An American Isekai: The Chef and the Monster Dismantler

The sound of humming woke me. I slowly opened my eyes to find myself laying on a floor pallet in some kind of makeshift hospital. A stained glass window at the end of the hall suggested it was once a church, but now it was home to two dozen sleeping men and women like me. I recognized some of them from town—they'd fallen into the sinkhole at the same time I did. I was relieved to see none were friends or family. I assumed my loved ones were still back home, living out their lives while maybe planning out my funeral.

As I sat up, the musical humming stopped. I discovered I was wearing a long-sleeved peasant shirt. It was so long, it covered me down to my knees like a nightgown. I wondered what happened to my t-shirt and jeans, my wallet and glasses. I'd been on my way to the farmer's market when the sinkhole opened.

"Are you alright?" a gentle voice asked. I turned my head and squinted. Someone was standing next to my cot, but they were too close for me to see properly. I was extremely farsighted and everything within five feet of me was blurry as hell. "Is there something wrong with your eyes?"

The blurry form reached for my face and I instinctively jerked back.

"It's okay," the person soothed. "I might look like this, but I'm an experienced healer."

Before I could argue, the blurry hand touched the bridge of my nose. "Heal."

In an instant, everything came into focus, including the healer. It was a man, I thought—one of those we'd have called genderqueer on Earth. Or maybe he was trans? His features were soft and rounded, his hair was long, and his pointed elf ears were adorned with numerous hoops and dangling piercings. His white clerical robes were loose and sexless. The only reason I was certain it was a man at all was because of his Adam's apple.

The odd ears reminded me of what happened. I wasn't in Kansas anymore. "Is this Asphodel?" I asked. "Was that magic you just used?"

"Oh dear," the elf healer replied, his expression filling with concern. "You must have been hit pretty hard if you've forgotten that much. Stay there. I'll be right back."

He hurried out of the room. When he returned, he wasn't alone. An old priest and an elderly nun were with him. Their robes were also white, although the priest's robe came with a silver embroidered trim, marking him as someone of higher authority. Or maybe it was the woman I should be focusing on? Her robe was trimmed in gold.

"I'm Priest Hobart," he said as he knelt down, settling on his heels next to my floor pallet. I was surprised he could move so well considering his age. "Aron tells me your memory is jumbled. It happens sometimes. Since so many of you were teleported here at the same time, we assumed your raiding party encountered something disastrous in the dungeon. Can you tell me if you remember anyone else here?"

Raiding party? Dungeon? Did those terms means this world didn't only have a fantasy setting, but a fantasy video game setting?

Glancing around at the other forms laying around me, I cautiously answered his question, "A few of them are familiar, but I don't know their names."

"Do you remember what happened?"

My instincts said not to say anything about transmigrating from Earth. These people were acting kind toward me as long as I acted according to their assumptions. That might change if they discovered I was essentially an alien. "I can't remember anything about going into a dungeon," I said to keep from lying.

"It's as we feared," the Priest said sympathetically. "When your group appeared, none of you had clothes or weapons. Usually people are returned to us whole with their possessions intact. When they're not, it's typically the Gods' way of saying you aren't suited for Adventuring in dungeons. In a way, you've been through a baptismal by fire. Afterwards, it's not uncommon for people to receive new job titles better suited to their life as an adult."

"That's why I'm here," the elderly woman said gently. She knelt down next to the Priest, tucking the lower half of her robes under her knees in the process. When she pulled back her long, billowing sleeves, I saw there was a crystal ball in her hand. "I'm Oracle Finia. I'll be checking your status today. Is that alright?"

I had no reason to say no. She gave me a wrinkled-faced smile and told me to put my hand on the crystal ball. Then she closed her eyes and chanted, "Aperito Status."

A holographic screen right out of a video game appeared in front of me. The Oracle still had her eyes closed, yet she was able to read it aloud.

