Regis lined up Vraz and Wort, watching the two exchange glances in the cramped cave kitchen. So far they’d cooked completely separate. Preparing their own dishes with little to no interaction and definitely without communication. There wasn’t a sense of hostility, but they were not functioning as a team. Two strangers cooperating side by side. But today, that would change. They’d form together to create something greater than themselves.

Or the dish would collapse into a rubbish fire, the two may just fail to mesh and absolutely collapse in flaming wreckage. No way to tell for certain until he threw them into it.

“Describe to me the most important aspect of a kitchen.”

“Food. Taste good.” Wort rubbed his stomach.

“Skill and practice,” Vraz said as he tied his crimson bandanna around his head.

“As expected, both answers are incorrect. While product quality is the end goal, it is not the most vital aspect of a healthy kitchen. Skill and practice are better answers, But not the correct solution. A chef may have both yet still fall apart when their kitchen hits the weeds if they lack the ability to effectively communicate. Teamwork and communication. Those are the lifeblood that allows staff to function smoothly.” Vraz and Wort eyed each other. The hobgoblin stuck out his bulging tongue towards his coworker.

“Wort food taste gooder.” The toad goaded his coworker.

Vraz raised an eyebrow at Wort. “Great teamwork already. Sure to be flawless. I’m looking forward to this, Chef.”

“Vraz, slice the onions, carrots, and potatoes. Prepare the ingredients and measure them out. Mise en place is vital for efficiency, once we begin cooking, there shall be no breaks until we’ve finished.” This was make or break, a true test to see if this goblin kitchen really could pull together. Then it would rest on Regis and his grasp of magic; it all depended if he could understand how to use it to enhance the dish. “Wort, measure out the flour, and dice the butter. Frost mint will retain appropriate temperature on the ingredients, yet do not make a mistake and include it within the dish. If I so much as see a single hand opening that sack, Vraz will be given instructions to slap sense into that thick head of yours.”

Vraz perked up, clapping on his hands on the back of the other. He shot Wort a vicious grin. But the toad didn’t react to the mock threat; belching and patting his belly as he remained ignorant of the playful gesture. The cook frowned and returned to his work.

Directing a kitchen was a feat of intention and direction. Balancing the timing of staff, and managing their actions so their work lined up precisely as required. Each additional person strained that delicate relationship. Even if personal skill and capability helped correct and made up for time management, these two were too fresh for it to be a real factor.

Sure, Vraz might be a rising star but the constant insistence on his own style while lacking all of the fundamentals irked the dungeon.

Half a dozen times already Regis had to flicker over to Wort to correct the incurable layabout. He seemed to desire slowness and required constant pointed reminders to work faster. It was unfortunate for the lazy baker that his preferable pace was far too slow for their current task.

He didn’t expect the process to go flawlessly, but he worried over their history of problems. Vraz dutifully carried his crate of raw ingredients, setting his cutting board up on one side of the small kitchen. Wort took control of the other—following Vraz out of the pantry with a flour bag plopped over his shoulder. His bulky hobgoblin frame made it a simple matter to transport heavy things. A fact Regis intended to take full advantage of with future shipments.

Regis hovered over Wort’s shoulder, scanning the burlap sack resting on the countertop. They’d stuffed it with the rest of the frost mint. Eventually, Regis would devise a better method for cooling ingredients. For now, the cold given off by the mana-filled herb served fine enough. Wort filled a jar with water and placed it next to the sack, the heat rapidly leached from the jar.

Using magic, in a way, felt like cheating. All the possible shortcuts it presented. Though Regis lacked a frame of reference for how far it might carry the kitchen, nor its effect on quality, for now, it didn’t matter. Goblins were not high-class customers. And they were getting fed, this time at least, for free.

Magic seemed to have certain constants. He’d discovered his personal control over it limited to fire and other sorts of ‘utility’ magics. It was all still secondary to the cooking, and past using it to construct his restaurant or enhance the food, Regis had very little interest in it.

