"First, my siblings." That was his only clear thought.
When he stepped out of the luxurious room, Arion found the guild corridor—which had been bustling just a day ago—eerily quiet. The adventurers he passed pressed themselves against the walls, giving him space. Some bowed their heads, while others avoided his eyes, as if a single glance from him would expose their secrets and make them vanish.
"What is this nonsense?" Arion thought anxiously. "I'm not a tax collector. I'm just a guy trying not to trip over his own feet."
He spotted a young adventurer—face dotted with pimples and full of enthusiasm—blocking his path. The kid seemed like he wanted to say something. Arion froze, clueless. "Does he want to fight me? Ask for an autograph? What do heroes even do in these situations?"
Arion just stared blankly at the boy, his mind empty.
The young man, who'd planned to ask for advice, felt Arion's cold gaze pierce through him. He interpreted the silence as a profound message. "He's saying… don't ask. Do. Don't seek wisdom—forge it yourself." The boy bowed deeply and said, voice trembling, "Thank you for the lesson, sir." Then he bolted, leaving Arion even more confused.
"I gave him a lesson? I didn't do anything!"
Arion reached the modest inn where he'd left Leora and Kalen. He found them playing quietly in a corner of the shared room. The moment they saw him, they ran over.
"Brother! You're back!" shouted Leora.
"Did you defeat more Evil Trees?" Kalen asked excitedly.
"Something like that," Arion answered, ruffling their hair. "Are you hungry?"
Arion decided to try out his new skill—not because he wanted to, but because he had no real cooking skills otherwise. He went to the market and bought the cheapest ingredients he could find: tough scraps of meat no one else wanted, misshapen root vegetables, and a sack of cheap grains.
In the inn's tiny kitchen, he tossed everything into a big pot and added water. "Alright, System. Show me what you've got."
Ding~
> [Skill Activated: Perfectly Spiced Stew]
[Mana Cost: 5]
Nothing spectacular happened. The pot just boiled normally. After half an hour, though, the aroma filling the room was… incredible. It was rich, layered, and mouthwatering.
Arion served the stew to the kids. Kalen devoured his bowl in seconds. Leora, who knew a little about cooking, took a spoonful—then froze.
"Brother…", she said, eyes wide. "This… this is the best stew I've ever tasted! How did you do this? These ingredients were awful!"
Arion searched for an answer that sounded wise. He recalled old martial arts movies. "Leora," he said, trying to sound profound, "A true cook doesn't rely on ingredient quality, but on balance and intention. You must feel the harmony of the elements in the pot."
Leora stared at him in deep admiration. "You're not just the strongest warrior—you're a culinary philosopher too!"
"Absolutely," Arion said, stifling a desperate laugh. "Another ridiculous title for my collection."
---
Buying a House… Through Unintentional Intimidation
After feeding his siblings, Arion realized they couldn't stay in an inn forever. He had a small fortune now. Time to buy a house.
He went to a real estate office in the city. The agent—a short, plump man named Barnaby—welcomed him with a sales smile… which turned into a mask of terror the moment he recognized Arion's face from the rumors.
"S-Sir Fang Harvester!" Barnaby stammered, wiping sweat from his brow. "H-How can I serve a great hero like you today?"
"I want a house," Arion said simply. "Something modest. Three rooms, a small garden, in a quiet area."
"Modest?!" Barnaby screamed internally. "A hero like him doesn't live somewhere 'modest'! He's testing me! If I offer him something cheap, he'll take it as an insult and turn me to dust!"
Barnaby spread a city map on his desk. "We have this splendid villa in the noble district, sir. It belonged to a baron who… retired suddenly after hearing of your exploits."
Arion looked at the map. It was a bit far. Without thinking, he used Basic Telekinesis to lift a tiny ink pen and point to another spot on the map, closer to the city center. "What about here?"
Barnaby watched the pen rise by itself and hover to the new location. His face turned ghostly pale. He hadn't seen Arion chant or even move his lips. He moved the pen with sheer will.
"This… this isn't just telekinesis!" Barnaby thought, trembling. "He's sending me a message! He's saying: 'I can move this pen… and I can move your heart inside your chest the same way. So give me the best deal possible.'"
"That house, sir?" Barnaby said, voice quivering. "It's a very humble place! It's unworthy of your stature! But… since you pointed to it… there must be wisdom behind your choice that I can't fathom! I'll offer it at a very special price! Friends' price! Just 3,000 coppers!"
The house's real price was 15,000 coppers.
Arion's eyes widened. "3,000 coppers? For a house like that?" He knew the price was ridiculously low. "Is it haunted? Built on an ancient graveyard?"
But seeing the genuine fear in Barnaby's eyes, he realized the truth. "He's terrified of me. So terrified he's selling me a house at a massive loss."
For a moment, Arion felt guilty. Then he remembered—in this world, fear was a powerful currency.
"Fine," Arion said coldly. "I'll take it."
Arion left the office owning a spacious, lovely house for the price of a rundown shack. "Well, that's at least better than the cooking skill."
---
That evening, Arion, Leora, and Kalen stood in the foyer of their new home. It was bright, clean, and roomy. For the first time, they each had their own room. Leora spun around in delight, and Kalen ran from room to room, shouting with joy.
Arion sat on the back doorstep overlooking a small garden. He gazed at the stars. For a moment, he felt at peace. He had money, a safe home, and his siblings were happy. "Maybe… maybe I can live like this," he thought hopefully. "Ignore the guild, cook delicious stew, live quietly."
It was a nice thought. A warm thought. A thought… that lasted about five minutes.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
A firm, official knock on the front door.
Arion sighed. That familiar sense of doom settled in. "It's starting."
He opened the door to find a man in fine clothes embroidered with a noble crest he didn't recognize. The man held a scroll sealed with red wax.
The messenger bowed so deeply his nose nearly touched Arion's boots.
"Greetings, Lord Arion, Fang Harvester, Terror of Bullies!" the messenger boomed. "I bring an urgent message from Lady Isabella of House Valentis. She has heard of your unmatched heroics and humbly begs for your aid in a matter of life and death."
Arion stared at the messenger, then at the sealed scroll. He didn't hear the man's words—only the sound of his own inner screaming echoing through his skull.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"