2 Chapter Two

The primer was thorough despite being so thin. Money was straight-forward. There were small and large versions of coins in the usual gaming stereotype—copper, silver, gold, platinum, mithril, and orichalcum. It gave some examples of worth, allowing me to translate them into dividends of ten, making copper worth one dollar, silver worth ten, gold worth a hundred, and so on. That was small coins. Large coins were worth double. A small silver could pay for a room at an inn for a week and a large orichalcum coin could be used to buy a house in the upper-class district, staff it with three people for a year, and still have enough left over for a carriage.

The city itself was laid out in rings around the Grand Duke's castle. The noble district surrounded it, followed by the upper class, middle class, and working class residential rings. The merchant ring and Adventurer ring were combined to make an extra-large outer layer which allowed outsiders to access the dungeon entrance without bothering local citizens. The outermost ring was where the Sanctuary was located, so that's where I was now. There was no restriction when it came to moving between the rings, but I'd have to register as a citizen to purchase property. From the looks of it, as outsiders, we'd have to rent a room at one of the dozens of inns located throughout the outer ring.

The primer let me know my first stop the next day shouldn't be searching for work, but getting Jason settled in at a school. Children were required to attend until they turned sixteen. There were three types—one for future adventurers, one for future merchants, and one for craftsmen. I toured all three with Jason at my side, then asked him what he wanted to do. His job title was 'Engineer', so he naturally requested to join the school for craftsmen and that's where I registered him. The Headmaster, upon hearing our circumstances, was very understanding. The tuition was waived for the first six months while we got our feet under us. Afterward, I would need to pay one large silver coin a month, which I had fixed in my head as the near equivalent of twenty American dollars.

Jason was quick to make new friends, even during our short tour of the school grounds, so I gave him permission to start classes immediately as long as he waited for me to pick him up at the end of the school day. He offered to find his own way home using 'World Map'. I wouldn't hear of it. Slavery might be illegal in this dungeon town, but criminals existed in every world and a cute bunny boy like him could easily be kidnapped for human trafficking or worse. Maybe I was being overprotective, but it was the first time I'd taken responsibility for a life aside from my own.

When I was done at the school, I went straight to the Adventurer's Guild. It was located where the town abutted a gray mountainside. The sights and sounds of the bustling populous was exactly as bewildering as stories would suggest. So many weren't human at all. I saw tall and willowy elves, Beastkin in every conceivable flavor, short and stocky dwarves, and even a few demon-looking characters walking around.

I was shouted at several times for walking where I shouldn't, although most people backed off immediately when they saw my simple garments. Just as the primer had warned, everyone recognized the Sanctuary's charity clothing and assumed it meant I was an amnesiac. More often than not, belligerent shouts turned into sympathetic offers of guidance in case I was lost or confused.

The Adventurer's Guild wasn't difficult to find, especially with so many willing to give me directions. People milled around the wide stone courtyard shared with the Guild, the Dungeon entrance, and the town Bank. From the looks of serious armor and weaponry everyone had on, they were raid parties forming up and making last-minute preparations for entering the dungeon.

Over dinner last night and breakfast this morning, I'd questioned Aron thoroughly about what route to take when it came to securing a job. In the end, I'd decided to go with my initial gut choice of monster dismantling. It didn't matter to me if people thought my cooking was already spectacular. My seeming brilliance wouldn't last long if I didn't learn about the ingredient the people of this town used most—meat.

I ignored the front doors of the Guild and went down a side alley next to it, heading directly back to the dismantling warehouse to appeal directly to that section. According to Aron, if I went in the front, I'd be asked to apply according to my job title, no matter what.

The dismantling warehouse reminded me a lot of an automotive garage, except each open-air bay had rectangular stone worktable where teams processed small, medium, and large-sized beasts. Blood was drained by hanging the beasts along the back wall and collection buckets were stacked so they were always within easy reach. The building continued back for some distance behind the bays, which I assumed provided storage space for preserving beasts until people were available to dismantle them.