"Name: Albert Russo

Age: 23

Race: High Human

Affiliation: Earth

Job: Chef

Level: 1

Vitality: 75

Strength: 91 (+10)

Dexterity: 104

Intelligence: 89

Wisdom: 112

Constitution: 94 (+10)

Skills: Analyze, Auto-Translate, World Map, Lifestyle Magic, Novice Knife Skills, Lesser Fire Magic, Lesser Ice Magic, Novice Farming

Blessings: Item Box (Extra Large), Oracle (Minor), Accelerated Learning (x3)"

I noticed the Oracle didn't read my Blessings aloud. However, when she opened her eyes, the knowing gleam in them said she'd seen everything.

I'd lived a good, humble life on Earth and I'd been able to spin the Karma Wheel twice after I negated my bad karma from a couple of youthful indiscretions. The knife skills and elemental magic had been my choices out of the freebies. The lifestyle magic and farming had been my reward from the Karma Wheel, along with my two attribute boosts and two blessings.

"Splendid!" The Priest exclaimed.

"It is?" I asked.

"You have an affiliation listed in your status," Aron, the young acolyte explained with a pleased smile. "It means you aren't alone. We can contact the Adventurer's Guild and ask they send a representative from Earth to talk to you. They'll help you get on your feet again."

"In the meantime, you're entitled to a set of clothes, a meal, and a primer," the Priest said. "The primer might help jog your memory and, if not, it'll tell you the basics of living in this region. It'll be difficult if you try to walk the streets without any concept of how to use money or how to recognize noblemen. Unless you still remember those things?"

"No," I replied, feeling confused at how easily they accepted my Earth affiliation. "I don't remember ever seeing a noble in person before."

"No worries. The Sanctuary helps all those the Gods send to us. We won't leave you stranded." The elderly pair rose to their feet and gave me a patronizing pat on my head as they left.

Aron went with them, but quickly returned with a hemp bag containing a peasant shirt, drawstring trousers, and a floppy pair of leather boots. The promised primer was also inside. It was thinner than I expected, possessing only two dozen pages of rough parchment bound together with twine.

While I changed into the clothes, hiding my grimace at the lack of underwear or socks, Aron went around to the other patients to check on them. No one moved or responded to his presence. They were entirely comatose, which is how I assumed I'd been prior to waking.

When he finished his rounds, he helped me stand and led me through the church. It was a very sterile type of building with blank white walls and white stone floors. There were no pews in the main gathering hall. There was only a weird floor mosaic arranged on a raised circular platform. Some of the tiles were lit from within using psychedelic colors. Maybe that was magic?

The only other color came from stained glass panels arranged along the walls, acting as freestanding decorative art pieces covering a wide range of topics from domesticated animals to Chinese sailboats being swallowed by a tempest. I thought it might have been a rendition of Noah's Ark laid out in picture form, but I wasn't given a chance to ask.

Aron ushered me through another doorway to a small cafeteria. As soon as I stepped through the door, I heard my name called, "Al!"

A young boy with floppy rabbit ears and white hair ran up to me. It took me several precious seconds to recognize him as the neighbor kid who lived in the apartment next to mine. "Jason?" I asked. "What happened to you? Where's your mom?"

Jason barreled into me, wrapping his arms around my waist and clinging to me like I was a life raft. If I remembered correctly, he was only fourteen despite being nearly as tall as I was. That had been on Earth, though. Somehow, he'd shrunk and the top of his head barely reached my collarbone now.

He was too upset to communicate properly, but I slowly got the story out of him. Some bullies at school had threatened him, so he'd skipped out early. He'd been walking home when the sinkhole opened, meaning he'd been alone and none of his family had come with him. When he'd spun the Karma Wheel using black tokens, he'd received a race change to Rabbit Beastkin, a debuff to his maximum height, and lost ten points in dexterity. Thankfully, the attribute loss had been countered during his single spin using white tokens.

"It's okay," I soothed, raking my hand through his short white hair. "I'll look out for you."

I waited for him to calm down, then asked, "Has anyone else woken up yet?"

"A few," Jason replied, wiping his face with his long sleeve. He pointed across the room at a table filled with a small grouping of men and women wearing the same clothes as me. They all seemed shell-shocked, staring down at bowls of soup with little to no enthusiasm. I recognized two of them. One was Charlie Townsend, the high school football coach. Another was Loraine Alcott, the mousy woman who ran the post office.

"What's wrong with them?" I asked.

