Damien sat cross-legged in the cozy, makeshift kitchen of the Mercenary Guild, a space that was as simple as it was functional.
The faint aroma of herbs and spices mingled with the savory scent of beef, making the small room feel homely despite its utilitarian design.
In front of him was a built-in wooden table, on which neatly chopped vegetables were arranged stop small plates.
Across the room, Arielle stood by the stove, stirring a simmering pot. Her movements were graceful yet efficient, each step of her cooking process deliberate and precise.lie.te expert that she was.
Damien watched her intently, his usual sharp demeanor softened by curiosity. He wasn’t just observing her—he was learning, taking mental notes of every step she took.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Arielle remarked without looking up from the pot.
Damien smirked, leaning back slightly. “I’m just taking notes on how to do what you do. You never know when these skills might come in handy.”
Arielle glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling into a playful grin. “You? Cooking? Now that’s something I’d like to see.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Damien retorted, his smirk deepening. “I could surprise you one day or many days to come.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she teased, turning back to the pot.
The two fell into a comfortable silence as Arielle continued adding ingredients to the meal. The rich aroma of porridge and beef soup filled the room, making Damien’s stomach growl faintly.
“I heard that,” Arielle said, her grin audible in her voice.
Damien chuckled, shaking his head. “Can you blame me? It smells amazing and that sounds was the confirmation of it. No one can resist a good meal.”
As she added the final touches to the soup, Arielle decided to strike up a conversation. “Damien,” she began casually, “what kinds of mana beasts do you own?”
Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his posture remained relaxed. “Let’s see… There’s Fenrir, my Monstrous Wolf. Then there’s Cerbe, my Three-Headed Hound, Aquila, the Griffin—”
“The one I fell off of,” Arielle interrupted, shooting him a mock glare.
“Exactly,” Damien said with a sly grin, “the one you fell off of. And finally, Luton, the Stellar Slime, the one you’re so comfort around.”
Arielle paused, her hand stilling over the pot as she turned to face him fully. “A Stellar Slime? Never heard of that before. And the others… they sound rare. Are they hybrids or something?”
Damien shook his head. “No hybrids. They’re just… unique. Special breeds. You won’t find them roaming around in the wild or anywhere else in the world, I think. Not even from a fellow summoner like me.”
“That explains a lot,” Arielle murmured, returning to her cooking. Discover stories with empire
After a few moments of silence, she spoke again, her tone shifting slightly. “What do you think about demons?”
Damien’s brow twitched, a barely perceptible movement that didn’t escape Arielle’s notice.
“There it is again,” she said, smirking.
“There what is?” Damien asked, though his tone betrayed his unease.
“Your brow,” Arielle said, pointing at him with her spoon. “Every time I bring up demons, it twitches. Watch—demons.”
Damien’s brow twitched again, and he sighed. “You’re imagining things.”
Arielle crossed her arms, leaning against the counter as she stared him down. “Really? Because I’ve mentioned demons three times now, and it’s happened each time. Admit it—you’ve got some kind of reaction whenever they come up.”
Damien frowned slightly, though a small smile played on his lips. “I hadn’t noticed until you pointed it out.”
The two locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound filling the small room.
“Okay, fine,” Damien admitted once their laughter died down. “It’s probably a reflexive reaction. I’ve spent so much time fighting demons that the mention of them just… triggers something, I guess.”
Arielle’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “How many demons have you slain?”
“Why do you want to know?” Damien asked, though his tone was light.
“Because I’m a part-time Dunter as well, remember?” Arielle said proudly, puffing out her well rounded chest. “My kill count is around two hundred or clos to three hundred. Can’t remember the exact count.”
Damien raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Two hundred? Not bad.”
“Not bad?” Arielle repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know that’s a huge number considering my age.”
Damien chuckled softly, leaning forward. “It is impressive, very much so,” he admitted, his voice tinged with sincerity. “But I stopped counting after around five hundred.”
Arielle’s eyes widened, her playful demeanor faltering. “Five… hundred?”
Damien shrugged, his smirk returning. “I’ve been at this a lot longer than you think.”
What he didn’t say, however, was that his actual kill count was well into the thousands. The weight of those battles wasn’t something he wanted to share—not yet, at least.
Sensing the shift in her mood, Damien decided to change the subject. He sniffed the air, his expression turning curious. “The food smells done. Can I taste it?”
Arielle blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sudden shift. “Oh, um, sure. Give me a second.”
She ladled a small portion of the porridge into a bowl and handed it to him. Damien took a spoonful, his expression unreadable as he savored the flavor.
Then, his eyes sparkled, and a genuine smile spread across his face. “This,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, “is incredible. Honestly, I’ve had good meals before, but this? This is on another level. How do you manage to do it? Always surprising me with your next meal.”
Arielle’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink, and she turned away, pretending to adjust the pot. “You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it,” Damien insisted, finishing the portion quickly.
Arielle cleared her throat, still blushing as she began serving the rest of the meal. “Alright, alright. Eat up before it gets cold.”
As Damien settled into his meal, the earlier tension between them faded, replaced by an easy camaraderie. “Fine, fine. I’ll do just that.” Damien smirked.
For a brief moment, the weight of their respective struggles was forgotten, replaced by the simple pleasure of shared company and a well-cooked meal.