"Hey, you!" a large man in a leather apron suddenly shouted at me. Leaving the middle bay, he stomped in my direction with a curved, machete-sized blade in his gloved hand. He had a shaved head and the type of hardened features that would have made me think he was former military if we'd been on Earth. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Al," I replied calmly. "Sorry for the intrusion, but I was hoping to apply with the person in charge here. Is that you?"

His eyes narrowed at me and I noticed how his gaze lingered on my clothes. "What's your job title and level?" he asked without answering.

"Chef," I said honestly. "Level one."

"So you're one of those," he murmured in returned, relaxing from his angry stance. "Are you sure you want to apply here? You could easily get work in a Guild kitchen with your title."

I knew when I was being interviewed, so I kept my reply as short and succinct as I could manage. "I don't intend to cook according to common practice here, so I thought it would be a good idea to learn about the ingredients I might be using in the future. I have Novice Knife Skills, Lifestyle Magic, Lesser Fire Magic, and Lesser Ice Magic. Unfortunately, I can't remember how to use any of them, so I'll need to be taught from scratch. I also have custody of a teenage boy. He's lost his memories like I have, so I ask for your understanding if any issues arise which require me to leave at sudden notice."

"Work here is based on commission, so it's possible to make your own hours," the Chief replied in a considering tone. "To fulfill the three month contract terms, you'll have to accumulate two thousand dismantling points. That's around twenty-five points a day. Small creatures are worth one point, mid-sized creatures are worth ten, large are a hundred, and giants are worth a thousand. There's no punishment for ruining small creatures while training, but you won't be allowed to touch anything other than common goods until your knife skills have improved and you won't begin accumulating points until you dismantle a beast we can resell. Even so, will you still persist in applying?"

I wanted to immediately say yes, but there was a few points I wanted to clarify. "Am I permitted to watch others work?"

"You may, but you only get paid for beasts you dismantle yourself."

"How is the commission for dismantling decided?"

"A price is assigned when you check out a beast from the storage warehouse. When you return the goods, you receive two percent of the final worth. For example, a horned rabbit is usually worth five small copper as a whole animal. After dismantling, it's possible to increase the value to ten small copper in processed goods, meaning you receiving a small copper for every five horned rabbits you dismantle."

"What if I mess up dismantling and the worth of the processed goods is less than the original value?"

"If it's common goods, it's no problem. The Guild understands its impossible to dismantle perfectly from the start. But if the goods are labeled rare or higher, you'll be asked to pay the difference in worth out of your wages."

I put my hand over my heart and bowed slightly in appreciation, thinking it was the type of gesture someone would make in a fantasy setting like this. "Thank you for answering my questions," I said as I raised back up. "I look forward to working here, if you'll have me."

For some reason, the burly Chief was blushing when I looked at him again. "Uh, right," he said. "If you'll wait a few minutes while I finish up, we can get your contract signed. I'd tell you to come back tomorrow, but I don't want to give the Inn Division the chance to steal you away. As you might imagine, we don't get many new applicants and the work is never-ending."

"May I watch?" I asked. "I'd like to see a Master at work. It'll make a good reference for the future."

His blush deepened even more, making his face as red as a cherry tomato. I didn't understand the reason for it until I followed him over to the middle bay where he'd been working. A few of the men in a neighboring bays whistled and catcalled like animals. I looked around in search of a woman worthy of their attention, but didn't see anyone else in the vicinity. The Chief shouted at them to get back to work around the same time the words "where'd he find such a Prince" reached my ears.

Surely they weren't talking about me? I was nothing like a Prince. I was the same height and had the same broad build as the Chief. Furthermore, my face was nothing special. I had chubby cheeks like a lot of guys in my family, acne scars, and thick black eyebrows. I'd been told by boyfriends in the past that my only saving grace were my fat lips. Cock-sucking lips, they'd called them, as if it was some kind of compliment.