"The food here is gross," Jason answered in blunt disgust only a child could get away with. "The bread is dry and the soup is just boiled cabbage."

"You shouldn't complain about free food," I admonished. "It sound like this place is some kind of charity. Maybe they don't have money for more ingredients."

His counter was fast. "That's not it. The people here only seem to know how to grill meat and boil vegetables. Coach went to town earlier to see how much salt cost, but he couldn't find anyone selling seasonings."

"That's impossible," I replied. "If they have bread, they must have some concept of cooking."

"Not like anything we're used to eating," Jason said. "Come look for yourself."

I followed him over to the table and looked into the full bowls on the table. I winced at the sight of a few cabbage leaves floating in water. It was too thin to be called broth. Even the bread rolls appeared unappetizing, being scorched on one side.

"Is there something wrong with the soup?" Aron asked in concern, reminding me of his presence.

"I hope you'll forgive me if I sound rude, but can you tell me how you make soup?"

"It's very easy. You just put vegetables in a pot of boiling water and let them sit until they're soft."

"Do you ever put more than one vegetable in the same pot?"

Aron was confused by the question. "Why would we do that?"

"Do you ever boil meat?" I continued relentlessly.

"I've never heard of meat being cooked in such a way. Wouldn't the water leave it raw? Meat needs fire to cook properly."

I wanted to ask if he was joking. How could a civilization capable of building such a solid-looking church be incapable of even basic cooking?

"One more question, if you don't mind. Can you tell me what goes into a typical meal?"

"It's fine. I know your mind must still be befuddled. In the morning, it's typical to break one's fast with bread and boiled eggs. Ham is also a common addition, especially for working men. At midday, people usually eat bread and soup if they're indoors and they'll eat vegetables raw if they're stuck outside. It's normal to snack on fruits throughout the day. Children especially love snack-time. For the sunset meal, meat is grilled over an open fire with skewered vegetables."

Looking at the pattern, I had the feeling people of this world followed the 'food is fuel' mentality. Taste wasn't a consideration other than whether or not something was considered edible. Eating for enjoyment never crossed their minds, meaning they'd never explored the concept of flavor.

On Earth, I hadn't been a chef. I'd been a delivery driver. However, I was from an Italian family and I'd learned a lot about cooking from my Aunties, especially once they got over the news I was gay. They'd got it in their heads 'gay' meant I was one of them and, therefore, I should know the same domestic skills all the women in the family learned. I hadn't minded so much, because I truly and honestly loved cooking. Why else would I have changed my job title to chef when I had a chance?

"You have my sincere apologies if I've offended you with my questions," I said to Aron. I gestured to the people sitting at the table, still staring at the cabbage soup like it was their worst nightmare. They hadn't even responded to me standing over them. "As you can see, the people from... um.. my raid party are still traumatized by what happened. Would it be possible to borrow your kitchen and a few ingredients? I'd like to make a meal they'd find comforting. I don't have any money right now, but I promise I'll pay you back for what I use in the future."

"There's no need to pay us back," Aron said quickly. "As a matter of fact, I'd be most appreciative. The members of your party have become more and more lethargic over the past few days. I'm scared they'll get sick if they don't eat."

I knocked on the table to get everyone's attention. It took a moment for them to respond to the sound and look at me with deadened eyes. I'd said they were traumatized as a way to gain sympathy, but it seemed like I might have been telling the truth. This was something more complicated than spoiled adults not wanting to eat their vegetables.

"Listen up," I said, glancing at each of them in turn. "I don't know what's going on here to make you act this way, but Aron did his best to provide you a meal. While I'm working in the kitchen to make you something more filling, don't waste his goodwill. Understand?"

A few of the people sighed, but they picked up their bowls to slurp at the watery soup. I ignored their grimaces of distaste and followed Aron to the kitchen.

As expected of a magical world, the stove and bread ovens were lit with magic. Aron lit them for me since I didn't know how to do it myself yet. He showed me into the pantry and I was amazed by the variety of foodstuffs they had stored. There was enough fresh fruits and vegetables on the shelves to fill five stalls at a farmer's market. There was even a shelf holding a variety of meats, which had me questioning the wisdom held by the people of this fantasy world. When I asked whether Aron had something like a cold-box to preserve food, he explained the shelves were embedded with lifestyle magic made to preserve pantry items until they were removed. Food rotting or becoming spoiled wasn't something the average person had to worry about.

