When the sun began to set behind the walls, the roar of the crowd changed its tone. It was no longer the cry for battles or tests of strength — it was curiosity, mixed with hunger.

  Lukas walked beside his small group. The city’s central courtyard had been transformed into a grand Culinary Festival, with stalls, stoves, and long tables where competitors from across the Empire showcased their dishes. Colorful flags fluttered in the autumn wind.

  Aníbal looked around, amazed.

  — I… didn’t know there was this much after the trials.

  — Me neither, honestly. — Lukas stopped before a banner that fluttered over the main stage:

  “GRAND CULINARY CREATION TOURNAMENT OF SORRISO.”

  Amelia barca appeared, holding a rolled parchment.

  — Lukas. — She took a deep breath. — You’ve been registered.

  — I’ve been what?

  — Registered. In your name. The people want to see if the “new warrior of the Capital” can cook too. — She raised an eyebrow. — Gonna refuse?

  For a moment, Lukas felt the past tug at his chest — those nights in the tower when he cooked for his brothers, the teasing, the jokes, how they called his food “a loser’s meal.”

  But now… he wasn’t that Lukas anymore.

  He smiled.

  — I accept. — he said firmly. — But on one condition: every recipe I create today will be registered as property of the Tenth House — the Legionnaires. And anyone who sells these recipes will pay three silver coins per month in tax. — He lifted his chin. — I want these dishes to reach the entire Empire, at a fair price. So no one has to choose between stale bread or nothing.

  The judge — a gray-haired man in a spotless apron — crossed his arms, impressed.

  — Generous. Most would demand five gold coins. — He looked Lukas in the eyes. — Then prove your cooking is worth it.

  The crowd exploded in cheers of anticipation.

  Valquíria appeared laughing, already holding a mug of ale.

  — Did I see that right? Little brother’s gonna be a chef? Hahaha!

  — Maybe he’ll just make porridge. — Lincon sneered.

  — Or burn everything, like always. — Maycon added.

  But up on the royal balcony, Kyros watched in silence. Beside him, Emperor Pedro smiled.

  — He’s not afraid to show who he is. — the Emperor said.

  — That’s why I gave him my name. — Kyros answered quietly.

  In the courtyard, Sarya stopped to watch — a faint blush on her face.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  César spoke proudly in Lukas’s mind:

  "Turning cooking into a banner... I’ve never seen that before. But it’s worthy of a true legionnaire."

  Morgana purred:

  "Oh, I’d love to taste his… cooking. And I don’t mean the food."

  — Please, shut up. — Lukas sighed.

  And then, he began.

  Ingredients:

  Black beans slow-cooked to perfection.

  Smoked sausage.

  Bacon cubes.

  Cured beef.

  Butter-fried onions and garlic.

  Fresh parsley.

  White rice.

  As the crowd watched, Lukas browned the bacon, then the sausage, releasing a scent that made half the square salivate. He mixed the beans and thick broth, stirring patiently. When the rice steamed in clay bowls, he lifted the ladle.

  — This dish will be the symbol of the Tenth House and the Capital Sorriso. Because no one stays sad after feijoada.

  The audience roared. The judge tasted it.

  — Exceptional.

  Ingredients:

  Flour dough.

  Seasoned shredded chicken.

  Egg yolk glaze.

  Clean oil for frying.

  He shaped the dough with skill, filled each coxinha, and fried them until golden. When he split one open, the fragrant steam drew applause. One bite, and smiles spread like magic.

  — For afternoon snacks, for gatherings — simple food can be the best food.

  Ingredients:

  Fine dough.

  Spiced ground meat.

  Soft cheese.

  Fresh herbs.

  He shaped each piece precisely. When the first batch came out sizzling, even Leli clapped.

  — When everything seems bad, this flavor brings joy back. Taste it… and tell me later.

  Ingredients:

  White rice, bacon, sausage, diced cured beef, creamy scrambled eggs, and crispy chicken thigh, topped with a tiny flag of House Kyros.

  The aroma was so divine people knelt to see it. When Lukas planted the flag on top, he raised the dish high.

  — The post-training meal of every warrior. Because no one conquers anything without feeding body and soul.

  Ingredients:

  Fresh milk, eggs, caramelized sugar, a drop of vanilla, and frost magic.

  As the pudding steamed, Lukas raised his voice:

  — I need an Ice Elf!

  The square fell silent — until Kotan Aspen stepped forward, his tone firm.

  — I’ll do it. — He lifted his palm. — Five degrees exact. No more, no less.

  Lukas smiled. — Perfect.

  The pudding cooled flawlessly, and soon half the city wanted a taste.

  — Because the gentlest smile… is the one born when life turns sweet.

  When it all ended, the judge raised his hand.

  — Absolute winner: Lukas Fernandes!

  The crowd erupted. They shouted his name. The brothers who mocked him fell silent. And up above, Kyros let a rare smile cross his face.

  — This is why this city is called Sorriso. — he murmured, voice rough.

  As laughter and flavor filled the air, Lukas simply breathed deeply and thought:

  This time… it’s going to be different.

  End of Chapter 23