Chapter 104: A BORROWED KITCHEN AND THE REMAINING DUST OF THE MOON TEMPLE

After Mira’s body vanished in a blue glow, the narrow room of the ’Silver Moon’ Inn returned to silence. I leaned against the wall with a straight back, staring at the line of golden light that pierced through the gap in the purple curtain and fell onto the wooden floor. Pauses like this were rare for me in Second World Online, and I had learned not to waste them. I spent the next hour of game time auditing my inventory: counting the remaining lead balls, checking the black powder measure in the Powder Measure, and rearranging the special arrow tubes according to order of priority of use. Boring work, but there was nothing more humiliating for a rationalist than running out of ammunition in the middle of an expedition simply because of laziness in counting.

The air beside the bed shimmered blue. The silhouette of a long-haired black-haired girl solidified slowly, complete with light leather armor and a beginner knife at her belt.

"I’m back," Mira said with a smile. "I already had breakfast and a bath. Ready to enter again."

Her smile disappeared the next second. She held her own arm and furrowed her brow. "Syl, why does my body feel so heavy?"

I opened her status window with permission, and the numbers there answered everything.

[Time: Day. Nocturnal Blood Inactive. All stats reduced by 90%.]

[HP: 61 | MP: 38 | Stamina: 52]

Sixty-one HP. Exactly half of my own HP. From a system design perspective, this was a fair compensation: a race that doubled all stats at night had to be paid for with total fragility under the sun. From a practical perspective, I had just gained a new burden: a companion who must not leave the room until dusk.

"During the day you must not fight," I said. "Consider these hours as the racial cooldown period."

"So I have to sit still for ten hours of game time?" Mira glanced at the clock at the edge of her vision, then counted on her fingers. "Two and a half hours in the real world. Syl, I can’t sit still that long. You know how I am."

I knew. This girl had once cleaned the entire house warehouse just because someone mentioned that the dust was bothering them. Locking Mira up without work was the same as leaving a machine running without a load; sooner or later it would look for something to do.

"What’s your plan?"

Her eyes sparkled. "The kitchen."

We went down to the lower floor. The inn’s NPC owner, a plump-cheeked middle-aged woman named Mrs. Marta, was counting coins behind the reception desk. I observed her briefly. Her movement patterns were too smooth for a script, yet they were still patterns. Every NPC in this world had behavioral limits that could be mapped if you were patient enough to observe.

Mira bowed politely to her old habit that hadn’t disappeared even after changing worlds. "Ma’am, may I borrow the kitchen? Just for a little while. I promise I won’t make a mess."

Mrs. Marta looked her over from the tips of her hair to the tips of her shoes, then turned to me with raised eyebrows. I only shrugged. "This kid likes cooking, and she’s bored."

"My kitchen isn’t a playground," the woman answered, but the corner of her lips lifted. "The ingredients on the right shelf you may use. Don’t touch the ones in the locked cupboard. And clean up yourself afterward."

The kitchen behind that wooden door was larger than I expected. A stone stove with three fire holes, a rack of neatly hanging copper pots, a brick oven in the corner, a thick teak cutting table, and a row of tools some of which I didn’t even recognize. Mira stood on the threshold, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, like someone who had finally found the way home.

She took a bunch of carrots, several potatoes, and one onion from the rack, placed them on the cutting table, then drew the knife from her belt. I leaned against the doorframe and watched. Chop, chop, chop, chop. The rhythm of her knife was steady, almost without pause, like a metronome. Carrots became uniform dice, potatoes became paper-thin slices, and the onion turned into fine shreds without a single tear. Precision like this could not be faked by any system. This was the result of years of repetition, and this game’s engine, somehow, was able to read it.

About seven minutes later, a notification appeared in front of Mira.

Ting!

[System: Repeated activity detected. Basic production skill available: [Cooking]]

[Learning Cost: 1 SP. Remaining SP: 12. Learn this skill?]

[System Note: User’s real experience with cutting and processing food ingredients detected. No NPC instructor required. Skill EXP bonus +50%.]

Mira turned to me with widened eyes. "No need to learn from an NPC. Just by cutting vegetables."

"That’s the organic skill mechanic," I answered. "Every new player gets ten free SP as starting capital, and one basic skill costs one SP. There are two ways: pay an NPC teacher, or get used to the activity until the system considers you worthy. After the initial capital is used up, new SP can only be obtained by leveling up existing skills." I crossed my arms. "In short, in this world, flight hours are the only currency that cannot be bought. Just take it. One SP is worth it for a skill you’ll use every day."

Mira pressed confirm with a slightly trembling finger.

Ting!

[System: 1 SP has been deducted. Production Skill [Cooking Lv. 1 (Novice)] learned. Remaining SP: 11]

[Effect: Unlocks the ability to cook with basic techniques. Novice level limit: Lv. 10.]

