The Wielder of Death Magic

Chapter 510: Standards

Dessert and main-dish, the delicacy of the exotic ingredients being used. Tristin, else known as the ‘eccentric cook’ always had a way of dealing with rare and difficult items. Dungeon-Style cooking could also be in her arsenal if she so chooses. Opposed to earlier, she brought her meal to the judge’s panel quickly. The Director nodded, sniffed, gave an exalted sigh, then dug into the heart. The wild, the forest, hunting instinct, the law of survival – all these emotions and feelings laid on the pallet by a single scoop. Impressed to the point of having another bite, “-Congratulations, Tristin Algeria, you’ve passed the exams with flying colors.”

Her accomplishment sent the other students in a blazing fury. “I’ve done it,” her pink teddy held out in front, “-thank you, director,” following a nod, the teddy squeezed to suffocation.

“Go on,” he gestured to the other instructors, “-they wait...”

Second came a lesser-known student. The meal was very much beyond what other institutions were capable of teaching. “Bland, not much inspiration,” criticized he, “-you failed. Try again in a month.”

“Yes, Chef,” no choking up, no tension, no pressure, “-I will do my best.” He left as respectfully as he came. Setting the rumored dictatorial-style of teaching aside, Leko’s Academy offered great effort to those who willed to be better. The student that failed, even though it was deemed bland, the effort was in his sweat, face, and shaking hands. Hard work isn’t a guarantee of success, neither is talent. A stroke of luck is required as well. Emphasis wasn’t always on producing the best, no far from it. If everyone stands in the light, who’ll manage the shadows, who’ll take the hit for the stars, who are going to assist the suns... A prime example left shortly after. Average, nothing more, nothing less. He did as was told, worked hard, and expected to live a normal life. Granted noble blood runs in his vein, tis beside the point. He’ll become an assistant, one with the qualities of a top-class chef. Teamwork, sacrifice, they knew it all too well.

Here so arrived the others in a train-like manner. The dishes were aromatic, delicious, and appetizing. Syndra had her face stuffed after the third tasting.

“Very good,” said he gently lowering the knife, “-all of you have improved massively. Honestly, this standard is better than last-year. Nonetheless, I have to compare these dishes to one Tristin made earlier,” the looks of achievement dulled to a frown, dark-clouds went about their heads. “I’m afraid you have to retake the graduation exams in one month. Thank you for the dishes, we’ll see you very soon.”

.....

“Yes Chef,” echoed the stage. Arms wrapped around shoulders, they walked amicably, joking to appease the pain of failure. Hiding emotions behind a stoic face – hiding the gut turning agony... reality at its finest. A drunkard may live in the world of pleasure for hours on end, yet, once the fantasy disrobes into reality; the body ails, the mind crumbles, and the stomach turns.

“How sad,” whispered Emmy not wanting on drawing attention.

“There’s nothing to be sad about,” returned Igona, “-failing in something means one dared to try something new. Failing is the staple of growing, if you don’t make mistakes, it’s not worth the journey. They understand and have accepted the level-of difference in-between.”

*Tlss,* stoves chugged, ingredients flipped, and the scent dissolved. The personification of the gap, white-hair wiping sweat with a piece of cloth. A semi-smirk, no wasted movements; he readied his dishes.

*Clop, clop, clop,* dessert in one hand, main-dish in another, they came to rest on the table. The flavor underneath a lid wanted to break free; the tightness of anticipation, Syndra’s mouth watered before the item was presented.

The final piece unveiled, at last, needly arranged portions of ingredients were about in almost a painting manner. Seconds elapsed before another word said, silence in the stage described the level of culinary-arts before them. Loron’s chefs moved onto the stage.

“Please, dig in,” said he smugly.

Morning turned afternoon, the sun-lit outside grew hotter and brighter. Graduation exams ended about four hours ago. The director sat in a stupor in the shade of a very-filled tree on the lawn after the parking lot. Said area wasn’t made to rest and sit for it suited decorative purposes more. Nonetheless, the quietude gave time to reflect. ‘Kyle Darker,’ back against the tree, ‘-a phenom. I had no idea he grew into such a beast. What he made is red-collar level, I’m not even kidding. How can a mere graduating student do so much? The skill-gap can’t be crossed, he’s moved into his own style of cooking. It reflected Lady Yanni’s elegance and refinement. An artwork on a plate. Cle is in for a treat.’ Then and there, doubt shot into thoughts. ‘-Will Igna be ok? All of his dishes haven’t glazed past Blue-collar. At this rate, he’s going to fail. Maybe...’ the eyes shut, ‘-maybe it’s too early for him to take part in Cle. We forced him into it without considering other chefs out there. Compared to Tristin and Kyle, he’s lacking. What accomplishment does he have, working at Loron and training under Lady Yuki? Kyle’s done the same and even then, exceeded expectations. He’s trained since middle-school at Yanni’s style. There’s no edge to him, oh god, we might have ended a promising career without it starting. I should have known how hard it is.’

The event drew in more viewers each year. Publicity from Kyle and others from the world around have garnered the attention of nobility and royalty. One staple of Cle is the fame of the participating chefs. To be precise, the version Igna’s attending is for apprentice and graduating youths. There’s another event, for already seasoned chefs who have their colored collars assigned. Tis the last hurdle for those who want to become the next masters of the kitchen.

In it, graduated students have to showcase their best dish, cooking abilities, and other skills, to the cameras, live audience, and very judging chefs. Lady Yanni, Leko, and a few more have attended the occasion each year. Onlookers are baffled, popularity rises,

and the world is taken by storm. Similar to how a worker has to craft a resume and ‘sell’ his abilities to the employee, Cle, is the same. Though, the prestigious medium guarantees some sort of support as opposed to rejection.

