INN-AUGURATION

CHAPTER 1- We Need a Cook-I

As Willow twirled gracefully, her broom gliding across the creaky wooden floor, she couldn't help but notice the persistent presence of dust in this seemingly enchanted realm. How ironic that even in a world of fantasy, dust found solace in hiding within the crevices of the aged wood.

"Why must there be no sweeping spell to spare me from this endless task?" Willow voiced her complaint, her expression betraying no trace of her inner turmoil. While she found solace in the simple act of work, it didn't mean she couldn't voice her frustrations.

"Oh, dear, there is indeed a sweeping spell. However, it comes at a price," the Witch, Vivienne, uttered with a mischievous glint in her eyes, she regarded Willow like she was a pet. “Three hours of message— and I shall regain my capacity to perform mystical wonders again.”

 Willow shook her head, refusing the offer that came with a price. "No, thank you, you old hag. I shall complete this task without the need for magic, in less time," she replied, her weariness evident. The Witch, not truly evil but far from kind, reveled in tormenting Willow at every opportunity.

"Why, pray tell, would you choose these dusty woods over the allure of my bewitching form?" The Witch whispered, her voice husky and intimate, as if the words were meant solely for Willow's ears. The effect was immediate—Willow visibly trembled, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, feeling as if steam escaped from her very being. She quickly averted her gaze, wooden floor indeed were alluring. 

As Willow finished sweeping the main hall, the side door swung open, revealing a figure larger than life. It was Gideon, the resident stablemaster of the inn, a man who claimed to have been a formidable warlord in his past. Though there were no horses to tend to in their magical Inn, he had sought a quiet life and found solace within these walls. In exchange for a room and thrice-daily meals, he gladly took on the responsibility of maintaining the non-existent stables.

"Have you completed your dusting duties, Miss Innkeeper?" Gideon inquired, his voice resonating with the weight of his former title. His appearance was that of a weathered veteran, giving credence to his fearsome reputation. However, in his presence, Willow discovered a hidden wellspring of amusement and lightheartedness.

"Yes, Mr. Warlord," Willow replied, giving him the respect his stature demanded. She couldn't help but be captivated by his contagious laughter, which always seemed to reverberate through the air, filling the space around him. There was something uniquely delightful about his presence in the inn.

Seated comfortably at the counter, Gideon turned his attention to Witch, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Mornin’ Miss witch”, and then "And what about the sustenance, my dear Innkeeper? Will my appetite be sated?" he asked, his tone lighthearted.

"A most graceful morning to you as well, Mr. Warlord," Vivienne played along with their whimsical game, although her expression revealed her amusement was lacking.

"I'll prepare something right away," Willow replied, swiftly stowing away her broom. As she hurried into the kitchen, a sudden realization struck her like a slap to the forehead—she had forgotten to sweep the kitchen for the fifth consecutive day.

With a sense of urgency, Willow washed the neglected crockery and hastily assembled sandwiches using the leftover bread from the previous night. However, the sight of those sandwiches made her gag; she could no longer bear to consume them. Over the past week, they had become her sole sustenance, and she had grown weary of their monotonous taste. Cooking was not her forte, and she couldn't help but compare herself to the other two inhabitants of the inn, who had proven to be even bigger culinary failures.

Emerging from the kitchen with plates in hand, Willow presented her creations—sandwiches scorched to a crisp. Despite her best efforts, she knew she was the most skilled cook among the trio, a fact that only deepened her disappointment.

Gideon took his plate and consumed the charred offering without a hint of complaint. Willow knew that even if he had found fault with her cooking, he would never vocalize it, lest his words wound her. Perhaps his silence spoke louder than any critique ever could.

"What in the Lord's tarnation have you concocted, young one?" the old witch, however, was not so forgiving. "And what audacity to assume that the Witch of the Elder Seat would deign to consume something so vile," she said with an air of haughtiness, rising from her seat as if to depart. The first step, the second step—then, her stomach grumbled, betraying her true desires. She muttered something under her breath, turned back, and reclaimed the plate.

"Given the effort you've invested in it, I shall bestow upon you the grace of my benevolence and stomach this abomination," the Witch declared, taking a reluctant bite. Her face twisted in disdain; it was truly inedible, a testament to Willow's culinary mishaps.

"Given the effort you've invested in it, I shall bestow upon you the grace of my benevolence and stomach this abomination," Willow echoed, parroting the Witch's words with practiced precision. It had become their daily routine, a whimsical exchange they engaged in without fail. 

"We need to find a cook," Willow offered, her voice filled with determination.

"Agreed," Uncle Warlord replied, his tone echoing her sentiment.

"Find one," the old witch ordered, her voice carrying the weight of expectation.

Willow nodded, but as she took a bite of her own creation, her face contorted in disgust, as if she had consumed a piece of charcoal. "Quite delicious, I must say," the old witch added, delivering a jab with an aftertaste of mockery.

