So, alone in the tent as usual, I once again kicked off my daily magic training. To start, I let out a grunt and focused my mind on my fingertips. I felt a warm sensation flow from the center of my body to my hands—this was mana. Back when I’d first started, the feeling of this unknown substance sloshing around inside me had felt gross. At this point, though, I’d gotten used to it.
“Create Water,” I chanted. At my command, water suddenly sprang forth from thin air and filled a bowl in front of me. Because I’d been gifted all this magical knowledge and talent right from the start, I could abbreviate most chants. For beginner spells like Create Water, simply saying its name was enough. If I practiced more, I’d probably be able to cast it silently—no words at all.
On a sidenote, the magic in this world was spirit magic. Basically, you used your own mana to call upon the spirits, and they would cast the actual spells for you. To learn a new spell, you basically had to keep using spirit magic over and over, building up your connection with the spirits until the incantation naturally popped into your head. Your bond with the spirits was everything with this type of magic, but I’d never actually seen one of these spirits myself. Not that it mattered since I was able to cast spells no problem.
“Water Needle!” I chanted.
The water in the bowl formed into a tiny, sharp needle that hovered in midair. I started moving it around inside the tent, making it zigzag and spin like a bullet.
Magic was quite flexible in this world—you could customize it depending on how clearly and precisely you could project your vision of the spell to the spirits using your mana. Its effect and range changed depending on the amount of mana you used. Two casters using the same spell could create such different results that it was almost as if they’d used two entirely different spells.
Water Needle was an attack spell known for its inconspicuousness. But by tweaking its thickness and manifestation period, it could double as a pressure-point needle for preparing fish. Apparently, when dealing with spirit fish—magical creatures made entirely of water—only Water Needle could hit the exact spots needed to prep them properly. Thankfully, because it was used in cooking, my magical chef knowledge allowed me to handle it easily.
I channeled more mana into the needle and developed a clearer image in my mind. Spin...spin...spin. I visualized compressing the water and making it rotate like a high-speed drill. Let’s face it, rotation is king.
“Haah! Water Needle!”
The needle spun at high speed as it pierced the ground. Seeing the gouged-out earth, I couldn’t help but pump my fist at its penetrating power. It turned out exactly as I’d imagined. Then, I increased the number of needles to practice manipulating them separately as well as combining them into a single, larger one.
There were a few reasons I chose water magic for training. First of all, fire magic was out of the question inside a tent. There was the obvious risk of setting it ablaze, and even through the tent walls, the glow from the flames would be too noticeable from outside.
Earth magic was also something I wanted to avoid—it would mess up the inside of the tent, and returning the soil to its original state would cost extra mana.
Then there was wind magic, the effects of which were hard to see clearly, so it was a no on that one. The same went for nonelemental magic that resembled telekinesis.
I could’ve tried holy magic too, which included a bunch of healing spells, but it would’ve been hard to test those out since I was healthy. Though, from what I knew, holy magic was also useful for things like getting rid of poison or keeping hunted prey fresh. There was also body enhancement, but after just a little practice, my muscles became incredibly sore. I didn’t want to push it and risk messing myself up.
Apparently, elemental magic—earth, water, fire, and wind—was considered basic here, so it had made sense to start with that. This was according to the cheat knowledge I had gotten from the god, so I trusted it. So I ended up sticking with water magic for my training. It was low risk, and using it inside the tent didn’t look suspicious at all. Plus, if I accidentally spilled some water, it would just soak into the ground without a trace.
“My mana control has come a long way. But I’m itching to try out some stronger spells,” I said to myself.
But there was no way I could just blast a powerful spell inside this tiny tent.
“Some of the spells have seriously intense names.”
It made me wonder if these spells in my knowledge from the god were really meant for cooking at all. Take, for example, the fire magic “Shadowflame Annihilation Circle,” which totally sounded like something a goth middle schooler would come up with in their fantasies. It would embrace the target in pitch-black flames strong enough to burn right through dragon scales. As it turned out, there was actually a recipe that used that spell, made with dragon parts...