Wort chopped the goat butter apart. Nearly careful enough with his fingers, but not quite there. Close to cutting himself, but by some stroke of good fortune, Wort avoided a knife accident. To think we had all those knife drills. Some goblins wouldn’t learn their lesson until they paid a price, he supposed.

The butter now cubed, Wort wrapped it delicately in a cloth, and set it next to the frost mint. So it too would remain cool. Wort’s elbow caught the knife and flung it from the cutting board—clattering right next to his foot. “…So help me if this dish is ruined due to you stabbing yourself—“

The toad ignored him, choosing to rub his stomach and close his eyes for a nap.

“Up! Move! Now is not the time for rest!” The hobgoblin grumbled, complying—filling a bowl with flour, there would be no breaks in this kitchen, not until Regis determined that they were done.

“Time on the thyme?” Regis hummed out, checking on Vraz. Not daring to take his attention away from Wort lest the big lug sleep.

“One minute, Chef!” Vraz yelled, knife working in a flurry as he shredded fragrant herbs. Then he shoved the cutting board aside, grabbing a metal bowl and scooping the pile of chopped thyme into it. The young cook rushed over to Worts station—or rather he tried to—getting halfway to his destination before suddenly wincing and gasping. The bowl almost clattered to the floor.

Regis flew over, senses running over Vraz in an instant. Ah. Still not recovered from that foolish fight. Good tenacity, but—Why is there a mushroom stuffed away in his tunic?

Vraz swayed in place, feigning a mocking grin as he saluted the crystal. Pain lingered behind the fake expression, a bead of sweat rolled down his bald head and darkened the crimson bandanna he wore. Regis slid his focus from the mushroom. If it wasn’t a part of the current meal, then it didn’t matter. For the moment.

“I’m fine Chef! Bit winded, that’s all!”

“It is irresponsible to lie. And unbecoming. If you are incapable of a task, declare so prior to the commencement. This may be a high priority, but I will not have my staff risking further harm on themselves in order to provide a meal. Lack of proper care for one's health leads to faults. Faults expand outward to affect the whole kitchen, not just yourself.”

“I… I can do this, Chef.” Vraz steadied. That burning passion reminded Regis of his own youth, his early days working as an apprentice in a kitchen. Always eager to prove himself to the head chef. Vraz refused to submit to the pain.

“So be it. Rushing and panicking are unnecessary. Maintain your focus, and limit yourself to a steady yet capable rhythm. If I discover you’ve pushed yourself too far, you will be banned from cooking for several days. Haul that thyme to Wort, then return to your station. I’ll oversee your work once I’ve ensured Wort has gotten through his part, without succumbing to an early nap.”

Vraz nodded and after catching his breath, before continuing. Regis floated behind floating, like usual, behind the hobgoblin’s shoulder. Wort dug into the pungent herb and tossed the precisely correct amount into the flour with ease. Regis tinged with a bit of envy. Maybe such a feat had been trivial for him at the height of his career, but for an apprentice baker? Unthinkable.

Next Wort tossed in some of the butter. Kneading the cold flour and butter together by hand.

It took on a grainy and crumbled texture before Wort added the ice-cold water to pull the dough together. Then formed it into disks. He does understand the process. Excellent. I’ll maintain a bit of attention to ensure he stays awake, but there should be little to concern myself over. For now, he allowed the baker just a little faith.

Regis flowed across the kitchen, his cook’s cutting board a flurry of steel. Vraz cleaved into mushrooms with a practiced hand, his blade’s swiftness more than tripled from the first attempt within the kitchen. Pausing every few seconds to gather the minced mudcaps, and throw them into a bowl.

Just as swiftly, he progressed to the carrots, peeling and cutting in record time. A growing pile of ingredients was added to the bowl with each precise knife cut. Were Regis not intimately aware of the injuries, he would not have been able to tell that Vraz nearly fell from wounds moments before.

