Orcs. A belligerent race predominantly carnivore whose most infamous activity is raiding human settlements for the food stores when winter or drought strikes. They were strong, few humans could battle them head on. But they had to be careful with the looting, too much and a powerful party would be called to eliminate them.

Angorod was the third son of the chieftain, growing up he was fed with human supplies. The soup was much better than a simple roasted deer leg, the cheese melted in his mouth, and the wine brought a pleasant fuzz over his body. He was taken by the ambition to craft more of these delicious treats, and perhaps create new recipes.

Once it was time for his Trailcrush, a journey to prove he was an adult, he was resolute in his goal to become the first refined chef in his tribe. Angorod had learned a few human words, and hoped it would help convey his desire. Armed with a pack, clothing for every terrain, and his trusty machete, he set off down the ravine.

It failed. Every adventurer band he met was hostile, despite him putting away his blade and trying to reason with them. He was currently running from a squad intent on skinning him, apparently his tattooed skin and red tusks were very coveted. His mad dash had him trip into a faceplant in a clearing, and looking back revealed that the humans were held back by some invisible barrier.

A woman was reading a book by a chalet when she spotted the poor bastard. A few waves had the orc strung up in the air defenseless. "What do you want?" Margot had a fireball ready to roast his family jewels. "Teach! I want learn!" The spell was snuffed and the woman had an appraising look.

"What is your goal? Your mana is too weak for casting, your only saving grace is muscles." Her eyes were like a Carmine Rattlesnake, which had him trembling in his sandals. "Food. Cook. Please." She giggled at his sad look, it was the first time she saw something so cute in months. "Now I understand why he adopted that kid."

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Angorod began learning under the witch, both cuisine and language. "Depending on your performance, I might teach more." She taught him how to test plants and mushrooms for bad reactions, which proved vital when a dab of macerated mint made his hand swell double its size. "So even orcs have allergies. Be careful, anaphylaxis can lead to a fast death."

The woman was stricter than his pops when it came to learning. She had him pick up herbs all day long, from steep cliffs and deep in dangerous beast nests. Then he would spend his nights identifying his haul. Then he was kicked into a mine to dig minerals, then identify his load. Rinse and repeat.

While the witch did teach him the basics of cuisine, she was also drilling him about the ingredients he could find in the future. "I have no interest in experimenting with food. But it would be a damn shame if you died to a destroying angel." Well, he supposed that potioncraft was close enough to cooking to start his knowledge pool.

"Drink this." Margot offered a bottle with swirling multicolor sparkles. "Drink...?" Angorod was suspicious, it resembled the potions she forbid him from touching. "Brat, if I wanted to kill you, you would be bones by now." She snapped her fingers, dropping the liquid straight in his stomach.

He collapsed in a fetal posture, his blood felt like it was boiling. "Rejoice~ You're my first official apprentice!" The potion was supposed to strengthen his core, enabling him to access alchemy and healing spells.

===

Training with Margot was difficult and torturous. The time taken perhaps had convinced his tribe he died during the journey. But no, he was treading a different path from his brothers. He wasn't a berserker or a walking bastion. No, he wasn't a combatant at all, but that was fine.

He was in the first stage to become a true chef, and there was much to learn about culinary and the wealth of ingredients in this world. Angorod had a new goal, to write a recipe book about everything he hunted, from every continent he'd explore, like the sea serpent he was facing right now.