Maybe I'd overdone it with my attempt at being mannerly? For untutored guys like these, it was possible even a tiny bow appeared graceful. Or maybe it was something simpler like the fact I was clean. I'd noticed more than a few people on the street reeked so bad I'd had to change my route to get away from them. I didn't think smell would be a consideration here, though. The scent of blood and raw meat was too thick in the air, making it impossible to smell anything else.

More importantly, did this mean homosexual preferences were accepted in this world? Not everyone had catcalled and whistled at me, but it said a lot that even a few had done so openly in front of their coworkers.

I forgot about the issue as the Chief went to work with his machete. The creature on the worktable was some kind of tarantula-type monster the size of a cow. It had a very large gash in its side—the death blow, I assumed. From the looks of it, the Chief had already removed the head and turned to the legs. He severed them cleanly at the body joints and set them aside, then moved on to the main body.

Using the death blow as a starting point, he slipped his machete under the spider's topmost layer of skin. I heard a crunching noise as his blade moved back and forth, one that made no sense until the Chief began rolling the hairy coat away from the underlying flesh. There was some kind of flaking exo-skeleton layer underneath. It reminded me of dried autumn leaves. I wanted to ask what it was, but the Chief seemed so focused on his work, I didn't dare interrupt.

As the Chief rolled more of the furry tarantula hide away from the main body, a second workman moved in to collect the leaf-like material into a basket, revealing a hard, black beetle shell.

That alone was enough to tell me monster physiology didn't correspond to animal physiology from Earth. I didn't know anything about spiders, but I knew that type of layering wasn't normal. It made me glad I'd decided to start my career as a dismantler. I hadn't even started work yet and I was already learning a lot about potential ingredients.

After the hairy hide was gone and the flaky layer had been completely collected, the Chief started work on the shell, once again using the death blow as a starting point to access the monster's interior. He pulled out a fist-sized gem first, followed by a bladder-looking sac, a heart, and a long string of intestines. Each went into a separate collection bucket, which were lined up on the far side of the worktable by the Chief's helper.

Anywhere else, the scene would have been horrific, but I'd been in enough butcher shops in my life that this didn't really phase me. I came from a house of old-school cooks, after all. They hated canned goods and pre-made meals. One of the very first kitchen tasks I learned was how to clean a turkey—we'd had them year around since they were cheap and bigger than chickens. There'd always been a lot of mouths to feed since my mom had been determined to feed the entire neighborhood at times. It was impossible to ever 'make too much'.

The Chief dug around in the wound for several second, then suddenly shouted, "Blast!" I thought it was a lame attempt at cussing until a blast of flame shot out of the creature's backend. I made a note—'blast' was like calling out 'grenade' on a battlefield or 'clear' in an operating room. It offered warning to the people nearby to get out of the way.

The people in the neighboring bays immediately started grumbling, their faces filling with disgust. I didn't understand it. Thankfully, the Chief's helper noticed my confusion and stopped beside me to explain, "Whoever hunted this Nero Spider left its egg sac intact. They're supposed to destroy them while the creature is still in the dungeon to make sure no babies make it out to the town. Chief Duram determined the eggs were too mature for the sac to be removed safely, so he had to blast them where they are. It keeps the town safe, but it means he won't be able to save any of the inner tendons. It's a real shame. They're delicacies. Without them, Chief will be lucky to make a profit on this job."

No wonder everyone seemed so pissed—they were upset on the Chief's behalf. "Will the person who brought it in be punished?" I asked.

The helper nodded. "Oh yeah. Chief will probably head straight to the Guildmaster's office after this to make a report. He's really skilled, you know. If it's an egg sac he couldn't remove, that means we were on the verge of a major outbreak. An Adventurer can lose an entire Rank over a mistake like that, especially if it's not their first offense."

"Belfry!" the Chief shouted. The helper jumped in place and hurried over to his side, holding out an empty bucket as the Chief scraped out the partially cooked remains of the Nero Spider shell. From the looks of it, the Chief was no longer trying to save anything. His focus seemed to be on cleaning it out like it was a pumpkin. The helper, Belfry, carried the buckets of unusable offal over to a large cart and dumped them in.

