To be honest, Charles wasn't much of a cook. Though his family had urged him to learn in his previous life, even until transmigration, he could only manage simple dishes like soup or scrambled eggs. Anything slightly more complex would leave him sighing in defeat.
But his crude cooking skills didn't matter when the Kitchen could cook by itself!
All he needed to do was stand here, click a few options on the system panel to select ingredients and dishes, then give the Kitchen its orders.
With the Kitchen's own magical power, chef's knives flew through the air automatically, skillfully preparing ingredients like onions, dried shrimp, carrots, and potatoes.
The stove before him ignited on its own, frying onions in olive oil until fragrant, then adding clean spring water to boil all the vegetables before finally adding prawns, refined salt, pepper and other seasonings.
Thus, a seafood vegetable stew far surpassing Hattie's previous culinary efforts was completed.
Though Charles' only contribution had been clicking the system interface twice at the beginning, that didn't stop him from feeling utterly pleased and accomplished.
He ladled the stew into bowls, then stood in the Kitchen holding a spoonful of the golden oil-slicked broth, unable to resist sharing when the tantalizing aroma hit his nose. Bringing the spoon to Hattie's lips, he said shamelessly: "Here, Hattie, try my cooking!"
Hattie's eyes shimmered with admiration as she obediently parted her rosebud lips to accept the spoonful. After swallowing the hot broth, she gazed solemnly into his eyes and said: "Delicious. Master's cooking is wonderful!"
Charles had been studying her expression carefully and noticed no obvious "sparkling eyes" reaction. Disappointed, he asked: "Hattie... do you actually not like human food very much?"
Hattie's expression immediately turned apologetic: "Forgive me, Master. We witches feed on souls, so when I camouflaged as human before, I didn't program myself with the 'taste' function."
Well, it seemed she genuinely couldn't taste this pot of stew.
Perhaps that briny aftertaste in her previous seafood soup wasn't entirely due to this era's seasonings either...
With this realization, he stopped forcing Hattie to eat. Testing the temperature with his lower lip first, he tilted his head back to drink a small spoonful himself.
Instantly, the aroma of oils, sweetness of shrimp, savoriness of vegetables, and pure saltiness of unadulterated refined salt exploded across his taste buds, nearly bringing tears to his eyes.
Ah, my cooking is amazing!
Shamelessly claiming full credit for the system Kitchen's work, he swallowed the broth, feeling warmth flow down his esophagus into his stomach before radiating throughout his body.
His energy-deprived chilled body suddenly flooded with this warmth, goosebumps rising across his skin. Every nutrient-starved cell sang with joy.
This was absolute bliss. Who knew the second benefit I'd experience in this different world would be gourmet food...
As he marveled at this, Hattie thoughtfully retrieved a basket of pre-sliced white bread from another corner of the Kitchen.
Undoubtedly, the bread was cold and dry - unpleasant to eat plain. But now with this exquisite stew, Charles tore the bread to soak in the broth until fully saturated, then ate it with spoonfuls of vegetables and shrimp.
Thus, the shrimp's dense proteins, vegetables' vitamins, and bread/potatoes' energy-rich starches all entered his belly. Broken down by stomach acids and transported via bloodstream, his long-starved cells sighed in satisfaction.
He proceeded to finish the entire pot of stew along with fifteen slices of dry bread, leaving his body thoroughly warmed and belly slightly distended before finally stopping.
Neither of them bothered with washing the dishes—the system's Kitchen had its own cleaning function. After they left, a Purification's white light automatically restored everything to its proper place. Apart from the consumed ingredients, everything looked exactly as it had before.
With a contented heart, Charles returned to his room and half-reclined on the bed to let his meal settle. Hattie stayed by his side the entire time, her eyes filled with affection, unwilling to leave him for even a moment.
Yet now, with his hunger fully satisfied, he frowned slightly as he took in the simplicity of the room.
Hmm… too plain. Not very comfortable to live in.
