Chapter 1: Summoned With a Spatula
The kitchen was a war zone. Not the kind with swords and shields, but the kind with sizzling pans and the relentless sting of onions. Akash, a 24-year-old chef with more dreams than customers, was currently losing the battle against a mountain of red onions.
"Why is life so hard?" he muttered, wiping a tear from his eye. "One day, I'll be the king of the culinary world. But today... today I'm just a guy crying over a vegetable."
Suddenly, the floor of his small restaurant glowed with an eerie, sapphire light. A complex geometric pattern—a Magic Circle—burned through the linoleum.
"Wait, I haven't paid the electricity bill yet! Is this a new way of cutting off the power?" Akash gasped.
Before he could run, a gravitational force slammed into him. The world spun, the smell of grease replaced by the scent of ozone and ancient dust. He felt like he was being squeezed through a straw.
---
When Akash's vision cleared, he wasn't in his kitchen. He was standing in the middle of a literal battlefield.
To his left, a horde of green-skinned Orcs were roaring. To his right, an army of armored skeletons stood in formation. And right in front of him was a ten-foot-tall Orc Chieftain with a club the size of a refrigerator.
[Ding! System Initializing...]
[Scanning World Host...]
[Host: Akash]
[Class: Level 1 Divine Chef]
[Skill Unlocked: Aroma of Peace (Passive)]
A translucent screen floated in front of his eyes, but Akash was too busy looking at the giant Orc who was currently raising his club.
"What is this puny human doing in the middle of our glorious war?" the Orc Chieftain thundered. "Are you a sacrifice? Or a very small snack?"
Akash's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. In his right hand, he held a stainless-steel spatula. In his left, a half-cut onion.
"I-I'm not a snack!" Akash stammered, his chef instincts kicking in even in the face of death. "I'm a professional! And honestly, your battlefield smells terrible. How can you fight on an empty stomach?"
The Orc blinked. The Skeletons stopped clattering. No one had ever insulted the smell of their battlefield before.
"Empty stomach?" the Orc growled. "We eat the fear of our enemies!"
"Well, fear tastes like dry crackers," Akash snapped, his fear turning into culinary indignation. "Look at that buffalo carcass over there. You've been gnawing on it raw like animals! Let me show you what real power smells like."
Under the confused gaze of two armies, Akash scrambled to a nearby campfire. He didn't have his stove, but he had his spatula and his secret spice pouch.
He sliced the meat with a speed that made the Skeleton warriors look slow. He tossed the spices into the fire, creating a controlled sear. The 'Aroma of Peace' skill activated.
A scent—so rich, so savory, and so nostalgic—began to drift across the field. It smelled like home. It smelled like every good memory anyone had ever had.
The Orc Chieftain's club slowly lowered. A single, giant green tear rolled down his cheek. "This... this smell... it makes me want to stop smashing heads and start hugging people."
"That," Akash said, flipping a perfectly charred piece of meat with his spatula, "is the power of a good marinade."
The Orc Chieftain fell to his knees, not in defeat, but in hunger. "Human! If you give me a bite of that, I shall declare a truce for a hundred years!"
Akash looked at his spatula and then at the screen floating in the air. He realized he wasn't just a chef anymore. He was the most dangerous man on the battlefield. Because while swords could only kill, his cooking could conquer souls.
"Get in line," Akash smirked. "And someone find me some garlic. This buffalo is gamey."