It took twenty minutes for them to finish. The Chief and Belfry carried the spider abdomen around to the side of the building and disappeared. They returned empty handed and transported the buckets of usable parts next. Only the Chief returned this time and he waved me over to join him at the table as he pulled off his gloves.

"You said you have lifestyle magic?" he asked. I nodded and watched as he laid his gloves on the bloodied worktable. "Then you should be able to use 'Cleanse'. The condition to use magic is the wisdom to use it and the ability to imagine its use. Some people like to focus their imagination with a chant or trigger words, but it's not necessary. Think of it like making a wish deep in your heart or offering a prayer to the Gods. You don't have to make a sound to be heard. Watch."

The Chief held his hand out over his gloves and stared intensely. A moment later, I saw something like a thin blue fog extend from his hand. Whenever the fog touched the gloves, the material was instantly cleaned as if they'd gone through a full laundry cycle. The fog dissipated.

"So, something like that," the Chief said. "After dismantling, it's your duty to cleanse your work area and your tools, so you should practice at home before tomorrow. Also, I'll loan you a knife and an apron for now, but you'll need to get your own by the end of the week. You won't need gloves until you move up to mid-sized monsters."

While the Chief cleansed his curved machete tool and apron, I asked, "What else can lifestyle magic do?"

"Just normal stuff. Mend tears in clothes and Purify removes bad smells in the air. You also get Preservation you can use on food and Taming for pets. I'm sure there are more out there, but those are the only ones I use. Pretty much, anytime you use a magic for the sake of maintaining a healthy home, it falls under lifestyle magic."

"Aren't those powerful spells?" I asked, already imagining how they could be applied to people. Weren't Mend and Purify healing spells? Couldn't Preservation be used to stop aging? And Taming—I shuddered to think how it could be used to enslave people.

"They can be, depending on how you use them," the Chief replied. "But that can be said of any magic in the right hands. If you're ready, we can head into the Guild. I'll need to speak to the Guildmaster while you're filling out your paperwork, so do your best not to get stolen by another Division."

Going in through the Guild's back door left a very different impression than all the stories where the hero enters through the front. The first room was another warehouse with the word 'Depository' painted along one wall. Burlap tarps were laid out in a grid arrangement with dead beasts piled up on them. Workers in matching uniforms dug through the piles with one hand while marking off the contents on their clipboards.

I could see an open doorway leading out to the main Guildhall, but the Chief led me through a different door. I mentally designated it the breakroom, which the Chief confirmed by pointing out the preservation shelf where I could leave my lunch if I brought one. It had a sink with an attached water pump, a stove with kettles for boiling water, and I was surprised to see a french press for coffee sitting on the counter. Some things were apparently universal.

We went down a long hallway with doors marked Adventurer Records, Accounting Records, Dungeon Records, Historical Records, and Maps. Where the hallway turned, the last door on the end was marked 'Employee Records'. The Chief led me inside.

A scrawny man with the furry, rounded ears of a bear cub sat behind a large desk, surrounded by wall-to-wall filing cabinets made of wood. He glanced up at us, then went back to writing on a piece of paper with a quill pen.

"What do you need, Chief?" the Bearkin asked.

"Need to register a new worker."

"Does he have a Guild card?"

"Sanctuary reborn, so I doubt it."

"How much has he forgotten?"

"He's level one, so I assume everything."

The scritch-scritch of the Bearkin secretary's pen stopped for a moment, then picked up again. While he continued writing, he reached out blindly to open a desk drawer and retrieved several sheets of paper. "Have him get a Guild card, then fill this out and return it."

"There was an incident with an egg sac I need to report to the Guildmaster. Can I entrust him to you?"

The secretary sighed, but set his quill in its holder and nodded. "Of course," he said. "I could use a break from these reports anyway."

The Chief left without another word, leaving me to stand like an idiot in front of the secretary's desk. The Bearkin looked up at me from his chair, then raised his eyebrow and smirked. "Aren't you too pretty for a dirty job like dismantling?" he asked.