He got to the onions. As if in an attempt to provoke the dungeon hovering nearby, Vraz grinned and pulled the red bandanna over his eyes. “What are you doing!? Did one of those brutes smash that thick skull of yours too hard? This isn’t a time to play games—“ Vraz picked up the knife and began to slice into an onion, while blindfolded. One hand ran over the surface to determine where to cut. Pure shock prevented Regis from shouting further. Watching the goblin’s fingers curled inward like a claw. His knuckles guided each stroke of the blade. Not as quick as the carrot or mushrooms, but still faster than Regis expected to be possible.

Vraz tore through the pile of onions. How’s he managing this?! Even in his prime within the kitchen, Regis would never have attempted a foolish party trick. With the last onion minced, Vraz pushed the bandanna back to his forehead.

“Is something wrong in your head? In what world do you think that behavior is acceptable in a professional kitchen!? Your pace was slower too—not to mention the risk for not a single gain!”

“Wrong on that account, Chef.” Vraz had a shit-eating grin the Regis wanted desperately to slap off his face. He pointed a slim finger to his eyes. “No tears.”

“Deal with them. You’ll grow used to it.”

“This is how I grew used to it, Chef. I hate chopping onions. This is the solution.”

“Unless you can do so at the same pace as you can without such a ridiculous handicap—which by the way presents you as an absolute twit—I do not wish to see that technique used within my kitchen during a proper meal service.”

“Understood, Chef!” Vraz paused, his good spirits allowing him to cope with the pain his body no doubt still felt. He then hollered out across the kitchen to Wort. “I just cut a bundle of onions while blindfolded in ten minutes. Think you can beat my score!?”

“What did I just tell you!?”

“You said until I can do it. Nothing about Wort.” Vraz raised an infuriating eyebrow.

“Wort try! Wort better!” called the oaf.

“I expressly forbid it!”

Regis zoomed away from the cook, bashing Wort’s hand aside as the hobgoblin tried to grab a knife. The fool’s other meaty palm already covering his eyes. With a frantic spew of insults and commands, Wort begrudgingly gave up the effort. The dungeon did his best to keep his rage in check; he ignored the howls of laughter from Vraz. With some semblance of order restored they returned to work.

Soon they would move to the vital aspect of the dish. Wort rolled out dough and prepared the pie pans. Regis maintained the required oven heat to perfectly cook these pies. With prodding, the hobgoblin didn’t fall too far behind schedule. Though, they were cutting it close. Delays or mismanagement here would have severe repercussions.

The moment that Vraz threw those mudcaps into the pan to cook, Regis knew all of his attention would have to focus on the food. It would take great concentration while attempting his manipulation of their earth mana. Unless he figured something out, the blandness of their flavor would infest the rest of the dish, ruining the product.

Regis reluctantly drifted away from Wort. Watching Vraz haul large saucepans above all of the fire-runes. In went oil purchased from the dwarves. Not exactly olive oil as the dwarves lacked access to that valuable ingredient, but a neutral-flavored alternative. Then the onions. Their tang spread through the kitchen in a wave of flavor as the six saucepans cooked their delicate white surface. Vraz bounced between each pan, diligently manipulating the onions to prevent burning and ensure an even cook. Occasionally Vraz winced as he scrambled to and fro, but Regis withheld pulling him back, trusting in the young cook’s confidence.

Then the garlic joined the onion, their aromas mingling together in a beautiful relationship akin to soul-mates. Regis uttered a terse order to add the mushrooms and carrots. Nervous to dive into his portion of this task. Taking just a lingering second to confirm the cook had begun to boil the potatoes, before resigning himself. It was time to play with magic.

His awareness of his employees vanished as his attention fixed on six points in his domain—the saucepans currently cooking the filling for the pies.

