The man with the horn and the heavy voice didn’t move after Drahon’s request.
For a moment, there was only the faint hum of magic in the air. Then, without so much as a gesture, a rectangular slip of light appeared in front of him.
It hovered in the air, its edges sharp and solid, yet it looked as though it had been cut from sunlight. The surface shifted once, and words began forming across it in flowing gold script.
Drahon’s eyes scanned the list. The meals themselves seemed normal enough, things he might have seen in any ordinary restaurant, but the details beneath each name told a different story.
Instead of prices in coins or money, there was only one kind of cost:
That made Drahon wonder, so the use of essence in this world wasn’t only limited to upgrading weapons or for enhancing skills, it was also used for more things.
Perhaps the complexity of essence wasn’t so little as he had first thought. Essence, in this world, was very much essential and he had just seen a reason.
The menu listed many foods, but the first one he noticed was:
> Flame-Grilled Venison with Ember Spice — [25 Essence]
> Hearth-Baked Bread Loaf, served with Sunfruit Jam — [8 Essence]
Well, this sounded really tasty, and just from the name and description, he was feeling hungry already.
Another caught his eye immediately:
> Ocean-Scale Salmon, smoked over volcanic stone — [31 Essence]
Ocean-Scale Salmon smoked over volcanic stone?
Perhaps it would be wildly delicious?
Every item was like that—familiar names paired with descriptions that made them sound both exotic and unreal. Even the drinks—
> Crystaldew Water — [3 Essence]
Skyfire Tea — [5 Essence]
Emberbrew — [7 Essence]
The menu wasn’t overly long, as he had expected a large info dump of food menu. But each dish radiated a subtle pull, as though the words themselves could spark hunger.
Or maybe it was just an illusion. They were so hungry anything was possible at this point.
A walking hamburger would be possible at this point, considering how wild the Dragon world was. And in their current state, anything was possible.
A faint chime sounded in his head, and the system displayed:
[Draconic Essence: 575]
Of course, only he could see it, and as he stared at it he couldn’t help but wonder spending his essence, for some weird reason, didn’t feel so good.
But essence was meant to be used, so he couldn’t quite get where this feeling was coming from. Or maybe it was just something that came with the human system, being reluctant to lose something.
It was the first time he had actually seen his essence put to direct use. The number now seemed far smaller than before, as if simply knowing he could spend it made the value shift in his mind.
He began selecting his order.
A full meal, something filling, enough to push back the fatigue still clinging to him after the dungeon. He picked the Ocean-Scale Salmon, the Flame-Grilled Venison, and a Hearth-Baked Bread Loaf.
To be honest, Drahon hadn’t eaten most of the dishes he was selecting prior to entering the Dragon Game, and the anticipation to eat them was sort of fulfilling, like some achievement.
Some weird achievement he just couldn’t pinpoint the reason for. Or perhaps it was because one of his main reasons for coming to this world in the first place was to fulfill his dream.
For drink, he had Skyfire Tea, something that sounded so sophisticated it was surprising.
The total blinked at him in the top right corner of the golden menu:
The deduction felt immediate.
[Draconic Essence: 473]
The loss wasn’t painful, but there was some sort of weight in it. Essence wasn’t something freely given. It was something one had to kill lots of monsters for, and one of the worst parts was after killing a lot of monsters and hoping to get essence, you discover you are incompatible with them.
That was exactly what had happened with the Draconic Rats and then the Venomous Boss monster.
Every number of the essence represented something faced, something earned, something that took actual effort.
Beside him, Ayvira and Devon were reading the menu as well. Neither spoke at first, each lost in their own decisions. Ayvira’s eyes moved quickly, scanning everything as though she was memorizing the names. She tapped her selections: Ash-Seared Fowl with Frostleaf Glaze, Moonpetal Salad, and Crystaldew Water. Devon kept his order simple, Stone-Oven Flatbread and a veggie plate-
but added a second drink for reasons he didn’t explain, one that sort of intrigued.
To be frank, this was actually the first time in his life he was seeing someone who was vegetarian. But maybe that was because the orphanage was filled with lots of jerks.
From what he understood, a vegetarian was someone who simply refused to eat meat, no beef, no chicken, no fish, nothing that had once walked, flown, or swam. But that didn’t mean they starved themselves. They still ate rice, beans, fruits, vegetables, and all kinds of plant-based meals.
Eggs and dairy? That, he wasn’t too sure about, it probably depended on the kind of vegetarian. But at its core, the idea was simple: no meat, just food that came from the earth.
What intrigued him was why Devon was a vegetarian. Since he came from a home that constantly fought, his parents being drinkers and smokers, he wasn’t so certain they were also vegetarians.
Perhaps the thing was with Devon. Perhaps it was his decision, to be a vegetarian.
Drahon decided he would have to find out himself later on. Perhaps ask, but do so in a way that his real intentions wouldn’t be so visibly sold.
Might have to take a bit of being mischievous to achieve; he wasn’t so sure though.
As each of them finalized their choices, the menu faded, dissolving into faint sparks that scattered in the air before vanishing. The counter before them remained empty for only a few breaths.
Then tables emerged from the smooth floor without sound.
Something shifted and reshaped, rising upward, forming into solid surfaces edged with the same faint silver veins as the counter. Chairs followed— high-backed, sturdy, fitted perfectly to the table’s height. They weren’t moved into place; they simply were, as though the space had always been meant to hold them.
The food appeared next.
Not with flashes of light, not with a dramatic summoning, but as if the meals had been there the whole time, unseen until now. Platters set neatly in the center, steam curling into the air, carrying scents rich enough to fill the hall.
Drahon sat first, the chair adjusting almost imperceptibly beneath him. His plate was arranged with precision, the salmon’s scales gleaming faintly in the light, the venison’s surface marked with deep sear lines, the bread loaf still warm enough for its crust to crack gently when he tore a piece free. The Skyfire Tea shimmered in its cup, surface glowing faintly orange as though lit from beneath.
Ayvira took her seat next, her expression steady as she pulled her plate closer. Devon followed, though his gaze lingered briefly on the horned man before settling into his own chair.
They began eating without speaking.
It wasn’t silence born of discomfort—more the kind that came when food demanded full attention.
The salmon was unlike anything Drahon had eaten before. Soft, almost weightless on the tongue, the flavor carried hints of smoke without bitterness. The venison was dense, each bite layered with spice that warmed rather than burned. Even the bread, simple by appearance, held a sweetness that made each mouthful feel fuller and more complete.
The tea left a faint heat in his chest that spread slowly, as though the drink itself carried some quiet vitality. It was one of the sweetest things he had ever tasted in his life.
In fact, it was the sweetest tea he had ever tasted.
While they ate, the man with the horn did not move from his position near the counter. He stood with both hands resting lightly on the surface, his posture unchanging, gaze steady but not sharp. There was no sense of impatience, yet something in the stillness made him impossible to ignore.
Drahon glanced over to him, surprised that he was just standing there, waiting for them?
Time passed unmarked.
Soon, their plates were emptied, their cups drained, the steam fading from the table. The last traces of flavor clung faintly in the air, mixing with the ever-present undertone of the room’s magic.
When the final plate was pushed back, the man finally stepped forward. His movements were deliberate, the sound of his shoes on the stone carrying easily in the quiet.
He stopped beside their table.
For a moment, his eyes moved from Drahon to Ayvira, then to Devon, as if confirming something unspoken.
His voice was as steady as before, each word measured.
"Let me lead you to your rooms," he said.