Outside the royal palace, within a dimly lit room, three tall and broad figures were seated together.

"The warriors of the orc race have already spilled much blood on the border between the orc tribe and the Roth Empire. I hope your demon race and forest troll race can actually show some sincerity this time rather than simply make empty promises," a green-skinned orc said in a solemn voice.

The forest troll cracked the joints in its necks as it replied in an extremely coarse voice, "Don't worry, the most powerful troops of our forest troll race have already arrived at Rodu. This time, we'll make sure that Irina stays here forever."

A cold light flashed through the spatial demon's crimson eyes as it chuckled. "Our three races will dictate the direction this world progresses in. The elves, humans, and goblins should know their place and resign themselves to acting as our food. They don't deserve to own territories, nor do they deserve to treat us as equals. Let's break them down from the inside…"



Mag carried his box of knives into the massive kitchen that was around as large as a soccer field. Despite the enormity of the kitchen, the entire place was almost completely stacked as there were over 1,000 chefs present.

These were the most exceptional chefs on the Norland Continent, and all of them had gathered here to offer up their most delicious dishes to the king.

It's more spectacular here than I imagined, Mag thought to himself. He glanced at a demon chef who was swinging three chef's knives through the air like the wind, then at a forest troll who had a pot sitting above the flames burning on his head, and then at an elven chef who was cooking as gracefully as if he were casting magic spells.

Chefs from different races displayed unique and incredible cooking styles as all manners of delectable aromas wafted through the air. The sound of clanging kitchenware created a symphony that was music to every chef's ears.

Mag looked around with an intrigued expression. This was the first time he had seen so many colleagues from so many diverse backgrounds, and he felt as if he were a small child in a candy shop.

"Mr. Mag, this is your cooking station. The dishes will be brought out to the king in two hours; we hope you'll be ready by then." The guard that led Mag into the kitchen pointed at a cooking station before asking, "Are you here with anyone else?"

Mag placed his box of knives onto the cooking bench before shaking his head with a hint of confusion on his face. "No, I'm alone. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just a little surprised; even dessert chefs have a few helpers with them, so I thought you'd at least have an assistant sous chef with you." The guard smiled as he said, "In any case, I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you." Mag nodded in response. Indeed, all of the chefs here appeared to have assistants with them, so he stuck out like a sore thumb as he stood alone at his cooking station.

"Kalulu, you're only making a cucumber salad, and even you have two assistant chefs with you; what could this guy be cooking?"

"Maybe he's here to mix some drinks?"

"Shh, don't badmouth people."

The people at the neighboring cooking station were discussing quietly among themselves.

Mag turned around, and discovered a rather portly man in a white chef's suit standing beside him. The man had a set of bashful features, and as their eyes met, he gave Mag a polite smile.

The man bore a strong resemblance to Baymax, and his appearance made him appear quite amicable.

There were two little fatsos beside him, both of who appeared to be around 15 to 16 years of age. The three of them all bore an uncanny resemblance, and it was quite clear that those two were the chef's sons.

The chef wore a curious look as he asked, "Hello, my name is Kalulu. These are my sons, Kakalu and Lukaka. What are you cooking today, Brother? Why are you alone?"

The two little fatsos were also looking at Mag with curious expressions.

They were already considered to be rather understaffed compared to the other groups of chefs, and that had struck them with a sense of inferiority. As such, they were feeling a little better after seeing a man who was cooking all by himself.

Kalulu, Kakalu, and Lukaka… Mag felt as if just saying their names was a tongue twister. He smiled as he replied, "I'm Mag. I won't be cooking much today, so I don't need any assistance."

According to Josh's requirements, he only had to make enough food for about a 10-person portion. That was a piece of cake for him, so he didn't require any assistance.

"I understand." Kalulu nodded with a knowing expression. Even though it was quite an honor to cook for the king during his birthday banquet, it was quite embarrassing that he had only been tasked with making a salad. As such, he thought that he could empathize with Mag.

"It's alright, Brother Mag, we may not have enough people as them, and the dishes we make may or may not be presented to His Majesty, but our job is a lot easier than everyone else's. Look at that forest troll with the massive pot above his head. His entire head must be burning right now," Kalulu consoled with a smile.

"Indeed." Mag didn't quite understand why he was saying this, but he still nodded in response. It appeared that Kalulu had misunderstood something, but Mag couldn't be bothered to clear up the potential misunderstanding. As such, he turned to the guard beside him, and instructed, "Please place this over there, give the condiments to me…"

"Father, why is he using so much kitchenware when he's cooking one dish like us?" Lukaka asked with a confused look.

"He must've brought his entire kitchen here. Even though he can only make one dish, he still has to pretend like he was tasked with making many dishes. That's a really good idea; why didn't we think of it?" Kakalu mused as he stroked his chin.

Kalulu wore a serious expression as he scolded, "Every chef has his own pride, and I can really understand Brother Mag's feelings here. Back when I came here to cook in the royal kitchen for the first time, I even brought my massive earthenware jar for pickling cucumbers to make myself look more important. Looking at him really reminds me of my younger self. We have to be accepting of him and try to protect him rather than insult him to further wound his ego."

"You're right, Father." The two brothers nodded in unison.