattered. Not a mess. Tight! Together! Like a fist!" He held out a fist, and he shook it at the orcs. A few of them nodded, repeating the act. He didn't know if they were playing psychological games, trying to appeal to him to make him lower his guard, but right then he didn't care. The dish came first. “Do it right. Or you’re just wasting your time here. There is no dominance in half-ass.”

He turned to Adam and Uva, and now they were looking on, both of them seeming entranced by the sight.

"Adam," Shiv said, slightly apologetic. "It's going to take a while longer for me to finish this."

"What?" Adam blinked, breaking from the stupor. "Oh, no, no, it's fine. It's just... take as long as you need to." He nodded. “Did… Did you just chew out a group of orcs.”

“No. I chewed out a group of chefs,” Shiv replied. “And they’re going to do it right now. Aren’t they.”

“Aye, chef!” The orcs called out. “As long as it takes!”

“Good,” Shiv said. “Let’s get this done right now.”

And as the Deathless and the orcs attacked the recipe with renewed vigor, Adam leaned closer to Uva. “I think… I think this might work. I think Shiv might be able to control the orcs.”

“I don’t know about control,” Uva said, an equally surprised look on her face. “But compel? Command the respect of? Yes. He… He seems to have an intuitive understanding of their nature.”

Both watched as Shiv shouted commands and the orcs obeyed.

Adam let out a breath and rubbed his face. “Ascendants. We’re going to be saving Blackedge with an orc army. How the hells did I get here?”

The Chef Unwavering 60 > 62