"I shall search for a cook," Willow declared, determined to rectify the dire culinary situation. With her unfinished sandwich in hand, she hurriedly finished the last bite.

"Make sure you don't wander too far and return before the sun sets," the Warlord advised, his tone serious and concerned.

"And don't eat anything strangers offer you," the old hag chimed in, her words laced with a hint of mockery.

"I am not a CHILD!" Willow shouted, her cheeks puffed with indignation. Fuming with frustration, she closed the weathered door of her inn.

The inn stood six flights of steps above the ground, its hidden giant wheels ready to transport it on its fantastical journeys. But first, she needed to open her inn and attract at least fifty guests. As she walked along the well-made limestone brick road, flanked by two-story buildings, a scene reminiscent of 1900s London unfolded before her eyes.

As Willow strolled along the well-made limestone brick road, flanked by two-story buildings reminiscent of 1900s London, she exchanged greetings with familiar faces she had come to know in the past month. It was remarkable how quickly she had forged connections in this new world.

One month ago, she had awoken on the dusty wooden floor of her inn, her memories of her past life shrouded in a hazy mist. She chose not to dwell on it, her existence now resided solely in this fantastical realm. Fully embracing this new reality, she resolved to live her life to the fullest.

Upon her awakening, Willow had immersed herself in the task of cleaning and maintaining the inn. It was a substantial undertaking for a single person. The inn spanned three stories, with eight rooms reserved for guests, as well as her own personal quarters and a few additional spaces on the ground floor for the staff she would eventually recruit. 

On the second day, a group of thieves targeted Willow, attempting to rob her. Despite her valiant efforts to defend herself, she was overpowered by their superior strength. Before anything dire happened to her, the Witch emerged from a previously inaccessible door, unleashing her lightning spell to vaporize the assailants. 

The Witch, in her typical enigmatic manner, proceeded to enlighten Willow about the existence of a system—a mystical framework bestowed upon select individuals. According to the Witch, a deity had visited her in a dream, offering to utilize her magical powers to create this system. However, the Witch had agreed to its implementation on the condition that those who received these powers would be bound to the inn.

If Willow were to express her honest opinion, she would deem it all a concoction of lies. 

When Willow accessed her system, she discovered that in order to activate it, she needed to fulfill certain requirements: recruit two individuals, including a chef, and officially open the inn. Until she fulfilled these conditions, she would be without the aid of her system. Seeking guidance, she turned to the Witch for advice.

The Witch suggested hanging a sign on the front door, proclaiming the inn as "open for hire." However, the inn's appearance was shabby and lacking in credibility, dissuading potential applicants from showing interest. Days passed without any sign of suitable candidates. It seemed as though Willow's dream of assembling a team was slipping further away.

But then, one week into her new world, a man arrived. He was an old Warlord, exuding an air of coolness and seeking a more relaxed lifestyle. He inquired if there was any work available, sharing a few of his war stories along the way. 

Initially, Willow was dismayed by him being an unsuitable for their line of work. However, the Witch proposed the idea of him working as the stablemaster, drawing upon his experience with steeds. Intrigued by the opportunity, the Warlord accepted the offer. He was very wholesome man to their monotonous life.

Willow paused in front of the quaint tea shop, her remaining crystals clutched tightly in her hand—the currency of this new world. The Witch had informed her that these were the last of her resources. While she could have easily asked the Warlord to hunt and acquire more crystals, she was determined to prove herself capable and independent in this endeavor.

The familiar voice of the tea shop owner greeted her, his warm presence always a comforting sight. She had frequented his establishment numerous times, seeking solace in the delicious teas he brewed, particularly after enduring the charred breakfasts she had attempted to create. The shopkeeper was a kind-hearted man, one of the many decent individuals she had encountered in this fantastical realm, with the thieves being the unfortunate exception.

"Ah, if it isn't our lovely innkeeper," the shopkeeper greeted her with a friendly smile. "Morning to you. You seem a bit more downcast than usual. Is something the matter?"

Willow stepped inside the shop, appreciating the familiar ambiance and the comforting aroma of various tea blends. She had developed a certain fondness for this place, she wanted her inn to be a place like this.

"I am in desperate need of a chef," Willow grumbled, frustration evident in her voice. "If I don't find one soon, the old witch will never allow me to open the inn."

She looked to the shopkeeper, hoping that perhaps he might know of someone suitable for the role or offer some helpful advice.

"I see. You should pay a visit to the Guild," the shopkeeper responded thoughtfully, placing a clay cup in front of Willow. She reached into her pocket and took out three light blue crystals, intending to pay for her tea. However, the shopkeeper waved off her attempt to pay.

"Tut tut, my dear. I've already told you, it's on the house. When you finally open the inn, we'll settle the bill," he insisted firmly, his gaze leaving no room for argument.

