Chapter 269: Culinary Chemistry & Tactical Food

Words : 1078 Updated : Sep 29th, 2025

Chapter 269: Culinary Chemistry & Tactical Food Yesterday’s missing Chapter. ****** The next morning came slower than expected—not because anyone had overslept, but because something about the air felt heavier. Not in a physical way, but in that quiet kind of weight you only feel after a day that left too much behind, the kind of day that doesn’t just end, but lingers. Ethan stood shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth as early light poured in through the window, cutting a warm angle across the mirror. The low hum of shuttle traffic echoed faintly outside, and Everly could be heard mumbling something half-coherent from down the hallway. He hadn’t slept badly. In fact, he felt rested enough. But his mind hadn’t shut off. Not fully. That rune. That strange moment in class. The way Evelyn had spoken—like she’d seen something about him even he didn’t understand. She hadn’t brought it up again, and he hadn’t asked. But her words—"I think it’s seen you"—kept looping in his mind like a whisper he couldn’t shake off. By the time the trio reached their first class, the academy corridors had already picked up pace. Students moved around them in steady clusters. Some looked excited, others were already dragged down by information overload and lack of caffeine. Nearly everyone wore the standard access band around their wrist, each one showing level, permissions, and evaluation tier. Ethan, Evelyn, and Everly didn’t say much as they walked. No big talk, no dramatic moments. Just small glances, a shared nod here and there. They didn’t need to speak. They understood each other well enough to let silence do most of the work. Their first class that morning felt different right away. It wasn’t in one of the newer wings but instead tucked deeper into the academy’s outer dome, carved into a part of the structure that felt older, almost forgotten. The walls were etched with faded runes and fractured sigils, some cracked and broken, some still glowing faintly with energy that hadn’t faded completely. A large curved display stretched across one side of the room, made of floating panels that flickered between still images. Some were too blurry to understand. Others were too clear to be comfortable. Just above the entryway, carved in ancient text and translated beneath in modern script, were the words: CULT STRUCTURES & SUMMONING THEORY A few students whispered to each other. Nervous tones. Uneasy glances. Most of them fell quiet the moment the instructor stepped forward. Professor Vual didn’t exactly command attention with his appearance—short, wiry frame, plain outfit, tired-looking eyes—but something about the way he moved made people take notice. Not out of fear, exactly, but out of some quiet understanding that this was someone who’d seen more than he ever planned to explain. He tapped a control sphere, and the panel display sharpened. "Today’s topic is simple," he said, voice steady, unaffected. "Traces. Residue. You’ll learn how to see what doesn’t want to be seen." He didn’t elaborate. Instead, the first image appeared. A forest clearing—wild and overgrown, moss on everything, rocks scattered like broken teeth. The trees looked wrong somehow, twisted just enough to raise a subtle alarm. Something about the soil felt too dark, too disturbed. "Tell me what you notice," Vual said. A girl in the back raised her hand. "There’s distortion in the bottom right. Looks like a heat ripple?" "Correct," Vual nodded. "Not natural. Left behind by a ritual barrier that failed. Good catch." The next image blinked up—a campfire site with blackened plates around it—symbols etched in burnt lines. "Name the setup," he said. "Primitive binding seal," someone replied. "Wrong," Vual replied. "It only looks primitive. Intentionally. That’s a concealment tactic." Then came the third image. Ethan froze. He knew that place. Not vaguely. Not ’maybe I saw it once’—he knew it. The clearing, the split in the tree trunk, the slightly disturbed patch of soil near the edge. He’d trained there and sparred with Lilith under that very tree. This wasn’t just any patch of wild land. It was part of the Moonshade perimeter. His hand didn’t move. But his body must’ve tensed or shifted, because Evelyn leaned closer and whispered, "You’ve seen it before?" He nodded once, eyes still on the image. Professor Vual didn’t call him out. He looked at Ethan for a second—maybe recognizing the shift—but simply turned back to the class. "I want each of you to flag one image," Vual said, "and write a five-line assessment. No poetry. No theories. Just what’s visible. If it sounds like a dramatic monologue, I’ll fail you." Ethan marked the grove image. Not to show off. Not to impress. But because he needed to see what he hadn’t seen back then. As the others spread out and started reviewing, he stood at his console, eyes narrowed. There was something under the soil—not visible but suggested—a curve in the dirt, a faint alignment of roots that formed a broken pattern. Like a sigil had once been carved there and wiped away with intent. Lilith had never mentioned the grove’s history. She’d made it theirs. But maybe it hadn’t always been. He started writing. Plain words. Just observations. Nothing extra. — Their second class that day flipped the mood completely. As soon as they stepped inside, Ethan was hit by the scent of cinnamon and something slightly smoky. The walls were warm-colored, lit with ambient glows, and across the main wall—scrawled in animated, sugary script—was the title: CULINARY CHEMISTRY & TACTICAL FOOD Everly let out a laugh immediately. "Oh yes. I belong here." At the front of the room floated a woman barely a foot tall, with wings like stained glass and an oversized lab coat that trailed behind her like a cape. Her blonde hair sparkled faintly, and her goggles were so large they kept slipping over her face. "I’m Chef Moxie!" she shouted, mic orb following her every move. "Half the cafeteria exists because of me. The other half exploded trying!" The class didn’t know how to react. Moxie grinned like a maniac. "Today’s task—make something that heals and can be thrown like a grenade. And yes, I’m serious. Now cook!" Stations lit up. Ingredients appeared via glowing dispensers: mineral gels, mana-condensed oils, essence fruits, powdered headstone, crushed moon leaf, and even stabilized spirit shells. Ethan blinked. "This is not what I thought tactical food meant." Everly already had her apron on. "Trust the process."

Chapter 269: Culinary Chemistry &amp; Tactical Food

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Chapter 269: Culinary Chemistry & Tactical Food