Frontier Chef: My Cooking Skills Are Broken-Chapter 25: Not For Sale

Two columns of golden text spread across his vision wider than anything the System had shown him before.

[ Frontier Market ]

> Renewal Salt (D) — 150 FT | 3/3

> Embercap Spore (D) — 200 FT | 3/3

> Crude Black Pepper (D) — 250 FT | 3/3

> ....

The list went on with words he couldn’t begin to pronounce.

For the hell of it, he clicked the last page.

> Gynoscylla Breastplate (C) — 3,250 FT | 1/1

> Gynoscylla Gauntlet (C) — 3,250 FT | 1/1

> Obsidian Reinforced Tri-musket (D) — 12,500 FT | 1/1

> Obsidian Reinforced Heavy Katana (D) — 14,500 FT | 1/1

> ...

"Holy shit," Ezra said, reading the rest of the items twice in case he was imagining things.

’Do I even want to find out what the Gynoscylla armor looks like? Fuck it.’

"Show me the breastplate."

> Gynoscylla Breastplate (C) — 3,250 FT | 1/1

> Type: Equipment (chest)

> Grade: C

> Materials: Gynoscylla Hide x3, Gynoscylla Nerve Cord x1, Ossite Bone Fragment x4

> Use: Medium armor. Fire-resistant outer plating.

> Note: Requires Blacksmith or crafting interface to assemble.

’Fuck. I don’t have anything. Damn nine-star wyvern ate it whole. Wait, there was something else I saw.’

He clicked back to the beginning and traced down the golden HUD.

There it was:

> Water Canteen — 350 FT | 3/3

’That one.’

[ Transaction confirmed: -350 FT ]

[ Received Item: Water Canteen ]

[ Wallet ]

> 9700 Frontier Tokens

A shape formed in front of him, materializing out of thin air and plopping into his hand. Patches looked up from where it lay, ears attentive, then went back to whatever it was doing in the corner.

Ezra opened the lid and stuck his tongue out.

Nothing came out.

Absolutely nothing.

It was empty.

Of course it was.

"Too good to be true," Ezra sighed, "But its better than the bucket if it comes to that."

Patches was gnawing on its jerky, back against the stone, unbothered by the iron bars or the fuckery Ezra just pulled with the purchase.

He set the empty canteen beside him and read the list again, clicking through the spore and the salt under it.

> Embercap Spore (D) — 200 FT | 3/3

> Type: Consumable (single use)

> Use: Amplifies thermal output when applied to heated surfaces for a short duration.

> Note: Fire-reactive. Store away from open flame.

> Renewal Salt (D) — 150 FT | 3/3

> Type: Consumable (ingestible)

> Use: Accelerates natural SP regeneration for 1 hour when dissolved in liquid.

> Note: Stacks with active meal buffs.

The spore was the one that mattered. His Ember Arts could push past its ceiling for one dish. If he had it for the Dunecrest Bull, he probably could have cooked it fully right then and there.

But that was the optimism talking; that meat was dangerously thick no matter how he looked at it.

As for the salt, it was practical. Faster SP regen, less downtime between cooking sessions. It could even stack with other meal passives like the berries he cooked. 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

’Wait, I thought only one meal could be activated at a time?’

[ Market consumables are a separate category from meal buffs and can stack, albeit not on itself, and no more than once with a meal ]

’Makes sense.’

He bought both and waited.

[ Transaction confirmed: -350 FT ]

[ Received Item: Embercap Spore ]

[ Received Item: Renewal Salt ]

[ Wallet ]

> 9,350 Frontier Tokens

They both materialized in tiny sacks.

Ezra tucked both behind him where Patches couldn’t reach. The furball was already sniffing.

"Don’t."

Patches went back to its jerky.

The golden text faded and the cell came back.

Stone walls, crooked iron bars, steam leaking from every crack. Volcanic steam, no less.

The hiss of whatever was running underneath Harken filled the gaps between the guards’ footsteps above. Ezra wasn’t sure which he’d rather prefer.

He could hear them talking at the top of the corridor. Something about the well on the east side running low again.

’The water’s down there somewhere, they just can’t get to it. The fountain was dry, and even the barrel was empty. Whole place is rationing and nobody looks surprised anymore.

But that’s not my problem. Right now, my problem is that I’m locked up because I touched a famous bird girl.’

He stretched his legs across the cell floor. The shirt they gave him was losing the fight against his shoulders and the trousers had already ripped at his thighs.

Maybe twenty minutes had passed. He had a roof and all, sure.

But it was damn boring still.

"System, help."

The System took its time. The golden text loaded in blocks, slower than usual, like it was reading off a script. It probably was.

