Chapter 58: Proper form

Chapter 58: Chapter 58: Proper form

Novaria let him sleep an extra thirty minutes.

She hadn’t planned to. But watching him on the couch, his entire body pale and still in a way that unsettled her more than she was willing to admit, she’d decided the two hours he’d asked for weren’t going to be enough for him to recover.

’His essence reserves hadn’t just low.

They’d dried up completely. If only for a short while.

That was an extremely dangerous state for any cultivator to be in.’

So she waited, and by the time she finally reached over and gently shook his shoulder with her fragile hands.

The kitchen clock read well past where he’d meant to have gotten started on his dinner preparation.

Jason’s eyes snapped open, disoriented for a half second before the room settled into focus.

"Shit

What time is it?"

Calm down.

It’s only a little later than you wanted."

He checked the clock himself and sat bolt upright.

"That’s an extra thirty minutes I needed for the broth to simmer properly."

"I’m sorry. You looked like you needed the extra rest more."

"I really did.

Thank you for that.

It really doesn’t do much to help my timeline, though."

He was already moving, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulder, wincing slightly at the ghost of pain still lingering where the spear had gone through. "I wanted that broth simmering for four hours before Judith gets here with her son."

"I can help." Novaria said with a wry smile. Understanding the irony behind her statement more than anybody.

He glanced at her, not unkindly.

"It’s not like I don’t appreciate the offer.

I’m just not sure there’s much you can actually do from the wheelchair with a knife and a stockpot."

"I could supervise."

"You do that anyways."

He huffed something close to a laugh despite the time pressure and wheeled her through to the kitchen with him, already reaching for the ingredients.

---

The broth would be dye first thing he started, a deep, dark base built around marrow and a careful blend of roots he’d learned to source specifically for this recipe, Jade Vein Soup, one of the handful of dishes the system had handed him that had quite significant effects on Novaria’s condition rather than just tasting good.

Although it did taste quite brilliant

He set the pot to simmer low, slow enough that the marrow would render fully over the next four hours, the kitchen already filling with a rich, mineral-dark scent.

"That smells different than usual," Novaria said, watching him work.

"You’re really putting your back into it today."

"Because of Judith?."

It seemed more of an observation than it did a question.

"Yeah."

He moved on to the noodles next, pulling out a sack of flour from the pantry, since most nights called for something faster than this.

"It’s been about two months she’s been with us now.

I just figured she’s earned an actual effort put into this dinner."

"She’d probably say the usual effort is already more than most people manage."

"Then this one can be the exception."

He worked the flour into dough by hand, kneading it with the same patient, deliberate care he gave everything lately, folding and turning until the texture sat exactly where he wanted it.

"You’re making the noodles from scratch."

"Soba. Figured it’d pair well with the broth."

"You’ve never done that before."

"Well.

There’s a first time for everything."

She watched him roll the dough thin, slicing it into long, even strands with a precision that clearly hadn’t come easily, a few early attempts ending up too thick or uneven before he found the right rhythm.

But as someone that’s been cultuvating and fighting nearly non stop with a spear for months, precision was nearly second natuito Jason’s existence.

It didn’t translate one to one with cooking. But it was damn close.

---

They talked through the rest of the cooking, easy, meandering conversation that drifted between the broth, the noodles, and smaller things entirely unrelated to either, and by the time the pot had been simmering for its full four hours, the whole kitchen smelled like something worth the effort he’d put into it.

He strained the broth, set the noodles aside to rest, and got started on the smaller accompaniments, pickled vegetables, a handful of herbs sliced thin for garnish, working with the same unhurried focus the whole way through.

"You’ve gotten faster at this," Novaria observed. "The knife work, I mean."

"Lots of practice, I guess"

---

Once the kitchen work was mostly done, simmering handled, prep finished, dinner still hours away, he spent the remaining afternoon in the yard with the sword, running through the forms that had become as familiar to him now as breathing.

If he was going to keep his ’Ash’ persona alive in all those dungeon, he needed to sharpen his sword skills.

Novaria watched from her usual spot in the shade, and somewhere in the middle of the third or fourth set, Jason noticed something.

She hadn’t corrected him once.

"No notes today?" he asked, pausing mid-form.

She studied him a moment, something considering behind her eyes. "Nothing worth saying."

"That’s new."

"It’s not new. You’ve been getting there for a while. I just haven’t mentioned it because I didn’t want you getting complacent."

She tilted her head slightly, watching him reset into the next stance. "Your weight distribution’s clean. Your transitions don’t telegraph anymore.

Even your recovery after a committed strike doesn’t leave the opening it used to."

"Is that praise I hear?."

"It’s not praise. It’s an accurate assessment."

A small, almost reluctant smile crossed her face despite the clipped tone. "I was a saber expert at my peak, Jason.

I could recognize proper form in my sleep.

What you’re doing out there isn’t far from it anymore."

Something in his chest settled at that, quieter and steadier than he expected, and he ran through the rest of the set with a little more attention to the details she’d just confirmed he no longer needed correcting.

’Nearly flawless huh.

Coming from her, that’s not a small thing to hear.’

He finished the final form, lowered the sword, and glanced toward the kitchen window, the broth still patiently simmering inside, the evening’s dinner slowly coming together one careful piece at a time.