Chapter 14: The Feast of First Tables — Part 1
The ovens weren't hot enough.
I'd checked them three times since dawn, and three times the Cooking HUD had shown temperature readings below optimal range. The fermented dough for the Unity Loaf needed consistent heat to achieve the right crust-to-interior ratio, and Tempest's wood-fired ovens fluctuated like they had opinions about cooking schedules.
"Dorn, we need more fuel."
"We've already burned through tomorrow's allocation."
"Then burn through the day after tomorrow's. The bread has to be ready by—"
"Tarruk."
Haruna's voice cut through the kitchen chaos. I turned to find her standing at the prep station with an expression that suggested I'd missed something important.
"The doors open in ninety minutes."
I knew that. I'd planned around that. I'd built a timeline that accounted for every dish, every ingredient, every step of the preparation process.
What I hadn't accounted for was the fermentation delay.
"The Unity Loaf needs two more hours," Dorn said, reading my face. "The ambient magicules in Tempest are affecting the rise differently than I calculated."
Two hours. The doors opened in ninety minutes. The Unity Loaf—the centerpiece of the entire feast, the dish that carried the Social Comfort buff—wouldn't be ready when service started.
My throat tightened.
"What about the other dishes?"
Mira answered from the stove bank. "Forest mushroom broth is ready. Goblin herb rolls are cooling. The orc tuber side dish needs twenty more minutes."
"Dwarven mineral glaze?"
"Ready." Kira held up a stone pot filled with the reduction we'd developed yesterday. "Though I had to substitute some herbs because we ran out of the original batch."
I checked the HUD. The glaze showed E-Grade instead of the Standard-tier version we'd tested—the substitution had reduced its potency.
"The backup dishes are weaker than planned. The centerpiece is two hours behind. And I have ninety minutes before two hundred people expect food."
The kitchen had eight staff today—Haruna, Mira, Dorn, Kira, and four goblin cooks who'd been reassigned from regular duties. Not enough hands for the scale of operation I'd planned.
I'd underestimated everything.
Gobta appeared at the kitchen entrance like a prayer answered.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"Seriously, you look like Rigurd after a council meeting." He surveyed the chaos—pots boiling over, staff rushing between stations, me standing in the middle of it all trying to process too many problems at once. "What do you need?"
"Three more cooks. Two more hours. A different set of ovens."
"I can get you cooks."
I stared at him.
"How?"
"There are six hobgoblins on the eastern construction crew who owe me favors from... actually, you don't want to know. Point is, they'll help if I ask."
"They don't know how to cook."
"They know how to follow instructions." Gobta was already moving toward the door. "Set up stations with simple tasks—chopping, stirring, carrying. I'll have them here in fifteen minutes."
He vanished before I could respond.
Haruna appeared at my shoulder.
"That boy's social network is worth more than half the administrative systems we've built."
"I'm starting to realize that."
The kitchen continued its controlled chaos around us—Mira adjusting the tuber dish, Kira checking the glaze, Dorn hovering over the fermentation vessels like a worried parent.
Ninety minutes until doors.
"I've been doing this alone. Treating every problem as something I have to solve with the system, with my skills, with my knowledge. And Gobta just solved my staffing crisis through friendship."
The realization stung more than it should have.
Gobta's recruits arrived in twelve minutes.
Six hobgoblins in construction clothes, looking confused but willing, arranged in a line near the prep tables. Their names were a blur—I caught maybe half of them—but their hands were steady and their attention focused.
"Here's what we're doing," I said, channeling every project management skill from my previous life. "You three—chopping station. Everything on this table gets cut into pieces this size." I demonstrated with the forest mushrooms. "You two—stirring station. These pots need constant motion, clockwise, not too fast. And you—carrying duty. Whatever anyone needs moved, you move it."
They nodded and dispersed to their stations.
The Cooking HUD couldn't guide their work—it only tracked my own cooking activities—but I could supervise, correct, redirect. The system might be limited to one active recipe at a time, but my attention wasn't.
"Forty minutes to doors," Haruna called.
The tuber dish came out of the oven—perfect, the HUD confirmed, Standard-tier with proper buff integration. One dish ready.
The herb rolls were plated—E-Grade, reduced from the original quality, but acceptable. Another dish ready.
The mushroom broth tested at Standard-tier—strong showing, despite the pressure.
Thirty minutes.
The Unity Loaf still needed an hour.
"We serve without it," I said. "Start with the other courses. Stretch the timing. The bread comes out when it's ready."
Dorn looked horrified. "But the meal structure—"
"The meal structure adapts or the meal fails. Which do you prefer?"
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Twenty minutes.
Gobta's recruits had settled into their roles—not perfect, not elegant, but functional. The chopping station was keeping pace with demand. The stirring pots maintained their rhythm. The carrier moved between stations with growing confidence.
Fifteen minutes.
The first diners were visible through the kitchen window—construction workers, administrative staff, a mixed group of species filtering toward the mess hall entrance.
Ten minutes.
Mira finished plating the tuber side dish. Kira completed the glaze applications. The goblin cooks had the service stations ready.
Five minutes.
I caught a steam burn reaching for a pot handle too quickly—pain flared across my forearm, sharp and immediate. I wrapped it with a cloth and kept moving.
Two minutes.
"Doors are opening," Haruna said.
Through the kitchen pass-through, I watched the first wave of diners enter the mess hall. Goblins. Orcs. Dwarves. All heading toward mixed seating that had become normal over the past two weeks.
Gobta appeared at my side. We looked at each other—him covered in construction dust, me covered in kitchen chaos.
We bumped fists.
"Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome." He grinned. "Now go feed them."
The service window opened.
The feast began.
Through the kitchen window, I watched Rigurd enter the mess hall.
And behind him, tall and elegant and utterly unexpected, Shuna.
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