I Become Sect master In Another World

Morning had fully settled over the temporary military encampment by the time the first curious spectators began drifting toward the western supply grounds.

The chosen site lay between the military kitchens and the central supply depot, where a broad stretch of level earth had been cleared shortly after sunrise. Rows of transport wagons had been moved aside to create an open square large enough to accommodate hundreds of onlookers, while several portable cooking stations had already been assembled beneath simple wooden canopies to shield the worktables from the strengthening sunlight.

Military servants hurried back and forth carrying bundles of firewood, sealed jars of oil, baskets overflowing with vegetables, sacks of grain, ceramic jars filled with clean spring water, and neatly arranged racks of cooking utensils.

Everything had been prepared with remarkable efficiency.

Two identical cooking stations stood opposite one another.

Each possessed the same iron stove.

The same preparation table.

The same chopping block.

The same assortment of pots, knives, wooden spatulas, ladles, strainers, bowls, and ceramic plates.

Between them rested several long tables where identical ingredients had been carefully separated into equal portions.

Nothing had been left to chance.

A pair of military quartermasters walked slowly around both stations with jade slips in hand, comparing every basket one final time.

One crouched beside a crate filled with fresh vegetables before counting silently.

"Cabbage."

He nodded.

"Two."

He reached toward another basket.

"Carrots."

"Six."

"Spirit mushrooms."

"Twelve."

The second quartermaster checked the opposite table before making another mark upon the jade slip.

"Confirmed."

He lifted one of the sacks resting near the table.

"Rice."

"Equal weight."

Another soldier stepped forward carrying two sealed jars.

"Cooking oil."

The quartermaster accepted them before placing one at each station.

"No differences."

The inspection continued until every ingredient had been verified.

Only after both jade slips matched perfectly did the senior quartermaster close them with a satisfied nod.

"Good."

He looked toward the waiting soldiers.

"No substitutions."

"No additional ingredients."

"If either side requests anything beyond what has been prepared..."

He shook his head once.

"The request is denied."

The surrounding soldiers acknowledged the order immediately.

"As you command."

The temporary arena gradually became livelier as word continued spreading throughout the encampment.

Death Riders finishing the morning patrol altered their route without much hesitation.

Supply workers abandoned conversations midway through loading wagons.

Formation masters repairing damaged arrays glanced toward the growing crowd before quietly deciding their work could probably wait another hour.

Even several military physicians emerged from the temporary treatment tents, curiosity overcoming routine.

"What exactly happened?"

"I heard someone challenged the military kitchens."

"A woman."

"From the Celestial Sword Sect."

"No."

"The replacement logistics team."

"I heard she’s an extraordinary chef."

"I heard she’s completely insane."

The rumors multiplied with every retelling.

Before long, the cleared square no longer belonged solely to the kitchens.

It belonged to the entire camp.

Rows of spectators surrounded the arena from every direction while disciplined soldiers maintained enough open space for both competitors to work without interruption.

The military chefs arrived together.

Nearly thirty of them walked across the packed earth in orderly formation beneath the leadership of the broad-shouldered chef who had accepted Auntie Muo’s challenge the previous day.

His dark apron had been replaced by freshly laundered black robes embroidered with the crimson wolf emblem of the Black Iron Mercenary Group. His sleeves had been tied neatly above his wrists, revealing thick forearms marked by countless old burns gathered through years of working beside roaring spirit flames.

The remaining chefs dressed similarly.

Although they joked freely among themselves, every movement reflected long practice.

These were men who prepared meals for hundreds of thousands every single day.

Confidence came naturally.

The broad-shouldered chef stopped beside the military cooking station before slowly surveying the growing audience.

One younger cook whistled softly.

"I wasn’t expecting this many."

Another looked toward the endless rows of gathered Death Riders.

"If we embarrass ourselves today..."

"We’ll never hear the end of it."

The broad-shouldered chef snorted.

"We aren’t the ones who challenged an army."

That answer drew quiet laughter from the group.

His gaze shifted toward the opposite side of the arena.

"They should be arriving soon."

Almost as though responding to his words, movement appeared near the northern road leading from the logistics tents.

Several soldiers instinctively stepped aside.

The gathered crowd gradually separated, creating a narrow passage through the center of the spectators.

Shaurya walked at the front with the measured pace of Elder Xu Ren.

The weathered walking stick rested lightly against the ground with every second step while the elderly logistics elder maintained the slight stoop everyone had come to expect.

Nothing about him appeared remarkable.

Nothing invited attention.