I spluttered. He laughed and gestured for me to sit down. As I took my seat, I had to ask. "Am I really that attractive to people here? My memory suggests I should be average."

"I see your memories are degraded to that degree," he said. "Would you like me to be blunt?"

"Please," I begged.

"You have foreign appeal. Black hair isn't common in Alisfar and your accent is unusual. You have the fit body of a warrior and the soft face of a Prince. That isn't a typical combination, either. And then there's your body language. People can take one look at you and tell you're a kind person. It makes for a very appealing overall package."

I felt my cheeks heat up. The Bearkin let out another chuckle, then dug into his desk drawers again to retrieve a crystal ball glued to a wood box. "Normally, I'd take you up front to get a Guild card, but I don't want anyone stealing you away from the Chief. It'll be too much fun watching him deal with someone like you, so we're going to make everything official before you leave this room. Sound good?"

"That'd be preferable," I replied. "My job title is Chef, but I'd like to start my career by getting to know the common ingredients around here."

"That's understandable. If you'll put your hand on the status reader, we'll get started." I did as he asked and my status appeared in front of me again. Somehow, between my first reading and now, I'd jumped to level three and my attributes had improved by several digits. There was also a new section listing my titles, which I had three—Sanctuary Reborn, Older Brother (provisional), and (social) Prince.

"It's a good thing we're doing this in private," he murmured, his brows furrowing as he read the crystal's output. "You have noble blood. Are you sure you want to sign on as a dismantler? It's not a job noblemen would normally find acceptable."

"I do," I replied firmly. "I'm assuming you're worried I'll be mad later if I regain my memories? If that happens, I won't hold you accountable for my choices."

"Very well. I see you were also Blessed with an Item Box and Oracle. Do you remember how to use them?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"Item Box allows you to hold items in a pocket dimension where their weight becomes non-existent. I'd like to ask you not use it while working, else you might be accused of stealing materials. As for Oracle, I believe it'll be a big help during your training. Oracle allows you to see clues left by the Gods. I don't have it myself, but I'm told its a very helpful Blessing and I wouldn't be surprised if it provided you step-by-step instructions to dismantling. If you ever see a person marked by your Oracle skill, you should call out to them, even if they're a stranger. Something about them will be beneficial to you, although it'll be your job to figure out how."

"That's really good to know. What about my Analyze skill? I thought that might be helpful, too, but I haven't figured out how to use it yet."

"That's because it's a set spell requiring a medium. You can apply Analyze to a monocle or a magnifying glass, then anything you see through the lens will be analyzed. Merchants like to apply it to display stands since the information provided is always trustworthy. I'm actually surprised to see you have it. Normally it's a skill used by crafters and merchants. Chefs shouldn't need it."

"I'm picky about my ingredients," I said. "Maybe that's why I have it."

"That makes sense. Is there anything on your status you don't want visible? If so, now's the time to speak up if you want to hide anything."

"Can you hide my surname?" I asked. "I'd prefer for people to treat me as a commoner. Hide my skills and blessings, as well, please."

"Done. The Guildmaster and certain government officials will still have access to this information, but no one else will see it unless you give them explicit permission to view your unaltered status. You can remove your hand now."

I removed my hand from the crystal ball and a metal card slid out of a slot in the side of the box. The secretary immediately handed it over to me. "Please verify it."

I did as he asked, but I didn't know what I was looking for. It had my name at the top, "Chef Albert". Underneath was my current level on a line of its own. Then there were two columns showing my attributes along with a letter grade, such as Strength – C and Dexterity – C.

"What are the attribute grades?" I asked.

"It goes from A to E. An E grade is way below average and you only see that in people with disabilities. D is dysfunctional. C is common or average. B is better than average and A is amazing. Above that, there's also S for superhuman, although an attribute has to be higher than a thousand to get that particular grade. You usually don't see that outside of demigods."

