My Life Changed with the Unlimited System

Elias stretched his arms, leaning back slightly against a nearby boulder, his expression thoughtful but calm. "I think I'll save the rest of that story for another time," he said casually as if the tale of ancient battles and terrifying demons were nothing more than an anecdote to be shared over tea.

Ethan, standing nearby, blinked in mild disbelief. "Wait, what?" he asked, his tone less indignant and more genuinely puzzled. "You're stopping there?"

Marie chuckled softly, leaning on her staff. "Oh, come on, Ethan. You can't expect Elias to spill all his tales in one sitting. He has to keep us on the edge of our seats, after all."

Even Celia, who rarely indulged in laughter, let out a faint smile. Elias simply shrugged, unbothered by Ethan's reaction. "There's still work to be done today," he said, his tone firm but not without a hint of mischief. "Can't let the past get in the way of the present, can we?"

Ethan crossed his arms, his expression thoughtful rather than annoyed. "Fine. I get it. But what exactly is this 'work' you're all talking about? I mean, aside from fighting demons, what else do you people do around here?"

Marie tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes. "What, you think we spend all day slaying demons and telling stories?"

Ethan gave her a faint smile, though his curiosity was genuine. "Well, you've got to admit, that's kind of the vibe I'm getting."

Marie laughed, the sound light and unguarded. "Fair enough. But no, we're not all about epic battles and grand tales. There's more to this world than just fighting, you know."

She gestured toward the horizon, where faint outlines of buildings were just visible in the distance. "There are villages and towns nearby," she explained. "People living their lives, trying to get by. They need help sometimes, and it's part of what we do—keeping them safe, lending a hand where we can."

Ethan frowned slightly, considering her words. The idea of normal, everyday life existing so close to the chaos they'd just faced felt strangely foreign to him. "Villages and towns? You mean… normal people? How do they even survive with all of this happening around them?"

Marie's expression softened. "They survive because they have to, just like anyone else. Not everyone has the power or weapons to fight back. Some depend on people like us to stand between them and the darkness."

Elias nodded, his voice calm. "You'll see soon enough. There's more to this world than demons and forgotten memories, Ethan. It's a lot messier—and a lot more human—than you might think."

Ethan fell silent, his gaze drifting toward the distant buildings. He still had so many questions and so many uncertainties about this strange new life he found himself in. But for now, he simply nodded, ready to follow their lead.

"Let's go, then," Elias said, his voice steady as he began running. "There's still daylight left and plenty to do."

Marie and Celia followed without hesitation, leaving Ethan to trail behind them, his thoughts a quiet storm as he prepared himself for whatever came next.

After about twenty minutes of running, the town came into view, its rooftops peeking over the gentle slope of the hill they descended. It was small but bustling, the kind of place where life hummed quietly and steadily—a stark contrast to the chaos Ethan had faced earlier.

To him, it looked like something out of an old-world picture book, with cobblestone streets and weathered wooden buildings, smoke curling lazily from chimneys. The sight tugged at something faint in his chest, though not quite enough to stir recognition.

Ethan allowed himself a moment of quiet gratitude. 'At least I still know how to live—how to do things, how to think,' he mused inwardly.

Losing his memories had taken away his sense of identity. Still, it hadn't reduced him to starting life anew, fumbling with basic tasks like a child. It was a small mercy, one he clung to.

As he scanned the streets, Celia's voice broke through his thoughts, light but curious. "Does anything look familiar? Trigger a memory, maybe?"

Ethan shook his head, his expression unreadable. He didn't have to think too hard to know the answer. "No," he said simply, glancing at her.

Inwardly, he couldn't help but feel a faint trace of frustration rising within him. 'Sometimes it worked that way,' he thought. 'When I held the gun earlier, I remembered my skill.'

He pushed the thought aside, choosing instead to focus on the present, even as the absence of his past loomed quietly at the edges of his mind.

Elias broke the silence with a lighthearted tone, gesturing toward the town. "Before we get to anything else, there's something important I'd like you to experience, Ethan."

Ethan turned to him, curious. "What's that?"

Elias smiled, a rare warmth in his usually composed demeanor. "One of the best dishes served at a restaurant here. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

At the mention of food, Ethan's stomach betrayed him with a loud growl, audible enough to make Marie and Celia pause before exchanging amused glances.

Marie smirked, crossing her arms. "Looks like someone's stomach already decided for him."