Behind him walked Elder Hua carrying a rolled jade ledger beneath one arm.

Lu Fang looked no different from an ordinary logistics disciple, his earlier anger hidden beneath an easy smile.

Lee Bie remained silent as always.

At the center of the small group...

Auntie Muo walked calmly with both hands folded before her.

She wore the same plain robes she had worn since entering the encampment.

No elaborate ornaments.

No expensive jewelry.

No attempt to impress anyone.

Only clean sleeves rolled neatly to her forearms, revealing hands that bore neither rings nor decorative accessories.

Hands that had spent decades preparing meals.

The murmuring spectators gradually quieted as she entered the arena.

Many expected someone arrogant.

Someone loud.

Instead...

The middle-aged woman merely smiled politely at everyone she passed.

Several Death Riders exchanged uncertain glances.

"That’s her?"

"The one challenging our kitchens?"

"She doesn’t look nervous."

"She doesn’t look confident either."

One older logistics officer quietly shook his head.

"The most dangerous craftsmen rarely advertise themselves."

His companion looked toward Auntie Muo again.

"You think she has a chance?"

The officer simply shrugged.

"We’ll know in an hour."

Auntie Muo reached her assigned cooking station before stopping.

Her eyes wandered slowly across the neatly arranged utensils.

She picked up one of the knives.

Balanced it lightly across her palm.

Turned it once beneath the morning sunlight.

Then returned it to its place.

Satisfied.

The broad-shouldered chef noticed.

"Comfortable?"

Auntie Muo smiled.

"The balance is good."

He folded both arms.

"We sharpened them ourselves."

"I can tell."

The answer carried no sarcasm.

Only honest appreciation.

That somehow caught the chef slightly off guard.

He had expected boasting.

Or perhaps another challenge.

Instead...

The woman complimented his knife.

For several seconds he simply looked at her.

Then, almost despite himself, he nodded once.

"You know tools."

"I’ve respected them all my life."

No further words proved necessary.

Across the arena, Shaurya quietly observed the exchange.

His eyes drifted beyond the cooking stations.

Rows of gathered soldiers.

Supply wagons positioned nearby.

Temporary granaries.

Medical tents.

Command messengers moving through the crowd.

Every face.

Every habit.

Every movement.

Nothing escaped his notice.

The System silently updated the mental map forming within his consciousness while he continued standing exactly where Elder Xu Ren belonged.

Patient.

Forgettable.

Invisible.

The crowd suddenly shifted once more.

This time...

Nobody whispered.

Instead, the Death Riders standing along the outer ring straightened almost simultaneously before moving aside with practiced discipline.

A clear path opened toward the arena.

Heavy boots struck the packed earth with slow, measured rhythm.

Commander Liu Tong approached.

His crimson robes stirred gently beneath the morning breeze while several senior officers followed a respectful distance behind him.

Beside them walked Elder Hang, his composed expression betraying nothing as his calm gaze swept across the assembled competitors.

Without any announcement...

Without any shouted command...

Nearly every soldier standing nearby instinctively lowered his head.

The broad-shouldered chef immediately cupped his fists.

"Commander."

Every military chef followed his example.

The surrounding Death Riders bowed as one.

Liu Tong acknowledged them with an absent wave before his eyes settled upon the arena itself.

His gaze moved leisurely from one cooking station to the other.

Then...

It rested briefly upon Auntie Muo.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"So."

His voice carried effortlessly through the silent gathering.

"It seems everyone arrived."

His eyes shifted toward Shaurya.

"And Elder Xu..."

The smile widened almost imperceptibly.

"I trust your people are ready."

The morning breeze stirred the banners above the arena as every pair of eyes turned toward the elderly logistics elder, waiting for his answer.

Shaurya inclined his head politely.

"This humble one came only because my fellow elder wished to exchange culinary knowledge with the esteemed military kitchens."

His calm voice carried clearly through the open square.

"If Commander Liu permits it, we are naturally prepared."

Liu Tong studied him for a brief moment before nodding.

"Very good."

His gaze drifted toward Auntie Muo.

"And you?"

Auntie Muo stepped forward, cupping her hands respectfully.

"This humble woman greets Commander Liu."

Unlike the military chefs who had bowed deeply, she offered only the proper courtesy expected between cultivators of different organizations.

Neither excessive.

Nor disrespectful.

Liu Tong noticed.

The corners of his mouth curved upward.

"So..."

He slowly walked toward her station, his boots crunching softly over the packed earth.

