Rudura discovered something important that morning.
The palace kitchens were terrifying.
Not because of danger.
Not because of poison.
Not because of assassins hiding between spice containers.
Because the head palace chef was somehow scarier than military commanders.
It started innocently.
Which meant disaster was guaranteed.
Rudura had originally planned to spend the afternoon reading quietly.
A simple goal.
A peaceful goal.
Unfortunately, peace rarely survived inside the imperial palace.
He was walking through one of the inner corridors when a servant carrying stacked trays nearly collided with him.
"Ah!"
The servant stumbled sideways dramatically while trying not to drop everything.
Rudura grabbed the top tray before it crashed into the floor.
"…Careful."
"S-Sorry, Your Highness!"
The servant looked moments away from fainting.
Rudura handed the tray back carefully.
"…You alright?"
"Yes!"
Pause.
"…No."
"…Honest answer."
The servant looked around nervously before lowering his voice.
"The western kitchen is overwhelmed today."
Rudura blinked once.
"…That sounds serious."
"It IS serious."
Apparently food-related emergencies were treated like national crises here.
Before Rudura could escape politely
A loud voice suddenly exploded from somewhere nearby.
"WHERE ARE MY VEGETABLES?!"
The corridor went silent.
Several servants visibly flinched.
One dropped a spoon.
Rudura stared.
"…What was that?"
The servant whispered fearfully:
"Head Chef Balaram."
That sounded less like a chef and more like a warlord.
Another shout echoed from deeper within the corridor.
"IF THOSE POTATOES AREN'T HERE IN FIVE MINUTES, I'LL START COOKING PEOPLE INSTEAD!"
Rudura slowly looked toward the kitchen entrance.
"…You know what, I suddenly understand the panic."
The servant looked close to tears.
"Three assistants are sick today, two supply deliveries arrived late, and tonight's royal dinner preparation already started."
"…That actually does sound bad."
Before Rudura could continue
Another servant sprinted past carrying baskets.
Then another.
Then another.
The palace kitchen apparently transformed into a battlefield during major meal preparation.
And for reasons Rudura still didn't fully understand
He followed the chaos.
The moment he entered the western kitchen area
Heat slammed into him immediately.
Massive ovens burned along the walls while cooks rushed between preparation tables carrying trays, pots, spices, and ingredients.
The noise alone felt overwhelming.
"Move that pan!"
"More broth!"
"Who cut these onions this unevenly?!"
"WHERE IS THE GARLIC?!"
Rudura blinked slowly.
"…This place is insane."
Nobody even noticed him at first.
That was how chaotic things were.
Then
A huge man with folded sleeves and terrifying energy stormed past holding a cooking knife.
"You there!"
Rudura looked around.
"…Me?"
"Yes, you!"
This was Head Chef Balaram.
And somehow
He genuinely radiated commander energy.
The chef shoved a basket toward Rudura.
"Take those vegetables to the second prep table!"
Rudura stared at him.
"…Do you know who I am?"
"Yes."
"…And you still handed me vegetables?"
"You have functioning arms. Move."
Honestly?
Rudura respected that confidence immediately.
So somehow
The prince of the empire spent the next ten minutes carrying vegetables across a warzone disguised as a kitchen.
At one point, a young cook rushed past him carrying soup and nearly slipped.
Rudura grabbed the tray instinctively before disaster happened.
"Careful."
"T-Thank you!"
Another cook pointed desperately toward stacked bowls.
"We need more plates here!"
"…Why is everyone yelling?!"
"BECAUSE DINNER IS IN THREE HOURS!"
Fair enough.
Rudura eventually reached one of the preparation tables where several cooks were cutting vegetables at terrifying speed.
One older kitchen assistant looked up briefly.
"…You cut vegetables?"
Rudura frowned.
"…That's a dangerous question."
"Is that a no?"
"…Probably."
Unfortunately, before he could retreat
A knife got placed directly into his hand.
