My bespoke Italian suit was ruined.
This was the first thought that occupied my mind as the sun rose over the dungeon. Not the fact that I was in a different dimension, nor the fact that giant mosquitoes the size of drones were buzzing around my head. No, the tragedy was the unidentifiable brown stain on my left lapel.
"Dry cleaning is not an option here," I muttered, scraping at the fabric with a leaf. "And I doubt this swamp has a stain-removal stick."
I had survived the night by burying myself under a pile of broken crates and praying to whatever corporate deity oversaw workplace safety. The glowing eyes turned out to be "Trash Rats"—rodents with literal rusted metal for skin. I had fended them off by aggressively brandishing my cast iron skillet and hissing like a feral cat. It was undignified, but effective.
Now, it was morning. Or at least, the purple sky had turned a lighter shade of bruise-yellow.
I stood up and took stock of my inventory.
1. One (1) Cast Iron Skillet.
2. One (1) "Starter Ration Pack" I found in my pocket, wrapped in wax paper.
3. Zero (0) exit strategies.
"Okay, Arthur. Prioritize," I told myself, adjusting my glasses. They were smeared with grime. I suppressed a shudder. "Goal: Find civilization. Sub-goal: Find a shower. Sub-sub-goal: Do not get eaten."
A massive explosion rocked the ground beneath my feet.
Trees—or rather, the giant, slime-dripping mushrooms that passed for trees here—shook violently. A flock of bat-things screeched and took flight.
"Unsanctioned demolition?" I pivoted toward the noise. "Or a rescue party?"
I moved toward the sound. I didn't run; running in a swamp is a great way to trip and drown in mud. I power-walked. I navigated the treacherous root systems with the same determination I used to navigate the office floor during flu season: don't touch anything, keep your head down, keep moving.
I broke through a dense thicket of vines and stumbled into a clearing.
"Oh," I said, stopping dead. "That's a big pile of mud."
It was a Mud Golem. Standing about twelve feet tall, it looked like a snowman made of sewage and hate. It had no face, just a gaping maw that dripped sludge. Above its head, a red health bar floated: [Swamp Golem - Lvl 10].
Facing it was a girl.
She looked completely out of place. While everything else in this swamp was brown, green, or sickly purple, she was a flash of sterling silver. Silver hair, silver armor (though it looked like it had been through a car compactor), and a sword that was comically large for her frame.
She was panting heavily, her sword tip dragging in the muck.
[Seraphina Vane - Lvl ???]
[Status: MALNOURISHED / EXHAUSTED]
"Surrender, foul beast!" she shouted. Her voice was melodious, like a wind chime, but she sounded like she hadn't slept in a week. "I, Seraphina of the Vane Lineage, shall cleanse you!"
The Golem roared—a wet, gurgling sound—and swung a fist the size of a smart car.
Seraphina didn't dodge. She didn't block. She just stood there, trembling.
"She's going to get flattened," I analyzed. "Her stance is terrible. Center of gravity is all wrong."
Just as the fist was about to turn her into a silver pancake, she moved.
It wasn't a step. It was a blur.
"[Cataclysm Blade]!"
Violet light erupted from her sword. The air pressure in the clearing dropped so sharply my ears popped. She swung the blade upward.
The sound was deafening—like a lightning strike hitting a sheet metal factory. The beam of energy bisected the Golem, the mud behind it, and three trees in the distance. The swamp water instantly vaporized into steam.
The Golem didn't just die; it evaporated.
"Impressive damage output," I noted, shielding my eyes. "Inefficient energy usage, but effective."
The steam cleared. Seraphina stood victorious. She sheathed her sword with a dramatic flourish.
"Hmph. Weak," she scoffed.
Then, she fell face-first into the mud.
Thwump.
"Okay," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "That's a liability."
I waited a moment. She didn't move. The red "Enemy" marker on my HUD had vanished, so I stepped into the clearing. The mud sucked at my dress shoes. I was going to have to write these off as a total loss.