[Available Techniques: Boiling (Soup), Steaming.]

Mira read the last line twice, then her face changed. "Only boiling and steaming?"

"You’re still Novice. The production system is divided into three layers: Novice Lv. 1 to 10, Intermediate Lv. 11 to 20, Advanced Lv. 21 to 30. More complicated techniques and tools only open as the tier rises."

She turned to face the brick oven in the corner and reached for its door handle. A red window appeared in the air.

[Equipment Locked: Stone Oven. Requires Cooking Lv. 11 (Intermediate).]

She tried the pan on the stove, then the grill, then the pressure cooker and dough roller. Every object brought up the same red window, and each time her shoulders sank a little lower. At the fifth tool, Mira stood in the middle of the kitchen with her arms hanging limp.

"I know how to make bread," she complained softly. "I know how long the dough needs to be kneaded, what oven temperature for cakes, how to fry fish until crispy without burning. Everything is in my head, but my hands are rejected."

I couldn’t hold back a crooked smile. This was the same paywall I had faced in the library, only wrapped in the aroma of broth instead of parchment dust. Knowledge in the head meant nothing without permission from the system, and that permission was always counted in levels. "I also can’t assemble a Bolt Action mechanism, even though the design is already neat in my head. The brain understands, the body is locked. We’re victims of the same thing."

Mira looked at me for a moment, then laughed softly with a resigned face. She patted both her cheeks, lifted her chin, and reached for a small pot. "Fine. If it’s only soup and steamed, I’ll make soup and steamed until the level rises."

"That’s the right approach." I patted her head once. "Don’t leave the inn before dusk. If there’s a problem, send a PM."

"I won’t," she answered without looking back, the knife already back in her hand. "I have soup to make."

My journey to the dilapidated church was far quieter than yesterday. The waypoint crystal took me to Ironhold Castle. I held myself back from stopping by Arthur’s office so as not to get trapped in the pile of his guild’s administration, then followed the safe route from the mapping data he had shared. Relying on Stealth and Slow Walking, I passed two Ghoul patrols and one Specter floating among the dead trees. Occasionally I used Wind Walk to jump over ravines and cut the route. The Forest of Discard remained gloomy and foggy even in daytime, as if the sun deliberately avoided it.

Two hours later, I stood once again under the tilted gate of that church. Like yesterday, not a single monster approached within a radius I could see. This anomaly was too consistent to be called coincidence: a circle rejected by monsters could only mean there was an active system rule there, and rules like that usually protected something.

I finished the pending work first. The back room of the church, a former storage for robes and candles, was full of rotten wooden chests and cloth that had already turned into fibers. I carried everything to the backyard, swept the floor, then rinsed it with a cleaning liquid of my own making, an extract of Gale-Weed mixed with diluted sulfur solvent. Finger-thick dust rose like gray mist and made me cough. In the middle of the work, a message entered my chat window.

[(PM) from Mirabelle: Syl! I’ve steamed the first vegetables! The result... is green. Just green. No special taste, but the system said it succeeded!]

I replied briefly, [PM to Mirabelle: Good. Keep going.] A few minutes later, another message came.

[PM from Mirabelle: Cooking rose to Lv. 2! I got 1 SP! Mrs. Marta tasted my steaming and said, "Not too bad for new hands". I got praised!]

I snorted softly while dragging a chest outside. The Mira I knew was always serious when working, but here she sounded like a child who had found a new toy. I calculated in my head: one skill level-up equaled one SP. Speed like this would make her accumulate SP far faster than I could imagine, while I, with all my Limit Breaks and combat skills, had to pay dearly for every point.

The collapsed left side of the church was the most grueling part. Large piles of stone were scattered on the floor; some were too heavy to lift with STR 17.5. I, a former archery athlete accustomed to calculating bow draw weight down to several pounds, was defeated by a heap of rubble. I took out the Spellweaver’s Dirk and a piece of wooden beam from my inventory, then turned them into a lever to shift the stones one by one. Basic physics principle: the length of the load arm compared to the length of the effort arm. Only my virtual stamina drained far faster than any calculation, and twice I had to stop to gulp a potion.

Toward evening, the back and left sides were already clean. I looked up at the half-broken bell tower. "Only that left."

Its spiral staircase was half-rotted. I reinforced the cracked steps with iron nails and pieces of board, and once my foot almost went through the rotten wood before a thin Wind Walk saved my balance. After ten full minutes of tension, I arrived at the belfry.

The bronze bell hung tilted with a rope that had already decayed; its surface was covered in thick moss. I wiped part of it with a cloth, and under the layer of dirt, a pattern I recognized appeared: a crescent moon and circles of water ripples, exactly the same as the carving on the altar. This church was not merely a place of worship that happened to be near the lake. The whole of it was designed as a single unity.