[ As a Frontier Chef, the host is granted a unique set of skills that develop through practice and sustained use. Each skill levels independently. Higher-level skills produce denser output, broader application, and unlock new capabilities at milestone thresholds ]

[ Current skill levels ]

> Culling Arts: Lv. 1

> Ember Arts: Lv. 3

> Palate Arts: Lv. 1

> Appraisal: Lv. 5

’I got that part already. Anything new?’

[ Appraisal Lv. 5 — New category unlocked: Threat ]

[ Threat provides combat-relevant data on living targets including behavior patterns, attack methods, and exploitable vulnerabilities. Previously unavailable to the host ]

’Would’ve been nice before the condom man-eater ate my arm. Well, to be fair, I appraised it after it bit my arm.’

[ At designated thresholds, the System adjusts the host’s base parameters to reflect cumulative growth. These adjustments are automatic and cannot be declined ]

[ Ping! ]

[ Level 5 threshold reached ]

> HP cap: 210 → 240

> SP cap: 180 → 200

’Fucking finally.’

[ Additional System features will unlock at future thresholds ]

’Of course they will.’

The help text faded and Ezra was staring at the wall again. Patches was watching him the way it always did, yellow eyes tracking whatever Ezra was looking at even though the golden text was invisible to everyone else.

’One more thing. This shit’s long overdue, too.’

"Status."

[ Status ]

> Name: Ezra

> Class: Frontier Chef

> Element: Fire

> Level: 5

> HP: 175/240

> SP: 200/200

> Defense: 3

> Affinity: 9%

> Fire Attack: 15

> Water Attack: 0

> Ice Attack: 0

> Thunder Attack: 0

> Unspent stat points: (3)

[ Wallet ]

> 9,350 Frontier Tokens

’Three defense from wearing these tight-ass clothes? That... that’s pretty stupid.’

He tugged against the shirt and it slapped against his chest.

"Whatever. Allocate."

[ Would you like to allocate your stat points? ]

Come to think of it, when he had pulled against the harpoon stuck to the sand whale, he’d nearly run out of SP. It was brief, but he remembered it. The single, decisive moment where everything clicked into place and gave him the strength and heat to pull it out then.

If he hadn’t, he’d probably be crushed paste in the sand still.

’Courtesy of Affinity, I’m sure of it.’

"Affinity. All three."

[ Allocate 3 points to Affinity? ]

"Yes."

[ Affinity: 9% → 12% ]

His fingers twitched, the air between them sharpening for half a second and before going back normal.

He leaned his head against the stone and let out a breath he’d been saving since Neve’s hand left his arm.

No, her real name was Nevera. Why hadn’t she told him? To be fair, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

The real deal was her title that brought everyone in Harken to their knees.

"Emerald-fucking-avian," Ezra said. The words slid out his mouth harsher than he meant to. "What the hell is the deal with that?"

She was somewhere above him. Getting healed, or getting debriefed, probably both.

And he was down here because the commander saw his face and decided he’d done something wrong with his hands.

’She’s not wrong, technically. I mean, she did make a noise during the back rub. But it was just... normal no?’

He brought his right hand up and the color started draining from his lips. "But I did cup her breasts... Oh fuck. Wait, that wasn’t me. It was—"

’Palate Arts. It was you, System. I let you guide and you went under her tits.’

[ Bzzt ]

’It’s okay, I’ll plead my case. Neve will vouch for me. I fucking hope.’

Patches yawned wide enough that Ezra could count every tooth.

All jackals have teeth.

He closed his eyes, leaving one open just in case it wanted to take the time now to assassinate him.

He heard it then, footsteps in the corridor. Not the guards, no. The guards walked with purpose and as a unit. These were heavier on one side, dragging on the other.

Ezra pried with one eye at the bars.

A guard passed the cell pulling someone by a chain connecting a pair of iron cuffs. The someone was small enough that the chain dragged on the stone between steps.

It was a girl. Couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve. High cheekbone sure, but less of malnourishment and more so her natural face. Her wrists were too thin for the cuffs. She could run if she wanted to.

Ezra would’ve, and regretted it later.

Her dark hair was cut at uneven angles. Short above one ear, jaw-length on the other, like she’d done it herself with something dull and didn’t give a shit about the aftermath. It was probably long at some point, past her shoulders maybe.

He knew that much because her elbows were paler than her forearms.

For a little girl being dragged by a man in armor, she was unusually calm.

The guard opened the cell across from his and pushed her in. The cuffs slid off and dangled uselessly at her wrists.

"Feeding’s in an hour. Don’t bite anyone this time."

The bars shut then, and the guard was already up the corridor before Ezra took another breath.

The girl sat on her stone shelf and pulled her knees to her chest. Her eyes found his through the bars.

She didn’t blink at all.

She looked at the Ossalaka, then back at Ezra.

Then she stuck her tongue out at both of them and turned to face the wall.

Ezra stuck his tongue out too.

’What a brat. Good thing I’m not her father.’