"You’re the one who challenged my chefs."

"I am."

"And you’re still confident after seeing how many mouths they feed?"

Auntie Muo looked toward the endless rows of soldiers gathered around the arena before smiling gently.

"I’ve seen enough to understand how difficult their work truly is."

The answer caused several military chefs to exchange glances.

Liu Tong’s brows lifted slightly.

"No insults?"

She shook her head.

"They’ve earned my respect."

She turned toward the broad-shouldered chef.

"So has your head chef."

The broad-shouldered man blinked.

That wasn’t the response he had expected.

Liu Tong chuckled.

"You speak well."

"I only speak honestly."

For a few seconds...

Liu Tong simply looked at her.

Then his smile slowly changed.

The warmth remained.

But something colder settled beneath it.

His eyes wandered across her composed face before stopping briefly on her graceful posture.

A faint gleam flickered through his crimson pupils.

He spoke almost lazily.

"Before this competition begins..."

"I’ve decided to make things more interesting."

The cheerful murmuring surrounding the arena gradually faded.

Several officers exchanged curious looks.

Even the military chefs turned toward their commander.

Liu Tong clasped both hands behind his back.

"My chefs represent the Black Iron Mercenary Group."

"They don’t compete without stakes."

His eyes settled upon Auntie Muo once again.

"If my chefs lose..."

He gestured casually toward the enormous military kitchen behind them.

"You’ll receive complete authority over today’s midday banquet."

A ripple spread through the gathered soldiers.

Liu Tong continued.

"You may personally prepare the command meal."

"You’ll also earn the privilege of entering the military kitchens whenever you wish during our cooperation."

Several chefs frowned.

That was no small reward.

The command banquet represented the highest culinary responsibility inside the temporary camp.

Only the most trusted chefs handled it.

Auntie Muo listened quietly.

Without excitement.

Without hesitation.

Liu Tong’s smile widened.

"But..."

The single word caused the atmosphere to tighten.

"If you lose..."

His gaze slowly traveled over her once more.

"...you’ll become part of my harem."

Silence.

The surrounding square seemed to freeze.

The breeze continued moving through the banners.

Somewhere beyond the crowd, horses snorted softly.

Nobody spoke.

Several soldiers instinctively lowered their eyes.

Even the broad-shouldered chef’s smile disappeared.

Auntie Muo’s fingers tightened ever so slightly beneath her sleeves.

Her breathing remained steady.

Only the faint whitening of her knuckles betrayed the surge of anger she forced back into her heart.

Behind her...

Lu Fang’s jaw locked.

Lee Bie’s fingernails dug deeply into his palms.

Elder Hua lowered his eyes before anyone noticed the killing intent briefly flashing through them.

Shaurya remained perfectly still.

Not a single ripple crossed the weathered face of Elder Xu Ren.

Only those who truly knew him understood the truth.

Beneath that calm exterior...

Rage was rising.

His fingers slowly tightened around the worn wooden walking stick.

The aged wood creaked softly.

Almost imperceptibly.

Auntie Muo inhaled once.

She lifted her head.

"Commander Liu."

Her voice remained composed.

"I came to compete."

"Not to gamble my dignity."

A few nearby soldiers shifted uneasily.

Liu Tong laughed.

"Nobody is forcing you."

He spread both hands with practiced ease.

"If the price frightens you..."

"...withdraw."

"I’ll simply declare my kitchens victorious."

His officers laughed obediently.

Several soldiers joined in.

Others remained silent.

Auntie Muo’s lips parted slightly.

For the first time...

Real anger surfaced in her eyes.

Before she could speak—

A quiet voice interrupted.

"If this humble one may speak."

Every gaze turned toward Shaurya.

The elderly logistics elder slowly stepped forward, leaning lightly upon his walking stick.

He bowed respectfully.

"Commander Liu."

Liu Tong looked amused.

"Go on."

Shaurya smiled modestly.

"The Commander is a man of status."

"It is only natural that a competition should possess appropriate rewards."

Liu Tong nodded approvingly.

"Exactly."

Shaurya continued without changing expression.

"However..."

"A wager should benefit both sides equally."

That caused several officers to exchange glances.

Liu Tong folded his arms.

"What do you suggest?"

Shaurya looked toward Auntie Muo before returning his attention to the commander.

"If Elder Muo succeeds..."

"...she asks for nothing beyond an opportunity."

Liu Tong frowned slightly.

"Opportunity?"

"To prepare today’s command banquet."

Shaurya’s voice remained humble.