I decided to pretend I didn't hear the comment about demigods for now. "And this big letter at the bottom? It says C by itself."

"That's your Guild rank. It's determined by averaging out your attribute grades. If you want to do any Adventurer jobs on the side, you may, but you can only choose requests equal or lower to your averaged rank. I wouldn't recommend doing any right now, though. If you accept a request and fail, you have to pay ten percent of the commission reward, which gets added to the overall reward for whomever completes it. The only exception are those stamped as Guild repeatable. They have no time limit, so they're impossible to fail. If you're going to attempt any, you should aim for those until you have a better idea of what you're doing."

"I appreciate the advice, and I'll do exactly as you say," I replied.

The secretary smiled at me, then dropped a stack of papers on the desk. "Then please fill out this paperwork and we'll go over your contact together."

Using a quill wasn't like using a pen. It took me half an hour to get used to it and almost another full hour to get through the stack of papers. I was very glad the Secretary was willing to go through the contract point by point, showing me places where I might get in trouble with future job contracts. According to him, some employers liked to put in terms requiring exclusivity, blocking me from accepting side jobs with the Guild. Others might try to rewrite the time limit so I'd be tied to them indefinitely. Of course, I could always break a contract I found unfair, but doing so meant I'd have a mark on my status as an Oathbreaker. Some employers were understanding and would listen to my circumstances while others would consider me instantly disqualified when they saw the title.

I thought we'd be done there, but the secretary surprised me by demanding I let him buy me lunch. I looked at him suspiciously, which only made him laugh. "I'm not asking you on a date," he said. "I'm married and it's normal to welcome new employees with a meal. Besides, it'll be fun to tease the Chief."

As he led me out of the room and down the hall, I prompted, "How so?"

The secretary glanced back at me, then shook his head in disbelief. "I'll be nice and explain it to you. The Chief prefers men and, as I mentioned before, you're very appealing. He kept it together pretty well earlier, but I have no doubt his head exploded up in the Guildmaster's office. If you're not interested, I'd appreciate it if you let the Chief know as soon as possible."

"I do prefer men, but right now is..." I trailed off, unable to find the words to explain.

The secretary nodded in sympathy. "I get it. You were only reborn a few days ago. I'll mention to the Chief it would be a good idea to give you some space. I'll pass word around to the others who might be interested, too, otherwise you'll be inundated with dinner invitations."

I winced at the thought of the Bearkin going around, telling everyone to leave me alone. "I'll let people know for myself," I said. "If you go around doing it, they might think we're an item."

He laughed. "That might be fun."

"Please don't make things harder on me, Mister."

"Fine, fine. Just never call me Mister again. It's Frank."

"Call me Al." The hallway emptied us out behind the Guildhall's service counters where women steadily handled the paperwork associated with organizing a large amount of Adventurers. There seemed to be three counters in total. The first was a registration desk where Adventurers could update their Guild tags. The second was a line for registering the acceptance of a request. The third was where people went to drop off monster corpses and claim their rewards. There was an open pass-through at the end of the counter where people could head straight into the depository.

Going through a door at the other end of the reception counters, Frank gave me a quick tour of the main room. He pointed out the Bingo boards where requests were separated by type, then arranged further according to rank. If I ever wanted to take a request, I merely needed to take the posted paper to the middle reception desk along with my Guild tag.

Off to the side, where they wouldn't be in the way of foot traffic, tables were arranged to allow party members to gather for planning sessions. At this time of day, there weren't a lot of Adventurers around, but the handful present were being attended by waitresses serving drinks and meals. I was very glad to see there were no soup bowls.

On the far wall, next to the doors leading to the kitchen, menus were posted along with the price. It appeared meat was the standard no matter the time of day. The only side dishes were boiled potato, cheese rinds, onion skewers, and apples. Drinks were limited to water, black tea, coffee, beer, mead, ale, and red wine.

As soon as we sat down, a waitress brought us a basket of bread rolls. Unlike those in the Sanctuary, these were well made without any scorch marks. They were shaped like they'd been cooked in a muffin tin, as well. My relief didn't go unnoticed by Frank.