It didn't take me long to gather what I needed to put together a basic vegetable soup. Anything more complicated would need too much time to prepare properly and, from the looks of everyone at the table, they needed something real to eat as fast as possible.

Aron watched me curiously while I worked. I started by putting tomatoes into a covered pot with only a cup of water from the pump. While that simmered to make a tomato base, I peeled and sliced the other vegetables I intended to add—carrots, potatoes, corn, and green beans. As Jason had already warned me, there were no seasonings readily available, so I sauteed a chopped up clove of garlic with some green and yellow onions to add flavoring.

Aron made a surprised noise when I added them to the same pot as the simmering tomatoes, but he didn't try to interfere with my work. Since I didn't want my fellow Earthlings to have to wait long, I diced the potatoes and carrots into small pieces and added them next. Five minutes later, I tossed in the corn and green beans, along with a bit more water from the pump.

After I put the lid on, I left the pot to boil for fifteen minutes and turned my attention to Aron while I cleaned up the utensils I'd used in a nearby sink. A few cautious questions later, I learned seasonings did exist, but the problem was no one cared about them. Aron didn't even know what the term 'seasonings' meant until I listed a few—rosemary, oregano, thyme, sage, basil, salt and pepper.

I questioned him some more and the full picture slowly formed. Dungeons were known by some as the Cornucopia of the Gods. Certain floors had wild orchards growing year around and an ever-present supply of vegetables and edible monsters. The changing seasons weren't a factor in a dungeon like they were for farms. Over time, towns had formed around dungeons and the bounty within, growing larger and larger as more people abandoned the countryside in favor of dungeon-diving for their needs. It was a 'safe' way to make a living, one which even the poorest man could do. It was safe because dying inside meant they were safely deposited in a Sanctuary such as the one I was currently standing in. The same thing couldn't be said of dying outside a dungeon. Of course, this created a problem as nature ran wild outside the town walls, but no one really cared until the wilds began intruding on their safe havens.

The reason this affected the supply of seasonings was because no one was cultivating them. It was too easy for people to simply enter the dungeon and fetch their own for free, drying up the market demand for them. Adventurers couldn't make money harvesting them, so the market supply disappeared, too. This made it impossible for people unwilling to enter the dungeon to get their hands on any seasonings at all and they had no choice except to stop using them. People grew used to unseasoned food and, a few hundred years later, very few people outside of herbalists and potion makers bothered to seek those particular ingredients.

I considered his words while I stirred the vegetable soup with a ladle. While I wanted to think creating a revolution in the food industry would be as simple as getting my hands on a few seasonings and showing people how to use them, I wondered if doing so would be a bad idea. After eating bland food for so many generations, could the average person's stomach handle it? Salt and sugar were especially problematic, considering how many health problems they'd caused on Earth. I'd have to consider the consequences carefully before I did anything rash. It was entirely possible this was only a local phenomenon, too. If we went to a different dungeon town, the way they viewed food could be completely different. From the way Aron talked, dungeon towns were akin to isolated fortresses cut off from the outside world.

When the soup was done, I turned off the stove and carried the pot out to the cafeteria table holding the others from my hometown. More tables had filled up with people wearing armor or wizard robes. Other acolytes dressed like Aron had appeared for their lunch, as well.

Jason, Coach Townsend, and the others regained their vigor as I ladled out portions of vegetable soup. They gave their compliments to the chef—me—and Miss Alcott had tears in her eyes as she brought her bowl to her lips to slurp at the soup. With that, I thought I had a good grasp of why they'd seemed so dead before. It was a combination of homesickness and culture shock, which I'd somewhat alleviated with the familiar scent and taste of real soup.

I ladled out a bowl for myself and drank from the rim in the same slurping manner as everyone else, since I still hadn't seen a single tablespoon anywhere. It wasn't bad. Still a bit bland, in my opinion. It'd have been better if I could have used Auntie Amelia's recipe, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"May I?" Aron asked, gesturing to the pot. It was still half-full, even after serving everyone. I'd made a lot since I didn't know how hungry everyone would be.