"And if the Commander truly appreciates her cooking..."

"...allow her temporary access to the military kitchens for the remainder of our cooperation."

He lowered his head another fraction.

"No authority."

"No rewards."

"No wealth."

"Only permission to demonstrate her craft."

The square became remarkably quiet.

Several military chefs looked thoughtfully toward one another.

That request...

Was surprisingly reasonable.

No political advantage.

No military secret.

Simply permission to cook.

Liu Tong’s gaze shifted toward his own chefs.

The broad-shouldered chef snorted confidently.

"Commander."

"If we lose after asking for such conditions..."

"...we deserve to hand over the kitchens ourselves."

Several cooks behind him nodded immediately.

"We accept."

"No problem."

"We won’t lose."

Their confidence bordered on arrogance.

Liu Tong watched them for several seconds before laughter escaped his lips.

"Hahaha!"

He slapped the broad-shouldered chef’s shoulder.

"I like that spirit."

Turning back toward Shaurya, he nodded once.

"So be it."

"If she wins..."

"...she cooks for my command table."

"If she loses..."

His crimson eyes rested upon Auntie Muo.

"...she belongs to me."

Shaurya lowered his head respectfully.

"This humble one accepts the Commander’s decision."

Only he knew the truth.

From the very beginning...

This had been the only reward he wanted.

Not status.

Not recognition.

Access.

The moment the wager was settled, the atmosphere around the temporary arena changed completely.

What had begun as an amusing distraction for soldiers waiting for breakfast gradually transformed into something far more serious.

The laughter faded.

The idle conversations disappeared.

Even the cooks standing behind the long preparation tables slowly rolled up their sleeves.

Commander Liu Tong stepped toward the center of the open square.

Without raising his voice, he spoke with the casual confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

"If we’re doing this..."

"...we’ll do it properly."

Several officers immediately stepped forward.

One unfolded a wooden table while another placed several jade slips upon it. A third carried a bronze incense burner nearly as tall as his waist before setting it carefully beside the platform.

The broad-shouldered head chef walked over and respectfully cupped his fists.

"Commander."

"What are the rules?"

Liu Tong looked toward him before glancing at Auntie Muo.

"You tell me."

The chef considered the question for several moments.

Finally, he answered.

"Both sides receive identical ingredients."

"No outside assistance."

"No pills."

"No formations."

"No spiritual treasures."

"Only skill."

A murmur of approval spread through the gathered soldiers.

Fair.

Simple.

Easy to supervise.

Liu Tong slowly nodded.

"And the judging?"

The head chef smiled.

"The food."

He looked toward Auntie Muo.

"Food doesn’t lie."

Before anyone else could respond—

Shaurya stepped forward once again.

"This humble elder requests one additional condition."

Liu Tong raised an eyebrow.

"Speak."

"The dishes should not be judged merely by taste."

The broad-shouldered chef frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Shaurya answered calmly.

"A military kitchen exists to strengthen soldiers."

He gestured toward the enormous camp surrounding them.

"Not simply satisfy hunger."

Several officers exchanged thoughtful glances.

His words made sense.

He continued.

"If taste alone decides victory..."

"...personal preference becomes unavoidable."

"But nourishment..."

"...can be measured."

The broad-shouldered chef folded his arms.

"What are you proposing?"

Shaurya smiled gently.

"The quality of spiritual energy contained within each meal."

The square grew noticeably quieter.

Even Elder Hang looked toward him with renewed interest.

Shaurya continued in the same modest tone.

"The richer the spiritual essence..."

"...the greater the benefit for cultivation."

"The more balanced the medicinal properties..."

"...the more suitable the meal becomes for soldiers preparing for battle."

He looked toward Liu Tong.

"That seems more appropriate for a military competition."

Several military physicians standing among the spectators immediately nodded.

"He’s right."

"A proper battlefield meal isn’t judged only by flavor."

"It must restore stamina."

"Recover spiritual energy."

"And strengthen the body."

The broad-shouldered chef stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"...That actually sounds fair."

Liu Tong looked toward his own cooks.

"Any objections?"

The chefs looked at one another.

Then shook their heads.

"No."

"Our food won’t lose."

Liu Tong laughed.

"Excellent."

He turned toward one of the officers.

"Make it official."

The officer immediately stepped onto the wooden platform.

His spiritual energy flowed into the bronze incense burner.

A thin column of fragrant smoke rose into the morning air.

"The rules are as follows."

His clear voice echoed throughout the square.

"Both competitors shall receive identical ingredients."

