My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

The Culinary Guild of Whetvale was smaller than Marron expected, but it was still beautiful. She had seen the exterior of the Adventurer's Guild, and outside there were quest boards filled with requests. She had seen weapon racks as she peered through the windows.

In comparison, this guild had copper pans, polished counters, and displays of rare ingredients sealed beneath enchanted glass.

The smell of yeast, charred peppers, spun sugar, and the tantalizing aroma of chocolate clung in the air. Chefs in crisp uniforms hurried through the hallways, some balancing trays of pastries, others whispering over spice jars as they cooked.

Marron felt her stomach rumble and her heartbeat quicken. She wasn't here as a customer, or a thief.

Her nerves prickled all the more when she noticed how eyes followed Mokko.

"That's the girl with the big culinary guardian," someone whispered as they passed.

"I thought those went extinct years ago," another voice murmured.

Marron bit the inside of her cheek. Mokko tilted his head at the attention, ears twitching. He seemed more confused than embarrassed, but the stares made Marron straighten her shoulders. If Mokko was unusual, then so be it. He was hers.

"Do we...really have to register my food cart?" Marron whispered to Mokko. His nose twitched, but nodded firmly. "We have to. The receptionist will explain."

The receptionist's desk gleamed at the end of the lobby, staffed by a poised young elf with snowy hair braided neatly over one shoulder. Her nametag read Feyrith Wyldeborn.

"Welcome to the Culinary Guild!" Feyrith greeted, her voice musical but practiced. "How can I help you today?"

Marron smoothed her apron. "I'm Marron Louvel. I want to register."

"Ah." Feyrith flipped through her ledger until her finger landed on a line. "Here you are. Your sales are impressive. All right, we'll register you as a Culinary Guild affiliate, since you aren't a member."

She must have read the confusion on Marron's face. Feyrith took a deep breath and explained like she'd answered this question dozens of times before.

Registration just lets people know your cart is recognized as a merchant's establishment—not a smuggling operation."

"Smuggling?" Marron echoed, startled.

Feyrith's smile tilted knowingly. "You have no idea how many people think they're being clever by hiding forbidden items in a traveling cart. If you're registered, it makes clear you're not interested in those kinds of… shenanigans."

Marron blinked, then gave a half-laugh. "I only hide leftovers, if that counts."

The receptionist's eyes softened as she passed over a stamped certificate. "Then you'll do fine. Head down the hall, take a left. Guildmaster Halloway's office is just past the tapestry."

"Thank you!"

She walked down the corridor, Lucy bobbing happily at her side. Her nerves grew with every step. The guild wasn't just a building—it was a world, with rules and whispers she barely understood.

The hallway opened into a quieter wing, lined with framed works of art. One tapestry, hung prominently, wasn't the mythic scene she half-expected but rather a finely embroidered crest: crossed spoons framed by golden wheat stalks, with the words "Guildmaster Halloway's Office" stitched in silver thread.

Marron paused before it, smoothing her palms against her apron.

Before she could knock, the door opened. Guildmaster Halloway's muscular form still threw her off a little, mixed with his defining features: kind brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and a trimmed beard.

"Marron Louvel," he said warmly. "Good. I was hoping we'd speak today."

Whispers followed from further down the hall.

"That's her,"

"The one with the huge guardian..."

But Halloway paid them no mind. He gestured toward the room behind him.

"Come in, child. We have much to discuss."

+

Halloway's office was cozy but impressive, lined with shelves of cookbooks and strange relics—old knives, carved ladles, pots hammered with foreign runes. A tapestry hung on the far wall: silhouettes holding fabled utensils, a glowing skillet, a celestial ladle, a goblet that shimmered even in shadow… and one unmistakably shaped like a food cart.

Marron froze, her eyes caught on that last silhouette.

Halloway noticed. "Ah. That painting catches many eyes. The Legendary Tools, or so the stories say."

Marron swallowed. "So they're real?"

"Real enough to inspire fear—and ambition." Halloway settled behind his desk, steepling his fingers. "They say the tools once traveled with chefs who shaped history. Utensils that carried memory, flavor, even magic into the future. No one's seen them in centuries."

His gaze softened. "Still, rumors have a grain of truth. That's why Zehra watches you. She wonders if you carry one."

Marron's chest tightened. "But… I don't know if I do."

"That's the point," Halloway said simply. "You shouldn't know. Not yet."

Mokko shuffled closer to Marron, looking unusually serious. "What about me? They whispered about me out there."

Halloway studied him for a long moment, then chuckled low. "Ah. A guardian from the older bloodlines. That explains it. Most culinary guardians these days are small—cat-sized, fox-sized. No need to be big when there aren't traveling chefs on the roads anymore. But you—"

He gestured at Mokko's sturdy frame.

"You're a remnant of when chefs wandered for months, and needed protectors large enough to face beasts and bandits. That's why people notice."

Mokko's ears twitched, pride and embarrassment warring on his face. "…So I'm rare?"

"Rare, and valuable," Halloway said gently. "Stay close to your chef. Guardians and cooks are strongest together."

Marron rested a hand on Mokko's fur, her throat tight. The tapestry, the whispers, the word Tools—all of it swirled in her mind.

Halloway leaned back. "You've stirred curiosity, Marron. Some good, some dangerous. But keep your focus on cooking. That's how truth always shows itself in the end."

Marron nodded slowly, clutching her notebook to her chest. Cooking. That, at least, she could hold onto.

She tucked her notebook away. "Okay, thank you, guildmaster. If you'll excuse us--"

Knock knock knock!

The urgency of the knocking made her pause.

"Enter," Halloway said.

The door creaked open to reveal a young adventurer with his hair plastered to his forehead, his armor scuffed and dented. He looked barely old enough to hold a sword, but his eyes were wide with urgency.

"Guildmaster! Five—almost a full party. They barely staggered back from the dungeon at the edge of town. The infirmary's already full."