The minced mudcap mingled with the rest of his ingredients. The heavy pressure of the bland earth mana contained in the small little pliable forms. Leaching flavor from the rest of the ingredients as they cooked within the pan. Easily interacting with the onion, carrots, and potatoes. All of them were intimately tied to earth. The metaphysical infusion of the mudcaps far more compatible with the other ingredients than Regis predicted. If left unchecked, the root vegetables would lose all flavor. Not just some. No amount of spice could revive it if it reached that state.

Yet, the earth mana could be altered.

Ice mana transformed into water and steam when pressured with fire mana. Earth surely would react too—though, he wasn’t certain of the effect. Regis pushed his awareness further into the metaphysical plane. Using his grasp of fire to reach towards the earth mana dominating the dish.

Vraz yelped as the fire runes below the pan spiraled, flames flaring. Instead of a wild uncontrolled pillar, the tips of the fire bent inward touching the contents of each pan.

Regis pushed forward, feeling a sense of trepidation as he forced the fire mana to interact with the earth mana. It’s resisting. He applied more pressure, as fire around the pans grew brighter and hotter it threatened to burn the contents and destroy the dish.

He knew he could press no further, and retracted the flames. Studying the problem. I would have transformed the mana, yes. But it’d ruin his food, create something unintended and unhelpful to allow the earth and fire to mingle in that way. Instead… Regis focused attention, not on the flame itself, but the heat generated from the fire. It was nurturing, a root of all living things.

Flames encased the pans again, as Regis directed the heat to flow into earth mana directly. Straining himself to control it, preventing it from burning. Letting his power and intent ram into the dish at precise points, rather than overwhelming it completely. Wrapping the earth in a layer of soothing heat. As he ramped up the effort… he began to feel something.

The earth mana shifted. Blooming. A vibrant feeling on the metaphysical plane, almost bright.

Life mana?

As it spawned, it had a cascading effect. Causing the rest of the earth mana to easily convert. Once the earth mana interacted with the life mana, it willingly transformed. Regis didn’t understand the underlying principles, but his intuition told him it would be fine at this point to remove his influence. Which was good, because the pure mental strain long took a toll.

He retracted from the dish—the fires sinking back into the fire-runes. Sweet nearly nostalgic notes of carrot danced outward. Onion and garlic still heavy in the air—but shifting, more full than before in aroma. And under it all was an earthy and flavorful mushroom. Life mana enhanced all of the parts—blending them together. Enriching each of the flavors. It felt natural, like these plants were grown and always intended to marry one another in a delicate combination in this dish.

Vraz stirred in meat, letting it sear and soak in the beautiful flavors dominating the pan. Then the rest of the spices joined it. Heightening, and not distracting from the true nature’s bounty within the filling.

Regis drifted listlessly. Unable to focus, and dimly overseeing the two employees as they spun about. Failing to latch his attention on to anything. Before the crystal knew it, the meat was done cooking. Potatoes were mashed and added to the filling. The two employees working together, giving him the occasional questioning glance of worry, but to their credit, completely focused on finishing the job he’d given them.

They filled the pies, at some point withdrawing a chicken egg to make the wash.

All of it melted together for Regis. His attention was a flickering candle, he stopped hovering and rested on a countertop. A poor spectator to his baker and cook as they prepared, and then placed completed pies into the oven. They bickered over timing, trying to get his input, but Regis had no advice to give. So. Tired. His awareness slipped further. Blackness.

When he came to, the last pie was leaving the oven. Baked to perfection, and scent delectable. What!? How did that…

The counters were filled with vibrant pies, all complete. Vraz already began wiping down surfaces as Wort collected dishes to wash. Even without Regis… they… Did they pull through? Regis floated again, no longer a shiny paperweight. His mana returned to flare and dance in his core. More like himself by the minute. He took command—directing the last of their efforts as he prepared to transition to the next step. As soon as Strum returned, they’d begin the campaign of goblin bribery. He wasn’t sure what overcame him, but it didn’t matter, they’d completed the meal.

They aren’t perfect staff members. One’s cocky and unambitious, the other is lazy and impudent. But they’ll do. They’ll do finely.