"No outside assistance."

"No medicinal pills."

"No external formations."

"No foreign ingredients."

"The winner shall be determined by three standards."

He raised one finger.

"Speed."

A second finger.

"Quality."

A third.

"Spiritual nourishment."

"The meals will be examined by military physicians, formation appraisers, and experienced chefs."

"Only after that..."

"...will tasting begin."

No one objected.

Even the surrounding soldiers nodded in approval.

It was difficult to cheat under such conditions.

The officer rolled the scroll shut.

"The competition begins immediately."

Dozens of kitchen assistants hurried across the courtyard, carrying baskets, jars, and sacks as they assembled two identical preparation stations side by side. One after another, ingredients were arranged with meticulous care. Fresh spirit cabbage, mountain mushrooms, golden carrots, snow lotus stems, blocks of spirit tofu, and bundles of fragrant herbs were laid neatly upon the tables.

Large sacks of aromatic rice rested beside fine wheat flour, while crystal salt, rock sugar, fresh lemons, and clay jars filled with pressed cooking oil were placed within easy reach.

Once everything had been arranged, the assistants moved from station to station, comparing every basket, weighing every sack, and measuring every ingredient until both sides matched perfectly. Only after each item had been inspected a second time did they step back, ensuring that neither contestant held even the slightest advantage.

The broad-shouldered chef stepped toward his station and cracked his neck.

His assistants immediately lined up behind him with confident smiles.

Across from them...

Auntie Muo quietly tied back her sleeves with a strip of white cloth.

She didn’t touch a single ingredient.

Instead...

She slowly walked around the preparation table once.

Then again.

Her fingertips brushed lightly across the vegetables.

She gently lifted one lemon before smiling almost imperceptibly.

Nearby chefs watched her with puzzled expressions.

"What’s she doing?"

"Checking freshness?"

"Everyone does that."

"No..."

One older cook narrowed his eyes.

"She’s memorizing the ingredients."

Auntie Muo finally stopped.

She closed her eyes.

For one silent breath...

Then another.

The noises around her gradually disappeared from her awareness.

The cheering soldiers.

The crackling fires.

The fluttering banners.

Everything faded.

In her mind...

Another kitchen appeared.

A modest courtyard beneath the Sanatan Flame Sect.

A young man stood beside a wooden table wearing an apron far too modern for the cultivation world.

Shaurya smiled while holding a bright yellow fruit.

"Lemon."

She remembered frowning.

"It’s sour."

"So?"

He laughed.

"Sometimes sour makes sweetness brighter."

Another memory surfaced.

Fresh vegetables chopped into tiny cubes.

Golden butter melting across a hot pan.

Rice transformed into something she had never imagined.

Bread unlike anything found within the cultivation world.

Simple food.

Yet unforgettable.

His voice echoed once more.

"Good cooking isn’t about expensive ingredients."

"It’s about making ordinary ingredients impossible to forget."

The memory faded.

Auntie Muo slowly opened her eyes.

Across from her...

The broad-shouldered chef had already begun chopping vegetables with astonishing speed.

His knife danced like flowing water.

The gathered soldiers burst into applause.

Auntie Muo simply smiled.

Then...

She reached for the first lemon.

The moment Auntie Muo picked up the lemon, puzzled expressions appeared across the faces of the military chefs.

One younger cook frowned.

"...A lemon?"

Another scratched his head.

"Is she making a drink first?"

The broad-shouldered chef glanced toward her station while his knife continued moving with practiced precision. Crisp vegetables fell into perfectly even pieces beneath the flashing blade before assistants immediately carried them toward steaming cauldrons.

His eyes lingered on the lemon for only a heartbeat.

Then he smiled faintly.

"Nervous."

One of his assistants chuckled.

"Probably."

"People often start doing strange things when Commander Liu watches."

Auntie Muo paid no attention to the whispers drifting around her. She set a shallow wooden bowl upon the table and picked up a fresh spirit lemon. The knife slid cleanly through the fruit, separating it into perfect halves.

There was no flourish in her movements, no dazzling blade technique or spiritual display—only years of quiet experience reflected in every motion. She squeezed each half gently, and pale golden juice streamed into the bowl as a bright citrus aroma spread through the courtyard. Several nearby soldiers paused mid-conversation, their noses twitching instinctively.

"What is that smell?"

One soldier drew another slow breath before shaking his head.

"It’s not wine..."

His companion inhaled again, surprise flickering across his face.

"No... it’s fresher than that."