"Want to share?" he asked.

"I was afraid the rolls from the Sanctuary were normal," I said. "No offense to the Priests there, but their bread is hard as a rock and half burnt. Seeing these, I can tell baking powder exists, as does muffin pans. It means I'll be able to cook more familiar meals as soon as I can get the money to buy ingredients."

"You're a foreign chef?" the waitress asked.

I glanced at her in surprise, not having noticed she'd lingered. "I suppose you can say that. As you can see from my clothes, I don't know a lot. I remember a bunch of recipes, though."

"Would you—" the waitress began, but Frank held up a hand to cut her off.

"He already has a job as a dismantler. Those are his wishes and the wishes of the Chief, so don't bother trying to steal him. The paperwork is already done."

"Aww, hell. And here I thought we could add something new on the menu."

"Maybe you still can," I said with a small smile. "I'm allowed to work side jobs, after all. Would your boss be interested in hiring me as a consultant?"

"Deal!" the waitress shouted before Frank could say anything. "Not a word, Frank! Just do up the paperwork for us, will you?"

Frank sighed. "Very well. Al, would you be agreeable to a commission of one large silver coin for each menu item you provide?"

I had to think about that. Once I showed other people how to make a meal, it wasn't like I'd get royalties each time it was ordered. In the short term, a large silver coin was enough to pay for a room at an inn for two weeks. In the long term, it wouldn't be extra income I could count on.

"I could show you a few things under those terms, but I'd like to speak to a merchant about patenting a few types of sauces that could be used as meal additives. That's assuming you use a patent system."

"We do, but you're talking about some pretty luxurious stuff for such a low level chef," Frank commented. "Only nobles and the upper class know the secrets of sauce-making. Are you sure you won't regret sharing the information once your memory returns?"

"I don't think so. It's not like I invented these recipes and they're used even by commoners where I'm from."

"Oh? Have you remembered something?" Frank asked.

"Nothing worth sharing. Only that I'm from a place where commoners and nobles have the same rights. Also, the meals there had a lot of variety, even when using the same ingredients, because everyone had access to sauces."

"We'll give you a large gold piece if you'll teach us how to make sauces we can use with meat," the waitress said, inserting herself between me and Frank. "Frank will also do the paperwork for you to patent it and we'll give you fifty percent royalties from every bottle we sell."

I wanted to cheer. "That'd be great. Truthfully, I don't really want to deal with merchants myself. I don't have the experience to keep myself from being cheated, so I'd be very happy if you'll take charge of it. I hope you're prepared, though. If your kitchen has the ingredients on hand, I can teach you ten different sauces right now."

The waitress squeaked. "H-Hold on!" she nearly shouted. "I'll be right back." She ran into the kitchen and I could hear her bellowing 'emergency' even in the dining area. A few moments later, a man in a stained white apron came out and hurried over to our table.

"Is it true?" he asked in a near whisper. "You'll really teach us ten different sauces?"

"As long as you're willing to give me royalties off those you can package and resell, then yes," I replied. "Although I've agreed to work as a dismantler, I'd like to secure as much passive income as I can."

"Passive income?" Frank asked. "What's that?"

"Income you get without having to actually work for it," I said. "Royalties are a good example. I only have to provide the initial idea, then others will do the work of making it and selling it."

"I never considered it like that. I suppose that explains how nobles can live without appearing to work."

"Again, this is a normal thing where I'm from, although there weren't a lot of chances to use it. There was a lot of variety already on the market by the time I was born. It's very, very different here. You don't even have barbecue sauce, which I thought would be normal considering how much meat you consume."

I glanced at the number of meat options on the menu and shuddered. It made me crave something else—anything else.

"I talk like this, but there's no way you can trust my skill without seeing it for yourself. Why don't I make our lunch for today, Frank? As long as you pay for the ingredients, you'll still be treating me to a meal."

"Why don't we move this into the kitchen, then?"