Celia chuckled, adding with mock seriousness, "Are you sure you're not part demon? That sounded feral."

Ethan, undeterred, maintained his composure, responding with a straight face, "All those fights today burned through everything I ate. I'm just being practical."

Marie burst out laughing, and even Celia couldn't hold back a grin. Elias shook his head, the faintest hint of a chuckle escaping him. "Well then," he said, nodding toward the streets ahead, "let's not keep your stomach waiting."

As they stepped into the restaurant, Ethan immediately noticed the atmosphere wasn't what he had expected. Instead of the bustling warmth he had imagined, the place was eerily quiet.

The few patrons inside sat silently at their tables, and the staff moved about sluggishly as though weighed down by some unseen burden. Even the enticing aroma of cooking was absent.

Elias frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the room. "This isn't right," he murmured. "It's usually much livelier than this."

Marie and Celia exchanged puzzled glances while Ethan, still processing his surroundings, tried to suppress the faint disappointment creeping in. They had hyped this place up on the way, and now it felt as though they'd walked into a funeral parlor.

Elias strode purposefully toward the counter and called out, "Chef! Are you here?"

From the kitchen emerged a man with broad shoulders and a well-worn apron. His face, lined with age and years of hard work, usually carried an inviting smile.

But today, his expression was heavy, his eyes clouded with worry. He sighed deeply before speaking. "Elias... I don't feel like cooking anymore."

Marie blinked, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief. "What do you mean you don't feel like cooking? You're the best chef in this town!"

Celia chimed in, her brows furrowed. "We came all this way to try your famous dishes, and now you're saying you're... done?"

The chef shook his head, his tone tinged with melancholy. "It's not that I've given up. It's just... the joy's gone. What's the point of being the best in town if it's not good enough for anyone else?"

Elias's gaze softened slightly, but his voice remained steady. "What happened? You've always taken pride in your cooking. Why now?"

The chef leaned against the counter, folding his arms as he spoke. "It's the hikers. A lot of them pass through here, especially since those strange incidents started drawing attention to this area. They've tried the food, but their reviews... well, they haven't been kind."

Ethan tilted his head, intrigued. "What did they say?"

The chef sighed again. "They said it's not special. That's nothing to brag about. To us locals, it's the best we can offer—a taste of home, of tradition. But to outsiders? They're used to fancy dishes and flavors we can't replicate here. Compared to what they're used to, our food is just... average."

Marie's eyes widened, a mix of indignation and confusion flashing across her face. "So, they complain because it doesn't meet their over-the-top standards? That's ridiculous."

Celia nodded, frowning. "Exactly. They came to a small town, not a five-star restaurant in the capital. What were they expecting?"

Elias remained quiet for a moment, his gaze steady on the chef. "And that's enough to make you stop cooking?" he asked gently.

The chef's shoulders slumped. "When the thing you take the most pride in gets torn apart by people who don't understand it... it's hard to keep going, Elias. I've spent years perfecting these dishes, and now..." His voice trailed off, his frustration palpable.

Ethan stayed silent, observing the exchange. This wasn't just about food. It was about something deeper—about being seen and valued for what you create.

Elias straightened, his eyes gleaming with quiet determination. "Well," he said, his tone lighter but carrying an undertone of resolve, "I think it's time we reminded those hikers—and you—why this place matters. But first, let's start with us. Show us what you've got, Chef. Let us help you improvise."

The chef hesitated, his hands twitching as though itching to reach for his tools. "You really think it's worth it?"

Elias smirked a rare spark of mischief in his expression. "I wouldn't have brought them all the way here if I didn't." He glanced at Ethan, Marie, and Celia. "What do you say?"

Marie grinned. "Absolutely. Let's settle this once and for all."

Celia nodded, her eyes glinting. "We're ready."

Ethan, meeting the chef's gaze, simply said, "I'm starving."

The chef stared at them, his lips twitching upward despite himself. He pushed off the counter, a flicker of his old passion returning. "Alright, then. Let's see if this kitchen still has its magic."

The chef disappeared into the kitchen, and for twenty-something tense minutes, the sound of clattering pans and the occasional sizzle filled the restaurant. When he returned, his arms were laden with dishes, each one radiating an inviting aroma that made Ethan's stomach tighten with anticipation.