Without lifting her eyes from the bowl, Auntie Muo measured a spoonful of crystal sugar into the juice before adding a delicate pinch of finely ground crystal salt. A young kitchen assistant’s brows shot upward.

"Salt?"

He leaned closer to the older cook standing beside him and lowered his voice.

"Did she make a mistake?"

The older cook frowned as he watched the bowl.

"Sweet drinks don’t use salt."

Auntie Muo seemed not to hear them. She poured cool spring water into the mixture, picked up a smooth wooden spoon, and stirred with slow, steady circles. The crystal sugar melted away, the tiny grains of salt disappeared without a trace, and the fragrance grew richer with every turn of the spoon.

Wisps of spiritual qi drifted naturally from the freshly squeezed spirit lemons, dissolving into the drink instead of escaping into the air. She dipped the tip of the spoon into the liquid, tasted a single drop, and a gentle smile curved across her lips.

"Perfect."

Around her, puzzled glances quietly passed from one spectator to another. None of them had ever seen a drink prepared this way.

On the opposite side of the arena, three spirit stoves flared to life in quick succession. Blue flames roared beneath massive iron woks, cooking oil shimmered with heat, and the moment baskets of fresh vegetables hit the metal, a chorus of sharp sizzling sounds burst across the courtyard, announcing that the competition had truly begun.

One chef stir-fried mountain mushrooms over fierce flames while another carefully prepared fragrant spirit rice. A third reduced rich vegetable broth inside a heavy bronze pot, allowing medicinal herbs to slowly release their essence.

Everything moved with astonishing coordination.

Every assistant already knew where to stand.

Every ingredient arrived exactly when needed.

The entire kitchen functioned like a military formation.

Watching it felt less like cooking...

...and more like an army marching into battle.

Even Elder Hang nodded quietly.

"Excellent discipline."

Liu Tong folded his arms proudly.

"My chefs have served together for years."

"They don’t require instructions."

Meanwhile, Auntie Muo finally crouched before her spirit stove and gently ignited the formation beneath it. A quiet blue flame blossomed beneath the polished iron pan, steady and controlled, while she placed a second clay pot beside it. Fresh spring water flowed into the pot, followed by carefully washed spirit rice. She added a small pinch of crystal salt, covered it with a wooden lid, and left it to cook. The nearby chefs exchanged puzzled looks.

"She’s boiling the rice?"

"Why not steam it?"

"I’ve never seen anyone cook it that way."

Auntie Muo continued as though she hadn’t heard a single word. Once the pan had absorbed enough heat, she poured in a measured stream of pressed cooking oil. The surface rippled gently, shimmering beneath the spirit flame without producing even a thread of smoke. Watching the oil, she couldn’t help but remember Shaurya’s words.

"Oil speaks before the ingredients do. If it starts shouting... you’ve already ruined the dish."

A faint smile appeared at the corner of her lips. She picked up a handful of finely chopped ginger, followed by freshly sliced green chilies, and scattered them into the pan. The instant they touched the hot oil, a lively crackle echoed across the arena as a bright, invigorating fragrance rushed outward on the rising steam. Several soldiers paused in the middle of their conversation and instinctively turned toward her station.

"What is that smell?"

One of them drew another deep breath, his brows lifting in surprise.

"That... smells incredible."

Another soldier frowned, trying to understand it.

"It shouldn’t smell like this. That’s only ginger and green chilies."

Before their surprise had faded, Auntie Muo added strips of spirit cabbage, slices of golden carrot, snow lotus stems, and freshly cut mountain mushrooms. The vegetables burst into a lively sizzle the moment they touched the pan. She didn’t stir them immediately. Instead, she let them rest against the hot surface just long enough for the natural sweetness to awaken. Only then did her wrist move. With a smooth flick, the pan tilted upward, sending every piece into the air together.

The vegetables turned in a graceful arc before settling back into the pan without a single piece escaping the rim. The motion carried the ease of someone who had repeated it thousands upon thousands of times, and even several veteran chefs found their eyes following the effortless rhythm of her hands.

The broad-shouldered chef’s knife slowed slightly.

His eyes shifted toward her.

"...Interesting."

She continued.

A small spoonful of crystal salt.

A pinch of freshly crushed black pepper that Shaurya had painstakingly taught the sect to cultivate months earlier.

Then...

Nothing.

She simply waited.

The vegetables continued cooking in their own moisture.

Steam rose in thin white ribbons carrying an aroma unlike anything the military kitchens usually produced.

The fragrance drifted farther across the arena.

