"Whatever," Magnus sighed, the weight of boredom and mild annoyance dragging down his voice. It was the 19th time Bob had said no to something Magnus suggested—though, to be fair, he'd lost count around the 12th. "You're like a broken kettle, Bob. Always whistling, never useful."
"I take offense to that," Bob muttered. "But more importantly, I won."
"Introduce him before I change my mind."
"Yes, my lord," Bob replied, his face lighting up with a victorious grin as if he had just slain a dragon with paperwork. He clapped his hands once, way too dramatically.
With a puff of smoke , the throne room's doorway shimmered.
A bulky, muscular man with no sign of a "cool" walked with his heavy steps. He was built like an absolute unit, around 225 cm maybe even more. Even with a tall frame like that, his bulging muscles felt like they would tear the chef costume he was given exclusively by bob.(Bob somehow had a collection of cloths. Even Marianne's nun outfit.)
He's face was sharp, with a piercing gaze from his dark red eyes. In fact, his eyes were crimson but the dim environment of the throne room nerfed the light fated to be reflected by them.
He had no facial hair, and that made him look a bit younger than he probably was. Sharp jawline, slightly thick lips and a pointed nose.
To be said in a short way, he looked less like a chef and more like a warrior who fought dragons.
His lips curled into a devilish grin as he stepped forward, each boot clinking—not with spurs, but with strange potion bottles strapped around the ankles like a mad alchemist had decorated him. His coat swished with each step, revealing belts and vials filled with mysterious spices and suspiciously glowing herbs.
"Behold," Bob announced with too much pride, "the most promising applicant for head chef in all of Mugthos—Gustav the Gourmet."
Gustav bowed with theatrical grace, spinning once, causing glitter—actual edible glitter—to shimmer off his coat. "It is an honor, my lord Demon King. For my introduction, i have brought to you my own, personal favourite, omelettes. ."
Magnus blinked. "Omelettes?"
"The best source of micronutrients along with protien. When cooked with the grace of olive oil(stolen from elven realm), i must say it's the most pleasurable dish to eat after killing orcs."
Marianne, who had just arrived with a mop in hand, gave Gustav a once-over that bordered on concern. "Do you wash your hands before you cook?"
Gustav tilted his head, monocle glinting ominously. "You don't?"
Marianne facepalmed. "I was asking if you do."
"I do," he replied with a grin. "Trained by the best. A very strong human chef who once boiled a dragon. Though i didn't like the taste."
"That's… cool, I guess. You're hired," Magnus said lazily, swirling his finger in the air like he was casting a spell of indifference. He looked more like a bored cat than a Demon King.
Bob's mouth opened, closed, and opened again like a faulty trapdoor, but wisely stayed shut. He'd learned his lesson.
"Wonderful!" Gustav declared, holding up his twisted black spoon like a knight might hold a sword. "Then allow me to prepare the most exquisite feast your infernal tongue has ever tasted!"
Magnus reclined deeper into his throne. "Just keep the kitchen standing. I don't want another spontaneous fire like last week."
"That was the maid's fault," Bob muttered.
"Tell me beforehand that you have a fire spirit working overtime right below the oven!" Marianne shouted from across the hall.
Magnus shut his eyes and let the chaos fade into background noise. He could finally relax. Maybe even nap.
"I guess that's all..." he muttered, staring up at the ceiling.
[Watcha doin']
He groaned. "You again? Why do you sound like a chatroom gremlin?"
[So, how's life?]
"Don't talk to me like a friend, fox."
[Sure, sure~]
"I can't belie—"
The throne room doors creaked again, this time too smoothly, like someone had oiled them just for this entrance.
Gustav returned, this time pushing a silver cart with a velvet cover, a towering roast beast steaming on top and a dainty tea set beside it. .
Each of his boots still clinked, his monocle now fogged from steam, and his scarf looked freshly fluffed.
"How the hell did he cook so fast?" Magnus thought, watching the unnecessarily bulky man heading straight towards him with a tray on his hand.
"Behold, my lord!" Gustav cried, voice echoing like he was performing in an opera. "A roast beast basted with dragon bone broth—paired with peppermint tea brewed under a full moon with whisperleaf and remorse!"
Magnus opened one eye. "Normal."
Gustav froze. "Ah… but appearances deceive!"
"I didn't ask for lore," Magnus said. "Just feed me."
Bob leaned over, but said nothing. Just stared at the nice cooked dragon.
Magnus picked up a fork like it weighed a hundred pounds. He poked the meat—it jiggled. Took a bite.
Chewed. Thought. He's dead eyes lit up, just a little. However, just enough for Gustav to be honoured.
"…Splendid."
Gustav nearly exploded with joy. "Heavens! That's the highest praise I've received since the skeleton king screamed in delight before dying a second time!"
"Keep it up and I'll scream too."
Marianne strolled over, unimpressed. "Looks overcooked to me."
"I—You dare!" Gustav gasped. "This was cooked at precisely 387 degrees, soul-locked for five minutes!"
She squinted. "Nope. Burnt edges."
"Blasphemy!" Gustav shouted, but that did not effect Marianne in he slightest, with her mocking smirk she felt a strange sense of superiority at how mature she was.
Well, that was purely from her imagination. It may vary fact wise.
"Enough," Magnus groaned. "Don't burn anything. Don't summon anything. And don't make the tea talks, Gustav."
"Can I make it sing?" Gustav turned to Magnus.
"No? Tf."
[Why did you hire him again?].
"So i won't get bored"
[Oh! Then look forward for the next chapter]
"What?"