Betrayal.
The assistant pointed toward a pile of carrots.
"Thin slices."
Rudura looked down at the knife.
Then the carrots.
Then back at the knife.
"…I fight with swords."
"And today you fight vegetables."
Honestly incredible response.
So against all logic
Rudura started cutting carrots.
Very carefully.
The first few slices came out uneven.
One thick.
One thin.
One weirdly diagonal.
The kitchen assistant stared silently.
"…That bad?"
"You cut like an exhausted soldier."
"…That somehow feels insulting to both me and soldiers."
Rudura adjusted his grip slightly and tried again.
This time the cuts came out cleaner.
Still not perfect.
But better.
"…Huh."
Sword control actually helped.
The assistant nodded slightly.
"Better."
Rudura smirked faintly.
"See?"
Then immediately sliced one piece way too thick again.
"…Never mind."
Nearby cooks started laughing quietly.
For some reason
That made the entire atmosphere feel lighter.
Even the kitchen panic softened slightly.
At one point, Head Chef Balaram passed nearby and glanced down at Rudura's cutting board.
"…Acceptable."
Rudura looked offended.
"That's the exact same compliment style as my sword instructor."
The chef snorted.
"Then your sword instructor sounds intelligent."
Rudura was starting to suspect all older authority figures secretly attended the same sarcasm academy.
Hours passed surprisingly quickly afterward.
Rudura helped carry supplies, organized trays, and narrowly avoided dropping hot soup on himself twice.
Twice.
One cook eventually handed him fresh bread from the ovens.
"Here."
Rudura blinked.
"…For me?"
"You've been working for two hours."
"…I accidentally became kitchen staff."
The cook laughed.
"Pretty much."
The bread was incredible.
Warm.
Soft.
Freshly baked.
Rudura immediately took another piece.
"Careful," the cook warned.
"If Head Chef sees you stealing bread"
"I HEARD THAT."
Rudura nearly choked.
Head Chef Balaram pointed a spoon aggressively from across the room.
"Eat AFTER carrying those trays!"
"…Yes, Commander."
The entire kitchen burst into laughter.
Even Balaram looked mildly amused.
By the time evening arrived
The chaos finally started calming down.
Large meal trays prepared for the palace banquet lined the counters while exhausted cooks leaned against tables recovering from battle.
Honestly, battle was the correct word.
Rudura sat near one of the side counters drinking water while trying to process how his peaceful afternoon got destroyed this badly.
A younger kitchen assistant sat nearby.
"…You're not what I expected."
Rudura looked sideways.
"…What does that mean?"
"You're easier to talk to than most nobles."
Rudura shrugged.
"Most nobles probably don't carry potatoes for three hours."
"…Fair point."
A few nearby cooks laughed again.
Then Head Chef Balaram approached.
The entire kitchen straightened automatically.
Terrifying aura still active.
The chef crossed his arms while looking down at Rudura.
"You worked properly."
"…That almost sounded like praise."
"It WAS praise."
"…I'm honored."
Balaram snorted quietly before reaching into his coat and placing a wrapped pastry onto the counter.
"For helping."
Rudura blinked.
"…Seriously?"
"Don't make me regret generosity."
Rudura immediately grabbed the pastry.
"Understood."
The chef walked away muttering something about incompetent potato deliveries.
Rudura stared at the pastry for a second.
Then smiled slightly.
Maybe palace life wasn't always training and politics.
Sometimes
It was surviving the kitchen.
Later that night, Rudura returned to his room exhausted.
Again.
Somehow.
He dropped onto the bed while holding the wrapped pastry carefully.
"…I spent my entire day doing kitchen labor."
Silence.
Then slowly
He took another bite of the pastry.
"…Worth it."
Outside, warm kitchen smoke drifted upward into the cold winter night while the imperial palace slowly settled into silence.
And somewhere deep within the western kitchens
Head Chef Balaram was probably still yelling about potatoes.