Soldiers standing several rows back lifted their heads simultaneously.

"What is that?"

"It smells..."

"...lighter."

"No."

"...cleaner."

Even several military physicians quietly exchanged glances.

One elderly physician closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

"The spiritual qi..."

His brows slowly rose.

"...isn’t escaping."

Another physician immediately looked over.

"What?"

"The vegetables."

He pointed toward Auntie Muo’s pan.

"She’s sealing the qi inside."

The other physician stared.

"...Without formations?"

"Without formations."

Across the arena...

The broad-shouldered chef’s expression gradually became serious.

For the first time since the competition began...

He stopped smiling.

He looked carefully at Auntie Muo.

Then toward the vegetables dancing gently inside her pan.

Finally...

He spoke to the assistant beside him.

"Don’t underestimate her."

The young cook blinked.

"...Master?"

The broad-shouldered chef never looked away.

"She’s cooking."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"...properly."

Nearby...

Shaurya stood quietly among the members of the Celestial Sword Sect.

His expression remained calm beneath Elder Xu Ren’s weathered face.

Only the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed his thoughts.

Everything...

Was unfolding exactly as planned.

The broad-shouldered chef inhaled slowly before turning back toward his own station.

His expression had completely changed.

The easy confidence from earlier was gone.

In its place remained only the focus of an experienced chef facing an opponent worthy of his attention.

He lifted one hand.

"No more holding back."

Every cook behind him immediately straightened.

"Yes, Head Chef!"

The military kitchen shifted gears.

Fresh spirit herbs were brought forward.

A second iron wok descended onto another spirit stove.

One assistant rapidly kneaded fresh dough while another strained clear vegetable broth through layers of fine silk.

The broad-shouldered chef himself stepped before the largest wok.

Spirit flames surged beneath it.

Oil shimmered.

He moved.

His knife flashed through the air so quickly that only silver afterimages remained. Carrots, lotus stems, mushrooms, bamboo shoots, and spirit peppers separated into perfectly identical slices before falling neatly into waiting bowls.

Without pausing, he swept the vegetables into the blazing wok.

A roar of fire erupted.

His wrist twisted.

The heavy wok rose from the stove as vegetables spun high into the air before falling back into the rolling flames.

The watching soldiers burst into applause.

"What control!"

"As expected of the Head Chef!"

"He isn’t wasting a single breath."

Even Auntie Muo watched with quiet admiration.

"Amazing..."

She smiled gently.

"He truly deserves that position."

Across from her, the head chef glanced sideways.

He had expected mockery.

Instead...

He found genuine respect.

The realization caused the corners of his lips to lift ever so slightly.

Then both returned to cooking.

Auntie Muo gently lifted the lid covering the pot of rice.

Soft steam escaped.

She picked up a single grain between her fingertips.

It yielded perfectly.

Neither hard...

Nor overly soft.

She nodded almost imperceptibly before draining the remaining water with practiced hands.

Several military cooks frowned.

"...She boiled it?"

"Then removed the water?"

"What kind of method is that?"

One elderly kitchen assistant narrowed his eyes.

"No..."

He stepped forward unconsciously.

"She’s controlling the moisture."

The rice returned briefly to the warm pot.

The remaining heat quietly finished the cooking.

Every grain gradually became separate from the next.

Fluffy.

Light.

None stuck together.

Auntie Muo smiled faintly.

"Just like Sect Master taught."

Auntie Muo reached toward another basket and selected the remaining ingredients one by one.

Fresh bell peppers.

Tender green peas.

Golden kernels of sweet spirit corn.

Firm white cubes of paneled spirit cheese that Shaurya had painstakingly taught the sect to prepare months earlier.

Several nearby cooks exchanged puzzled looks.

None of those ingredients were unusual on their own.

Seeing them gathered beside the same pan, however, felt strangely unfamiliar.

She poured only a thin ribbon of pressed cooking oil across the heated iron surface.

The oil spread evenly before beginning to shimmer with a gentle sheen.

Not a single thread of smoke rose from it.

Only then did she place the paneer into the pan.

A soft sizzle drifted across the arena.

She made no attempt to stir it immediately.

Instead, she waited.

The white cubes rested quietly against the hot metal until one side gradually turned the color of pale gold. Only then did she lift them with a pair of wooden chopsticks and turn each piece individually.

No hurried movements.

No unnecessary flourishes.

Every motion carried the quiet patience of someone who trusted both the ingredients and the fire.

The golden cubes were transferred onto a nearby plate.