From the open tower window, I saw a view that made me fall silent. Behind the forest on the rear side of the church, several hundred meters from here, stretched a small lake. Its surface was perfectly flat. There were no ripples, no waves; even the wind that swayed the treetops around it did not touch that water. The gray daytime sky was reflected so clearly that I had difficulty distinguishing which was the sky and which was its reflection. A reflection coefficient that perfect could not occur with natural water. That meant the surface of this lake was not ordinary water. It was a boundary, a door disguised as a mirror.

I took out a small telescope and narrowed my eyes. No monsters, no other buildings, only barren ground and an expanse of water that seemed to absorb everything. The back of my neck prickled, and I had no logical explanation for it.

Starless night, I thought. Whatever it means, it has to happen on top of that surface.

I called up the quest window and found a new change.

Ting!

[Sub-Quest: Cleansing the Forgotten Temple. Progress: 85% (Abandoned Church Cleaned)]

Eighty-five percent. That number answered one question while giving birth to another. This church was indeed part of the temple, or at least one of the parts that had to be cleaned, but the remaining fifteen percent meant there was still one more place. The sealed Main Temple was not here. This church was only its forward outpost.

I was about to go down when my chat window vibrated again.

[PM from Mirabelle: Syl, when are you coming home? My first soup is almost finished. I want you to be the first to taste it.]

I stared at that message for several seconds, then replied with two words, [PM to Mirabelle: I’m coming home.] I tore a Return Scroll on the tower stairs and let the blue light take me away.

The sky of StoneBrook was already reddish orange when I pushed open the inn door. The aroma of broth and slowly sautéed onions immediately greeted me, so strong that my Satiety, which was down to twenty percent, screamed in protest. Mrs. Marta, who was wiping a table, chuckled. "The kitchen, Miss Elf. Your little girl has been waiting for you for a while."

Behind the stove, Mira stood in a white apron that was too large for her body. Her hair was tied high, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and her forehead was slightly sweaty. On the wooden table, three clay bowls were already served. One contained clear broth soup with carrots, potatoes, and pieces of smoked meat. One contained brightly colored steamed vegetables. And one more contained white steamed bread that was still steaming. "Sit, sit," she said while pushing a bowl of soup toward me. "Taste it first, and be honest, okay."

I blew on the steam, then sipped. Warmth was my first impression. The broth was light yet deep, sweet from the potatoes and carrots, with a faint smoky aroma from the meat. There was nothing strange, nothing excessive. I recognized this taste. Exactly like the soup Mira always made when I had a fever as a child, the soup that somehow always made my head feel lighter. My chest warmed without permission, and that was not something I could calculate with any number.

Ting!

[System: You have consumed [Mirabelle’s Home-style Soup] (Common)]

[Effect: Stamina Regeneration +10% for 30 minutes. Satiety +25%.]

[Note: This dish was made with high sincerity. Mood Bonus +5 for the consumer.]

"Delicious," I said honestly, my voice a little hoarse. "Very delicious."

Mira exhaled in relief and scooped her own bowl. In the middle of eating, she suddenly stopped and touched her throat with her fingertip. "Syl, the thirst is decreasing."

I straightened my body. "Blood Desire?"

She nodded and opened her status window. The small note at the bottom now read a different line.

[Racial Status: Blood Desire (Mild). Desire Level: 18% (Decreasing due to consumption of high-protein food).]

"The smoked meat in the soup," I muttered. My analytical brain immediately went to work. The developers did not give a race this strong without a price, but they also did not leave the price without a solution. Dishes made with meat could suppress the desire, and the only person on this server who now had access to both a production skill and that race was Mira herself. "So cooking isn’t just a hobby for you. It’s racial sustain."

"So I can take care of myself by cooking?" Mira looked at her soup bowl with new eyes, then lowered her head to hide a smile. "My Cooking is already Lv. 6. My SP is sixteen. I’ll save it for now."

"The right choice. Don’t spend it before you know what you truly need."

Outside the kitchen window, the sky was already deep purple , and the first star appeared in the east. I opened Mira’s status window once more and saw the numbers beginning to climb.

[Time: Dusk toward Night. Nocturnal Blood beginning to activate. All stats increasing gradually.]

Mira realized it herself. She clenched her fist, opened it again, then lifted her face with eyes that once more glowed a faint red. "I feel stronger."

"That’s the sign that night is almost here." I stood and straightened my cloak. "Tonight we hunt again. One full night until your level is safe enough. After that, we go to the dilapidated church and that lake."

She took off the apron and hung it neatly on a wall nail, slipped her knife back into her belt. In a matter of seconds, her figure changed from a small cook into a hunter. I looked at her back while adjusting the barrel of my Smoothbore Musket, which was already fully loaded. The riddle of the starless night was still unsolved, but now I had two things I didn’t have yesterday: a definite location and someone I could both protect and rely on. Tonight, this world would once again test how far the limits of my patience reached.