I reached the fallen girl. She was breathing, but it was shallow. Her stomach growled so loudly it sounded like a second monster.
"Excuse me, Miss Vane?" I poked her shoulder with the handle of my skillet. "This is not a designated rest area."
No response.
I looked at the crater where the Golem used to be. The mud was bubbling.
Wait. Bubbling?
I leaned in closer. The sludge wasn't settling. It was flowing backward, knitting itself together. A red health bar flickered back into existence above the puddle.
[Swamp Golem (Phase 2) - Regenerating...]
[Progress: 15%]
"Phase two?" I yelped. "Who designs a Level 1 monster with a second phase? That's terrible game balance!"
The mud pile rose. It was forming a face again. A very angry face.
I looked at Seraphina. She was out cold. If I ran, the Golem would finish regenerating in about thirty seconds, realize the threat was napping, and crush her. Then it would probably chase me down.
"Risk assessment," I muttered, panic rising in my throat. "Option A: Abandon the asset and likely die alone. Option B: Revive the asset and hope she has enough mana for a second shot."
I looked at the Golem. [Progress: 30%].
"Option B it is."
I knelt beside her. "Hey! Wake up! The pile of poop is coming back!"
Nothing. Her status still flashed [MALNOURISHED].
"She needs calories," I realized. I fished the "Starter Ration Pack" out of my pocket. It was a block of dry, hard tack that looked like a brick of compressed sawdust.
"This won't work," I hissed. "I need something with high glycemic index. Instant energy."
I looked at my skillet. I looked at the Golem. [Progress: 50%].
My interface pinged.
[Skill Available: Flash Cook (Domestic)]
[Effect: Instantly prepares food. Applies buffs based on ingredient quality and... love?]
"Love is a variable I cannot quantify right now," I snapped at the system. "But I can do 'edible'."
I threw the hardtack into the skillet. It clattered like a rock.
"Think, Arthur. Operations. You have raw materials. You need a finished product."
I activated the skill.
My hands moved on their own. It was a strange sensation, like muscle memory I didn't possess taking over. I wasn't just heating the pan; I was injecting mana into the food. I saw the molecular structure of the hardtack breaking down, softening, expanding.
"Heat source?" I looked around. The Golem was steaming.
"Perfect."
I ran toward the regenerating monster, dodged a half-formed mud tentacle, and held the skillet over the steam venting from its body.
"A little closer... hold for the sear..."
The hardtack sizzled. It transformed. It turned golden brown. The smell of fresh, buttery toast wafted through the rotting swamp air. It was miraculous.
[Item Created: The Toast of Revival]
[Buff: Removes 'Starvation'. Restores 50 Stamina instantly.]
"Order up!" I shouted.
I sprinted back to Seraphina. The Golem roared, fully formed now. [Progress: 100%]. It raised a fist, casting a shadow over us.
I slid onto my knees, lifting Seraphina's head. "Eat! Chew! Swallow! Do not initiate a lawsuit if this burns your tongue!"
I shoved the toast into her mouth.
She bit down reflexively.
For a second, nothing happened. The Golem's fist began its descent. I squeezed my eyes shut and held up the frying pan as a shield, fully aware that cast iron offers zero protection against two tons of magical mud.
Crunch. Gulp.
A shockwave blasted outward from Seraphina.
"So... good!"
Her eyes snapped open. They were a brilliant, terrifying violet.
She didn't stand up; she launched herself from the ground like a missile. She grabbed the collar of my ruined suit and threw me—literally threw me—ten feet backward into a mossy bank.
"You dare interrupt my meal, mud-filth?" she shrieked at the Golem.
She was glowing. The toast had apparently given her a buff that looked like Super Saiyan aura mixed with a sugar rush.
She didn't use her sword this time. She just punched the Golem.
The impact sounded like a cannon shot. The Golem's chest cavity exploded backward.
"That," punch, "was," kick, "really," slash, "BUTTERY!"