“I can’t believe the director had so much praise for the dish,” murmurs rose beyond the slightly sloped hill, “-President, you’ve done the academy a great favor. Winning Cle is the next goal, isn’t it?” chatters of infatuated younger lass tinged the tongue.

‘I need to know,’ he rose to step out the shade, “-Kyle.”

“Director, what a pleasant surprise,” said he courteously smiling.

“Can we have a word in private,” the girls around moved to stand behind the boy.

“Girl, please,” he nodded and they vanished.

“Quite popular, aren’t you,” voiced Leko in a deep tone.

“Not as popular as thee imagines,” he sighed, “-those girls are conniving and want to get on my good side. You know, kissing up to people so that one can move to higher places in life. It disgusts me.”

“Quite honest for thy age, the sense of justice sure is beyond what I’ve come to expect from you,” they moved into the hidden shades.

“Director,” resting against the tree, “-I get the feeling you hate me or something.”

“Didn’t we move past that relation earlier?”

“Yes, the explaining of us not working out as a team. I know the world knows, our cooking style is too different. I was fueled by anger; I want and will become the best chef. Lady Yanni took me in, and here I am, sitting at your side, sir,” intonations in the voice showed a calmer demeanor.

“The dish you made earlier,” voiced Leko, “-that’s not your best, is it?”

“Right,” he beamed with a crinkled eye, “-I can’t play all my cards here,” the smile grew obnoxious, “-Cle is the real goal. I’ve worked a whole year to come up and perfect the dish.”

“Expected as much.”

“I better leave,” he dusted off the pants, “-see you later, director. Do make sure that boy is readied for the event. It’s a war between me and him. If he fails to live up to the expectation; the repercussion is going to last until death. Trust me,” the mood turned sour, “-for someone who laid his hands on my precious fiancé, I’ll spare no pity and drive him to the ground.” Winds shook the leaves, Kyle’s figure vanished over the slope. Words of warning or threats, take it how it appeared, one thing was sure – he hated Igna.

“Syndra, were you eavesdropping?”

“Director,” she jumped, “-n-no. Ok, fine, yes, I was.”

“Then you heard about the warning,” he ambled out the shade, “-why are you here?”

“To show this,” she gave a magazine, “-Igna’s on the front page. The Arcanum is going wild about the coming event. Even people who don’t cook as much are sharing the battle. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Was that it?” he paused.

“No, mother said to come and fetch you.”

“Sure, lead the way.” A quick browse on social media displayed the hype. ‘-People are going crazy. The argument is on who’s cuter?’ the eyes narrowed, “-am I reading this correctly?”

“You saw it, huh?” she chuckled, “-they’re fighting over who’s prettier. I can’t take these comments,” her fingers moved to, “-here,” showed a particular argument.

“Kyle is overrated, a pretty boy with white hair. Who cares, I’ve only seen him around other girls, it breaks my heart. Igna’s more refined, the dark-hair and toned skin complexion rubs me a particular way.”

“Shut up, you freak. Kyle beats him in the looks department. Who in their damned mind is going to refuse those grey eyes, firm body, and sharp jaws.”

“Igna’s prettier.”

“No, Kyle is!”

“There,” a photo comparison burst forth, “-I’ve heightened their main attributes.” It detailed in red the definition of their features, mannerism, and interviews.

“I can’t,” he stopped, “-this is too much,” he burst into laughter, “-are you serious, they’re worried about looks more than cooking. People are crazy.”

Going over the comments gave topics to converse until the restaurant rose in over yonder. The empty yard and benches brought suspicion. The smell of burning cringed the nose, “-what’s happened here?”

“I don’t know,” they entered, “-mother called and asked to bring you.” The deeper they walked, the thicker grew the smoke – stepping onto the stairs made the lungs cry.

“We should evacuate if there’s a fire,” said Leko.

“No, we would have felt the flames by now,” she leaped till the summit, “-it’s the kitchen.”

“IS THIS SHIT WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SERVE?” screamed Lady Yuki, “-DO YOU KNOW HOW FAR BACK YOU ARE? I’VE JUST SEEN KYLE’S DISH. IGNA!” the muffled scream soon amplified by a single push against the door.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!” Igona and Joe grabbed her hands, “-I’M GOING TO KILL YOU,” the fallen knife gave a faint opening into what transpired. The stove flamed, broth shot across the walls, vegetables murdered, and meat in bins.

*Igna 0, Loron 324.* Burnt marks ran across his face, knife wounds on the neck and hands. The gifted apron was held by a single string; the bandana laid in a puddle of goo.

‘I’m done,’ Igna’s fatigued stance crumbled onto the floor, ‘-this is too much. I can’t do it anymore. My hand hurts, my face’s on fire. The abuse from Yuki’s getting on my nerves. How pathetic can I be, losing so many times in a row? We’ve stood here since forever and I’ve yet to win a single time. Red-collared chefs are another breed.’

“Are you going to sit there and cry?” yelled Yuki, “-YANNI’S STUDENT IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU. Man, I regret ever teaching!” she snarled, the words cut and it came out truer than ever.

“Regret teaching me,” he clambered to a stand, “-my lady,” the face gritted, “-I’ve had just about enough,” *Blood-Arts: Crimson Threads,* the knife flew into his hands, “-say that shit one more time, and I swear,” *snap,* it graze her cheeks and impaled the walls behind, “-I’ll use thee as my next ingredient.”

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