He placed the plates carefully on the table, his movements deliberate, as if presenting a treasure he had unearthed from the depths of his craft.

First was a steaming platter of braised venison stew, the tender chunks of meat nestled among wild mushrooms and root vegetables, all swimming in a rich, dark gravy that glistened in the low light.

The scent of rosemary and juniper berries mingled with the earthy aroma of the forest, conjuring images of misty trails and quiet mountain paths.

Next came a pan-seared trout, its golden-crisped skin flecked with herbs, served atop a bed of sautéed greens foraged from the surrounding woods.

A hint of lemon zest and garlic wafted from the dish, brightening the heavier flavors with a subtle sharpness that made Ethan's mouth water.

Then, there was a large bowl of herbed potato and nettle soup, its vibrant green hue hinting at the freshness of the ingredients. The creamy broth was garnished with a swirl of cream and a scattering of crisp-fried nettle leaves, offering a perfect balance of comfort and refinement.

Finally, the pièce de résistance, a smoked wild boar roast, the thick slices arranged in a fan and drizzled with a glaze of honey and mountain spices. The scent of the smoke—woodsy and robust—made people think of campfires and stories shared under the stars.

On the side was a heap of roasted chestnuts and cranberries, their sweetness balancing the boar's savory depth.

Each dish was served with a simple plate of fluffy, fragrant white rice, its gentle aroma the perfect canvas for the bold and varied flavors on the table.

The chef stood back, wiping his hands on his apron as he studied their faces, his expression a mix of nervousness and pride. "Well," he said gruffly, "let's see if this satisfies you."

Ethan reached for his fork, his hand hovering over the plate of venison stew, but just as he was about to take his first bite, a sudden flicker of something—like a ripple in a still pond—coursed through his mind.

His vision blurred for a moment, and the world around him seemed to dim as fragmented memories began to surface. Read exclusive content at My Virtual Library Empire

He saw himself sitting at a table much like this one, surrounded by faces he couldn't quite place. The conversation was focused and intense. He was speaking, his tone firm but constructive, offering detailed feedback on a dish that someone had prepared.

Then the scene shifted—he was in a kitchen now, his hands moving deftly as he prepared a dish with practiced ease. The smell of spices, the hiss of a pan, the heat of the stovetop—it was all so vivid.

Around him, chefs in pristine uniforms watched, some begrudgingly nodding in approval, others throwing up their hands as if in surrender.

When the vision faded, Ethan blinked rapidly, the warm light of the restaurant coming back into focus. His hand, still poised with the fork, lowered slowly as he tried to make sense of what he had just seen.

"Ethan? Are you alright?" Elias's voice broke through the haze, drawing Ethan's gaze across the table.

Marie leaned in slightly, her fork hovering mid-air. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Celia, however, barely glanced at him, her expression bored as she picked at the trout on her plate. "If you're about to faint or something, at least wait until after we finish eating," she said dryly.

Ethan ignored her, shaking his head as he let out a soft chuckle. "No, it's not that," he said, his voice steady but thoughtful. "I just… remembered something. Or at least I think I did."

"Remembered?" Marie's brows shot up, her curiosity piqued. "What kind of something?"

Ethan hesitated for a moment, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Well… maybe I used to be a chef or something."

The chef, who had been lingering near the table, stiffened at Ethan's words, his eyes widening slightly. "A chef?" he echoed, his tone both incredulous and intrigued. "You?"

Before Ethan could respond, Celia let out a soft snort, finally looking up. "What are you now? Some kind of culinary savior?"

"Maybe," Ethan replied calmly, which caught her off guard. He turned his attention to the plates before him, the faintest flicker of confidence lighting his features. "I think I might be able to help your restaurant get better reviews."

The chef's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence, his expression a mix of hope and disbelief. "You? Help me?" he managed, his voice faltering.

Ethan gave a small nod and leaned forward, his fork now moving with purpose. "Let me taste these dishes first," he said simply, his tone carrying an authority that surprised even himself.

As he took his first bite of the venison stew, the room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of expectation settling over the table. Everyone watched him, even Celia, though she tried to look uninterested. Ethan closed his eyes, allowing the flavors to unfold on his palate, the memories of the kitchen still fresh in his mind.

When he opened his eyes, there was a calm focus in them, and his next words carried the quiet assurance of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. "Alright," he said, setting his fork down with deliberate care. "Can I borrow your kitchen?"