Only after clearing the pan did she add another spoonful of oil.

Fresh ginger met the heat first.

Its fragrance bloomed almost instantly.

The diced bell peppers, peas, corn, and carrots followed a heartbeat later.

The pan answered with a lively burst of crackling sounds.

Her wrist moved gently.

Rather than constantly stirring the vegetables, she allowed them to kiss the hot surface before lifting and folding them over one another with calm, rhythmic motions.

Steam curled upward in thin white ribbons.

Morning sunlight filtered through it, making every vegetable glisten with vivid color.

The emerald peas remained bright.

The corn still shone like polished amber.

The peppers retained their brilliant green and crimson.

Nothing appeared wilted.

Nothing looked exhausted by the heat.

An elderly military physician unconsciously stepped forward.

His eyes narrowed as spiritual perception spread quietly from his senses.

"...Interesting."

The physician beside him glanced over.

"What is it?"

"The spiritual essence."

He continued watching the vegetables tumble gracefully through the pan.

"It isn’t leaking."

The second physician immediately focused his own perception upon the dish.

After several breaths, surprise slowly appeared on his face.

"...You’re right."

"Most cooks force the ingredients over fierce flames until the spiritual veins collapse."

He watched another cloud of fragrant steam rise from the pan.

"She’s preserving them."

Neither physician spoke again.

Their attention remained fixed upon the elderly woman standing before the stove.

The fragrance gradually drifted beyond the competition grounds.

Unlike the rich, heavy aromas pouring from the military kitchens, this scent carried an unexpected freshness.

The sweetness of corn.

The warmth of ginger.

The brightness of fresh vegetables.

The faint richness of toasted paneer.

Each fragrance remained distinct, yet together they blended into something remarkably harmonious.

Soldiers standing near the outer rows unconsciously lifted their heads.

One Death Rider sniffed the air twice before looking around in confusion.

"...Where’s that coming from?"

His companion pointed toward Auntie Muo’s station.

"I think... hers."

The first soldier frowned.

"It smells different."

"It makes you want another breath."

Nearby, several tethered spirit horses raised their heads simultaneously.

Their ears twitched.

One stamped impatiently against the ground while stretching its neck toward the drifting aroma, drawing quiet laughter from the surrounding crowd.

Across the arena, the military chefs completed the final touches on their own dishes.

Rich vegetable stew simmered gently inside a polished bronze pot.

Freshly baked flatbread rested beneath clean white cloth, trapping the warmth within.

Golden stir-fried vegetables glistened beneath a carefully reduced spirit broth.

Every plate had been arranged with practiced precision.

The broad-shouldered head chef wiped the perspiration from his brow before instinctively glancing toward Auntie Muo’s station.

His hand stopped halfway.

She wasn’t plating her food.

Instead, she removed the lid from the pot beside her.

A wave of fragrant steam rolled upward.

Perfectly cooked rice filled the pot.

Each grain remained separate, neither sticky nor dry, gleaming softly beneath the morning light.

The head chef’s brows drew together.

She lifted the rice and poured it directly into the pan with the vegetables.

Several younger cooks stared in disbelief.

"She’s mixing them?"

"But..."

One scratched his head.

"Rice is supposed to be served beside the dishes."

Another nodded.

"Who cooks everything together?"

Auntie Muo heard none of them.

Or perhaps...

She simply chose not to.

Her wooden spatula slipped beneath the rice with slow, careful movements.

She never pressed.

Never mashed.

She lifted from below, folding the vegetables gently through the rice until every grain carried a faint sheen of oil and the natural colors spread evenly throughout the pan.

Emerald peas, golden corn, bright peppers, and slender strips of carrot appeared between the snowy grains like blossoms scattered across freshly fallen snow.

Only after everything had blended together did she return the toasted paneer to the pan.

She folded it through the rice only a few times before extinguishing the spirit flame.

The paneer remained intact.

The vegetables retained their crispness.

The rice remained light and separate.

Nothing had been overworked.

Nothing had been left unfinished.

Silence gradually settled over the arena.

The broad-shouldered head chef looked at the finished dish for a long moment.

Years spent commanding the largest military kitchens in the Black Iron Mercenary Group had introduced him to cuisines from dozens of kingdoms, countless sects, and wandering caravans that crossed the continent.

Yet the dish before him belonged to none of them.

It was completely unfamiliar.

For the first time in many years, curiosity outweighed pride.

He found himself genuinely wanting to know...

...what it tasted like.

To Be Continued.....

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