Actually, I guess it’s the other way around—most of my cooking spells are actually battle spells repurposed for the kitchen. Of course, with the mana I have right now, I can’t even hope to cast something that intense, so it’s a waste of time even thinking about it. It’s not like I have any dragon meat lying around either. And I can’t even imagine the kind of havoc it could wreak if I used it as a weapon.
I kept grinding away with water magic training. I’d probably been using magic for about thirty minutes when I felt a strong sense of fatigue.
“Mana’s almost gone, huh...” I mumbled to myself.
The first time I ever used magic, I got way too excited and spammed spells nonstop. Naturally, I ran out of mana in no time. It didn’t knock me out or anything, but the exhaustion was brutal—even lifting a finger felt like a chore. If that were to happen in the middle of a fight with a monster, I’d be dead for sure. That’s why learning to recognize the signs of mana depletion was absolutely vital.
“Guess that’s it for today. Time for some food.”
I opened the storage space to start prepping a meal. It felt the same as always, like whatever I focused on just manifested itself from an invisible hole in the air. This was another perk of being a magical chef—basically, a time-stopping magic storage box, complete with auto-sorting, filtering, and instant retrieval functions. The storage was quite massive too, like multiple gymnasiums worth of space.
Magical chef is totally a cheat job.
I pulled out a spoon, a kitchen knife, and a pot. The storage was stocked full of parting gifts from the god. The list: an all-purpose kitchen knife, ladle, cooking chopsticks, spatula, large and small pots, a frying pan, cutting board, fine strainer, colander, small prep table, five spoons, five forks, five knives, five pairs of chopsticks, five flat plates, five deep plates, five cups, and five soup bowls. The materials were pretty standard—steel and ceramic—but the craftsmanship was top-tier. Like something made by a renowned artisan.
There was also a magic candlestick in storage that automatically lit up with magical light, but considering the situation I was in, it was way too risky to use. If my parents ever saw it, that would’ve been the end of me.
“Well, this kitchen knife technically isn’t a magic item, but it’s still way nicer than anything I used back in my old world.”
I waddled over to the entrance of the tent. Sticking my tiny arm through an opening, I felt around for any grass growing just outside. The moment my hand brushed against something, I yanked it free.
“Still looks like a bunch of weeds, as always.”
What am I gonna do with this, you ask? Eat it, of course. This is my main course for tonight. Well...not just tonight. I’ve been eating nothing but this stuff lately.
I started humming to myself. At first glance, it looked like any old weed—something you’d find growing just about anywhere. A few tufts poked out in front of the tent, mixed in with the rest of the grass, and there was probably a bunch of it growing in town. But thanks to the food knowledge the god gave me, I knew that this wasn’t just some random weed. It was a medicinal herb called “jörgyn grass.” It didn’t taste great, and the effects were nothing to write home about, so it wasn’t something you’d go out of your way to harvest. Still, it was definitely edible.
Getting it was easy. First, I’d untie the rope wrapped around my torso, a feat that was probably impossible for an average four-year-old, but a piece of cake for someone with the mind of an adult. Then I’d just stick my hand out through the tent’s opening, feel around until I found what seemed like jörgyn grass, and yank it out. I’d gotten pretty good at this point, and my success rate was around seventy percent.
Next up, I cast Create Hot Water into the pot. No need for too much since it was only to blanch the grass.
“Next, finely chop the jörgyn grass...”
The rhythmic chop-chop of the knife echoed inside the tent. Just hearing that sound made me feel like I was actually cooking—though in reality, it was more like playing house.
After I chopped the jörgyn grass into small enough pieces for it to get a little sticky, I put it in the pot. Then, I used magic to bring the water to a boil again as I stirred. The dish was already halfway done at this point.