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墨書 Inktalez
He can farm.
Upon hearing the Serf's reply, a Branding Iron was pressed against his chest, accompanied by the Serf's agonizing screams and the hissing sound of branding. The Serf, who had just been able to stand, collapsed to the ground, his legs giving way beneath him.
The newcomers lifted him, a single Serf. Two Mercenaries tossed the incapacitated Serf aside.
Witnessing this tragic treatment, all those in line instinctively took a step back. However, several Mercenaries wielding Whips began to swing them threateningly.
Crack! Two lashes struck John's back before he could even cry out in pain. The subsequent two lashes silenced any cries that tried to escape his throat.
Hurry, Zhu Wo!
Watching the arrogant Mercenaries, John could only curse them silently in his heart. One day, I will make sure to take revenge on all of you.
What are you thinking? It's your turn!
The young Mercenary holding the Branding Iron shouted at John.
Ah! Seeing the glowing red Branding Iron, John quickly racked his brain for any skills he might possess. Damn it, it seemed he had nothing at all. All those skills from his previous life were useless here; what good was knowing how to use a computer?
Noticing the impatience on the Mercenary's face as he reached for the Branding Iron, John hurriedly blurted out, "I have a skill! I'm a cook; I can cook!"
You're a cook? The burly man with a thick beard approached him while gripping the Whip.
Kid, don’t try to fool me. If you think you can get away with just cooking porridge, I’ll skin you alive.
As he spoke, he cracked the Whip down onto the ground in front of John.
Seeing it land at his feet made John's body tremble violently; his legs felt weak. Clinging to this lifeline, he shouted desperately, "I’m not lying! I really am a cook! I can cook!"
Perhaps hearing the commotion, a middle-aged man dressed like a nobleman approached—the Mercenary Captain.
Macario, how can you treat our cook this way?
Ah, yes, Captain.
Macario, the burly Mercenary, bowed respectfully and stepped aside, his face filled with fear and trepidation.
The Mercenary Captain wrinkled his nose in disdain and poked at John's hand with his cane before speaking with an amused tone.
My name is Poland, but you can call me Poland Commander. Dear sir, your hands don't look like those of a chef, but I do have plenty of time. Lai Gen, get a fire going and grab a pot. Mora Gu, prepare the utensils and ingredients; we need to taste this little chef's skills.
Hahaha, yes, Captain.
The two mercenaries quickly set up the pot and lit the campfire. They hastily pulled over a table to serve as a cutting board and tossed various ingredients onto its surface.
The big-bearded mercenary, Macario, tossed John onto the table like a little chick.
Come on, kid! I hope you whip up something good. Hahaha! But honestly, I’d prefer if you couldn’t make anything at all; that way, I’ll have something to play with—such tender meat.
Listening to the taunts around him, John steadied himself against the table leg and rose cautiously. With his right hand, he picked up some vegetables, swallowed hard, and realized that his moment of truth had arrived.
Ding! Do you wish to take on the profession of chef?
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