Begrudgingly, Willow acquiesced, placing the crystals back into her pocket and leaving the cup on the designated trash can. She knew better than to go against the shopkeeper's unwavering insistence.

"I will return them," she promised, she will repay the kind gesture.

"Of course, and with interest as well. Just remember to direct your guests to my humble establishment," he said with a warm smile.

Willow nodded, acknowledging the shopkeeper's request. She bid him farewell and headed towards the central plaza, where the guilds were housed. From scholars to adventurers, there was guilds to attract every individuals. It seemed like a promising place to seek out potential candidates for the position of chef in her inn. 

As the sun descended below the horizon, a sense of unease permeated the inn. The innkeeper was conspicuously absent, leaving the witch and the warlord to exchange concerned glances. The atmosphere in the main hall grew tense, as if the creaking of the wooden floorboards echoed their growing frustration.

Witch tapped her fingers impatiently on the wooden counter, her frown deepening with each passing moment. Her eyes, cold and lifeless, held a flicker of something dangerous—an intensity that could extinguish worlds.

Meanwhile, the warlord paced restlessly, his heavy footsteps reverberating through the hall. A perpetual frown etched upon his face, he cast frequent glances toward the entrance, his concern visible.

"Miss Keeper is late," he muttered, his words laden with a hint of frustration and apprehension.

"It appears so," Vivienne replied impassively, her voice carrying a subtle undercurrent of mana, reminding everyone of her immense power.

"I will go and search for her," Warlord declared, determination coloring his voice. However, his suggestion was quickly dismissed by the Witch, "She is no child," Vivienne stated coolly, her dismissive tone indicating her unwillingness to entertain the idea.

"In this world, she is," Warlord retorted, his voice tinged with a simmering undercurrent of violence. He understood the dangers that lurked beyond the inn's walls and the need to protect the one who had become like family to him.

If these two were to engage in battle, the very city they resided in would crumble under the weight of their power. Sensing the impending catastrophe, fate intervened, sending forth an unexpected visitor—a diversion from the mounting tension within the inn.

A timid knock echoed through the door, causing Gideon, the formidable Warlord, to open it with an air of impatience. The sight of his towering stature and stern expression made the knocker tremble in their boots.

"Who goes there?" Gideon demanded, his voice laced with impatience and concern.

The visitor stammered nervously, their voice trembling. "I... I came to search for the witch who resides in this house. It's about Willow."

Upon hearing this, the Witch spoke up from her perch at the counter. "Come on in," she called out, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and concern.

Gideon stepped back, allowing the visitor to enter. The tension in the room heightened as all eyes focused on the newcomer.

"What about Willow?" Gideon questioned, his impatience tinged with worry.

The visitor hesitated for a moment, clearly shaken by the imposing presence of Gideon and the Witch. Finally, they gathered the courage to speak.

"She... She went to the Darkwoods in search of the Demon Lord. Someone at the Guild told her that the Demon Lord was renowned as the best cook in the entire country," the visitor relayed, their words causing both Gideon and the Witch to react with disbelief.

"What?!" they exclaimed simultaneously, their voices filled with a mixture of shock and concern.

"I apologize," the tea shop keeper muttered weakly. "It was my suggestion for her to search for a cook at the guild."

"Perhaps, a serious talk is indeed due," Vivienne muttered softly, her voice carrying the weight of impending discussion, before turning her attention to the visitor. "Thank you, Mr...?" Her words trailed off, awaiting his name.

"Oliver White," the man replied, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.

Vivienne gracefully inclined her head. "I shall express my gratitude with a gift at a later time. For now, I bid you good night." With a graceful bow, she conveyed her appreciation, and Oliver took his cue to leave the inn.

Gideon stepped forward, his towering presence accentuated by the massive broadsword he hoisted on his backd.

"I can handle this myself," Vivienne asserted, her voice resonating with confidence.

Gideon's response was firm yet understanding."I know, but there are never too many helping hands,"
"I suppose you're right,"
A hint of concession flickered in Vivienne's expression. She withdrew a staff from the encompassing darkness surrounding her as she opened the door.

"Reith," the Witch whispered, her voice carrying an ancient power. From her very shadow, a majestic bird arose, its wings shimmering like a reflection of the boundless sky. Adorned with a crown of darkness upon its regal head, it exuded an aura of otherworldly magnificence.

"Need a lift?" Vivienne mocked, a twisted smile curling on her lips.

"No thanks," Gideon responded firmly, his gaze unwavering as he looked at the majestic bird as if it were just another ordinary creature. "Grey!" he called out in a loud, booming voice. And in response, his beloved steed emerged with a mighty roar. It was a wyvern, adorned with dull and muddy grey scales. The creature circled the sky before gracefully landing on the ground, its massive claws sinking into the earth. Gideon swiftly mounted its back.

"We shall proceed," Gideon declared with determination in his voice.

Gideon atop his loyal wyvern, they raced towards the hideout, the castle of the Demon Lord.

Sleeeping

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