Chapter 5: Chicken and potatoes, yes, but…!

Life is a trial. I wanted to pass this first battle in hard mode. The bacon went back in the storage compartment, much to the confusion of the humans.

I smiled.

I could make four pieces of honey chicken from the hen I had butchered before the tourists came. But had five mouths to feed.

A part of me wanted to take the bacon out. To make something simpler.

I smiled.

No, I needed bacon for something that I could not defeat as easily as these already hungry tourists.

I had two cooking pits to work with. Both meals were best when they were warm, and steam was rising off them. One ate with their eyes and nose just as much as with their mouths.

Perhaps even more so.

"I hope you are all hungry," I said, as I cut up the chicken. Smooth movements and a gentle smile on my lips. The four pieces of the chicken breast ended up smaller, but now they were eight.

Giving the illusion that there could be seconds, when the meat was still the same amount.

"We got lost, actually," the pregnant woman seemed to be the friendliest of the bunch. She was relaxing against the tree. I was sure that Theanore was doting on her in her own way.

My smile became more genuine. They were yet to harm my old girl. I needed to win them over.

"Oh? I can help you reach the road, if you'd like?" I asked.

"We…" one of the men said. There were just two of them, the pregnant woman, a small girl, and another woman. "We were really hoping to get some of the moss."

Lost my ass! Darn humans, darn tourists, darn…!

"Sylvan!" Theanore's voice was chiding. My cheeks colored crimson.

"And why is that?" I asked. Shame coloring my soul that I got angry without even doing this much.

"We heard that the moss could heal," the pregnant woman said, patting her stomach. "This is my third pregnancy and I… my last one was hard."

I felt the beginning of a story. The dream catcher activated.

My fingers twitched as I added the butter to the pan, preparing to make the honey chicken. That was the problem with someone paying you for a story.

Your heart got tugged this way and that.

But I needed the mana. My tree's survival depended on it.

"The moss is mana rich, yes," I admitted, putting some vinegar and honey inside of the pan. "But it can't save lives."

I saw as she lowered her gaze. How her fingers twitched.

"Oh," was all she said, as she rested her head against the bark.

"He is lying!" One of the men said, the noise like a hiss. "He just wants the moss for himself!"

"Please, Mama needs the moss! We won't take much!" The little girl pleaded, her eyes misty.

I would have given them the moss, if it really had the power to help.

I was not heartless.

But the truth was, that it would have given the poor woman some mana points, which would have disappeared into thin air, for she did not have a way to use them.

The dream catcher was like a demon, as I covered the chicken breasts with the little flour I had left. Preparing to fry them.

A life was on the line.

And all I could do was to cook some food.

"Sylvan! The World System offers you this skill: Healing Food! The Food you make will heal 1% of an illness per meal! Do you accept the skill? Yes/No?"

I blinked. There was no way that the World System would offer such an overpowered skill! No way! It was not known to give away such gifts!

"I am a nymph," I said, daring to hope. Preparing to add a slice of a lie between two truths. "And the food I cook is magical. Healing. But you will need to eat a lot of it."

I asked myself what I was doing. Inviting these tourists to come back time and time again.

But the truth was, that I had no idea what this woman was sick of. How many of her organs were failing. I was not a healer. I was just a nymph.

A nymph ready to feed a pregnant woman until the day she delivers her baby and even months after that!

"You… do you mean that we will need to stay in the forest?" The woman's husband asked, his hands finally relaxing at his side.

"No, of course not," it would be hard if word spread that I did deliveries, but a dungeon had to be like a business. Money had to change hands. "I can have an orc deliver your food. Do you live nearby?"

"An orc?" The little girl asked, her smile blinding.

Huh, I was beginning to like these tourists. The world might be ending soon.

"Yes. An orc. He has a scary face, but is quite the softie," I assured her.

"We live in the village at the base of the mountain," the pregnant woman said, a hand on her stomach. "Thank you."

The dream catcher pinged. A sound only I could hear. It was a vile thing. Wanting the most dramatic and tragic stories it could find.

I now had 100 mana to do with as I pleased.

I ignored it for the moment, cutting up the potatoes, but not all the way through. Preparing to get some butter, garlic and salt on them.

To place them in a pan, place the lid over them, and after forty minutes drizzle them with the butter and garlic again.

This was something I knew how to do.

Feeding people was what brought me joy. It was at that moment I realized that my disgruntlement with the tourists had been the thing which had caused my sleepless nights.

Those were just people with a story. A story told best while I cooked to fill their bellies.

"I will help," I vowed, the wind carrying my mana in the air.

It passed through the clearing, carrying the aroma of the food with it.

Letting my mana infuse into the air, into bark and blades of grass.

Changing the Forest of Forget-Me-Nots for good…