If he wanted to properly recuperate, a good resting environment was essential. So…
Pulling up the system, he fiddled with the construction interface for a while before merging another structure—the "Dorm"—with his current room.
In the game, this was where the witches rested. It significantly boosted their mood and stamina recovery while also automatically healing minor injuries.
This, too, was a magical construct ing like the "Kitchen."
And so, amid the Purification's white light and Hattie's adorable, wide-eyed surprise, the plain little room began to transform, gradually taking on the appearance of his previous life's bedroom: its size nearly doubled, the narrow bed by the window replaced by a plush two-meter-wide one, his desk at the bedside, a wardrobe opposite, and even a chandelier now hanging from the ceiling!
Of course, that chandelier wouldn't actually light up. Though this world had begun harnessing Electricity, it had no Tesla, no alternating current—meaning it lacked the cheap, accessible power of his previous life's 20th century.
Here, Electricity was stored in slabs of "powerstone," like massive batteries, then slotted into appliances for use.
Naturally, this method was prohibitively expensive. Outside a sliver of high society, almost no one could afford it.
Liberl Port, as one of the world's few major harbors, was wealthy—but its wealth gap was equally vast. The Upper Class lived in what might as well have been Modern Society, while the Lower Class scraped by in conditions closer to primitive tribes.
And the monastery? Located in the South Harbor District, an area barely a step above the slums, and keen on avoiding attention, the witches could never afford such luxuries.
But these were minor concerns. Lighting? While the witches had little need for it, magic could easily suffice if required.
Hattie pointed a fingertip at the ceiling's chandelier, silently chanting an incantation, and completed the cantrip Light. The magic coiled around the fixture, and a soft glow bloomed, instantly illuminating the entire room.
Charles watched enviously. Sadly, the System didn't grant spellcasting abilities outright. For that, he'd first need to acquire and learn them himself—then he could turn to the System to level up.
But gaining spellcasting abilities? Far easier said than done.
By the setting's lore, Liberl Port had roughly a million residents. Yet even counting pseudo-spellcasters—those who relied on magical items to cast without innate power—the city's true spellcasting population barely topped 30,000.
But those who truly possessed spellcasting abilities, capable of casting even a single 1st-level spell through their own power? Likely no more than ten thousand in total!
Yes, tally them all: Mages and Bards who learned through study; Pastors and Paladins who drew power from deities and oaths; Druids and Rangers who channeled nature's will; Sorcerers with awakened bloodlines; Warlocks bound to powerful creatures by sign a contract—and even those who gained their abilities through other means, be it path choices, Ancient Blessings, class advancements, or feat training. Combine every last one of them, and you'd still barely break ten thousand!
Thus, genuine Spellcasters were one-in-a-hundred elite talents—no exceptions.
The core reason? Casting spells was ruthlessly demanding. Without obvious aptitude, better to resign yourself to being a warrior or wanderer than dream of bending the heavens or summoning storms.
Charles's first three attributes were pitifully low, but his latter three sat above average. At just fifteen, he still had room to grow—so in terms of raw potential, he did possess talent.
Yet his impoverished upbringing had confined him to the church school's rudimentary education, leaving no path to formal magic training.
Thus, the Mage route was closed. Sorcerer? Even less plausible—he hardly resembled some noble heir, likely to awaken power spontaneously.
As for swearing fealty to a deity or oath? For a man whose soul was fundamentally modern Eurasian, the idea felt… untenable.
And embracing nature as a Druid or Ranger?
A noble thought. Aside from being laughably weak, those classes had no glaring flaws.
Ahem.
Still, despite the obstacles, Charles—a hardcore player devoted to the pure love route—knew exactly what this world's fastest path to power was.
Better yet, this path would let him exploit his 20 Charisma to its absolute limit.
"Hattie!" he whispered to the witch beside him, "Can you sign a contract with me, become my suzerain, and share your spellcasting abilities with me?"