"Of course," I replied. "There's plenty to go around."

Considering the state of the soup Aron had served, I wasn't too surprised when he hesitantly ladled only a small mouthful into an empty bowl for himself. I would have been cautious in his place, too, even though he'd watched me during the entire cooking process.

"Wha!" Aron suddenly shouted. I wanted to roll my eyes when he suddenly exclaimed it was delicious.

So it was going to be like that.

When I thought 'that', I meant the tales of people being transferred to another world and finding outrageous success no matter what they did. They'd only recently started to become popular in the States, but they were already well known in overseas markets. The spread of such stories had been a surprise to many, but maybe there was a divine hand behind their popularity? Having seen it before, even in fictional format, certainly made it easier for me to grasp my current situation.

Glancing at the others sitting around the table, I didn't think they'd heard of the 'transported to another world' or 'transported into a video game' genres before. Maybe that was why they appeared to be having such a hard time?

Taking a seat beside Coach Townsend, I took a few sips of soup to quiet the gnawing emptiness in my stomach, then spoke idly like I was thinking aloud. "Money," I said. "Securing jobs and income is naturally the most important thing we should do first. Without it, we can't buy food, clothes, or housing. I suppose we could check out the dungeon if we become desperate, but I doubt any of us are suited for that kind of life. I mean, none of us can remember killing or skinning an animal before, much less fighting monsters. We don't know the first thing about recognizing common goods, either. We'd need to be trained from scratch which, considering our ages, is probably impossible."

"It's not completely impossible," Aron commented as he filled the bowls of curious patrons seeking the source of the vegetable soup's scent. Everyone was very polite when requesting a taste, even the biggest and burliest of Adventurers. Or were they called Mercenaries in this world? I'd have to confirm that at some point.

Ignorant of my idle thoughts, Aron continued, "There's a way to familiarize yourself with dungeon activities without ever going inside. There are a lot of supporting roles at the Adventurer's Guild, after all, since it's not safe for dungeon goods to go straight on the market without being checked first. They're always looking for new people to help out with monster dismantling, processing, and paperwork. There's inventories to manage, auctions to oversee, and inns to regulate. I might not have mentioned it before, but it shouldn't be too difficult for you to find work there if you let them know you've lost your memory."

"Wouldn't our memory loss make it more difficult to find work?" I asked.

"Not at all. Labor contracts have a three month minimum. Even if you regain your memory during that time and discover you're more skilled than your current status suggests, you'll have to complete the contract before you can work somewhere else. And if you don't regain your memory, they'll still have extra hands to help out."

I murmured my understanding. It was win-win for the Adventurer's Guild. Or, to be more precise, it was even better than win-win since the Guild had the slim chance of contracting someone with superior skills.

"Okay, I'll head over tomorrow and apply to join the monster dismantling team."

"Really? Even though you can cook this well, Master Russo? The Guild also serves food. Wouldn't you prefer working in the kitchen instead?"

What he said made sense, but first— "What's with calling me Master Russo?" I asked.

Aron turned to me and turned bashful. "My apologies. Was it actually Lord Russo?"

"No, no," I replied hurriedly. "Wouldn't it normally be 'Mister'?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed in understanding. "Well, everyone in your group has surnames, so I assumed you were Masters at the very least. Only people of noble birth, no matter how diluted, have such things on their status. And since the Guilds don't have any record of you, we thought you might have traveled here from another city incognito. Only people of affluence could afford to do such a thing."

I sighed. It was yet another instance where 'another world' logic took me by surprise. "Just call me Al. The people in my group prefer to be treated normally, too. It'd be bad if you put high expectations in their heads while they're unable to remember anything."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. It might be one thing to give permission for yourself, but I couldn't treat others so familiarly without their approval. They might demand compensation once they regain their memories, you know."

"I suppose that's a cue for me to read my primer," I replied with a pained smile.

"Please do," he directed. "As a confirmed amnesiac, you will be provided lodging for two weeks at no cost. I'll have someone show you to your room while I continue serving this delicious Earth-style soup you've made."