With a final, ear-splitting scream, she drove her fist straight through the Golem's core. The monster shuddered, turned grey, and crumbled into a pile of inert dirt.
[Combat Resolved.]
[XP Gained: 50 (Assist Bonus)]
Silence returned to the swamp, save for the heavy breathing of the silver-haired girl.
I stayed in the moss bank, adjusting my glasses. They were now crooked to the left. "Note to self: Do not startle the client."
Seraphina stood amidst the rubble, her chest heaving. She turned slowly to face me. The glowing aura faded, but the intensity in her eyes didn't. She wiped a crumb from her lip, her expression shifting from berserker rage to aristocratic disdain in a microsecond.
She marched toward me. I scrambled backward until my back hit a tree.
"You," she said, pointing a finger at my nose. "Commoner. What is your name?"
"Arthur," I stammered, trying to stand up and brush off my suit. "Arthur Pendergast. Operations Manager. Currently... unemployed."
She looked me up and down, her nose wrinkling at my mud-stained shoes. Then she looked at the frying pan in my hand.
"That food," she demanded. "Did you make it?"
"I... facilitated its thermal transition, yes."
"It was acceptable," she declared, crossing her arms. "My mana reserves were critically low. You saved me from a... tactical retreat."
"You were unconscious in the mud," I corrected.
"Tactical. Retreat," she hissed, her hand drifting toward her sword hilt.
"Understood. Tactical nap. Very strategic."
She nodded, satisfied. Then her stomach growled again. Loudly. A blush crept up her neck, clashing with her imperious demeanor.
"I require more sustenance to maintain peak combat efficiency," she stated, looking away. "The Vane bloodline burns calories at an accelerated rate. It is a burden of nobility."
"You're hungry," I translated.
"Silence!" She stomped her foot. "Listen well, Arthur Pendergast. My current party is... unavailable due to creative differences regarding my damage output. I am in need of a retainer."
She stepped closer, invading my personal space. She smelled like ozone and expensive shampoo, which was baffling given we were in a sewer.
"You have no combat aura. You dress like a merchant. You fight with kitchenware," she listed, ticking off my flaws on her fingers. "However, you possess the [Domestic] affinity. And you can cook under fire."
She placed a hand on her chest.
"I, Seraphina Vane, hereby grant you the privilege of serving me. You will carry my luggage, maintain my equipment, and ensure I am fed at three-hour intervals. In exchange, I will allow you to bask in the glory of my conquests and protect your fragile, squishy existence."
I stared at her. "Are you hiring me? Because I need to see a benefits package. Dental is non-negotiable."
"Your benefit is that I don't leave you here to be eaten by the swamp frogs," she said, deadpan.
I looked at the swamp. I looked at the giant mosquito buzzing near my ear. I looked at Seraphina, who was essentially a walking nuclear weapon with the social skills of a feral cat.
It was a hostile work environment. The boss was unstable. The hours were terrible.
But it beat being dead.
I sighed, the long, weary sigh of a man who knows he is signing a contract he will regret. I stood up straight, fixed my tie, and snapped into professional mode.
"Very well, Miss Vane. But we need to establish some ground rules. First, no more fainting in combat zones. Second, we organize your inventory. I saw inside your bag when you fell; it's a disaster."
Seraphina blinked, taken aback. "You dare lecture me?"
"I am not lecturing. I am optimizing," I said, pointing the spatula at her. "If I'm going to keep you alive, we do it my way. Now, let's circle back to the exit. Which way is the town?"
She stared at me for a long moment, then smirked. It was a dangerous look.
"You're weird for a butler," she said, turning on her heel. "Follow me. And keep up. I don't wait for luggage."
[Party Formed: Arthur & Seraphina]
[Quest Updated: Escape the Swamp]
I picked up my skillet and hurried after her. "It's 'Operations Manager', not butler! And lift your feet when you walk, you're splashing mud everywhere!"