Day 52 of Wind Season, Clear

Thirty days have passed since I transmigrated to this world. Today marks my ninth day as a captive. Nothing much happened again, but these pirates are growing more trusting. I wander freely—even bumping into the leader draws no comment. Maybe it’s my cooking? Guess inheriting Dad’s restaurant was wise. If I ever return, I’ll stick to being a chef and ditch those wild dreams. Ah… my Rachel. Will I ever see you again? It’s truly heartbreaking.

I’m Luo Sa, 26. Like my diary says, I’m a transmigrator. One day, walking home, a truck probably ran me over. I woke up… no, not here.

I landed in Modria City, a coastal town. "Modria" roughly means "calm winds."

The language here isn’t Earth’s, but luckily, I understand it fine.

Novels and anime lied! As a transmigrator, I got no cheat skill, no cute girls—just sadness. Death loops? Show me how it’s done first!

Murphy’s Law struck: worry about something, and it happens. So, me—who never loved cooking—faced survival in another world by… becoming a chef again. Laugh it up! What’s so funny?!

Fine, I accepted reality after twenty-something days. Settling for a lazy life wasn’t bad. Free food, shelter, even savings. Plus, seeing beastkin and elves—races only in stories. For a powerless transmigrator like me, gratitude matters.

Then, on Day 44 of Wind Season—a calm day—the damn pirates attacked Modria. The world’s calendar differs: four seasons—Water, Wind, Fire, Earth—each exactly 100 days. Roughly like Earth’s winter, spring, summer, autumn.

That Day 44, pirates stormed the city. A bigshot had arrived the day before with guards, transporting something valuable. Pirates targeted it… Seriously, you’re pirates! Raiders attack cities!

That supposedly tough guard captain—the "Wind Swordsman" or whatever—got vaporized by a magic crystal cannon before showing off.

Was the power gap really that huge?

Anyway, these pirates—sorry, raiders—were prepared. They caught everyone off guard. The loot must be vital if magic crystal cannons appeared. Compared to the city’s tiny cannons, the difference was stark.

Defenders lost fast. Pirates stole the goods. But why kidnap people too?! Are you pirates or bandits?!

Bewildered, I became one of eighteen captives—nine women, nine men. One girl looked barely fourteen. Sickening! Why more men? Are these pirates dangerous?!

We were shipped to their hideout: Cevira Island. I haven’t seen the others since. Probably grim fates. My solo room, freedom to roam, and diary time? Definitely an exception.

I should’ve trembled like a typical captive—forced labor, worse when needed… That’s my guess. Captivity rarely ends well.

But I noticed their awful food. "Win a pirate’s heart through his stomach," books say. So… I swapped kitchens again.

Thankfully, my homeland’s recipes worked. After cooking one fish stew, everything changed. To pirates surviving on black bread and dried fish, that stew made them nearly swallow their tongues. Instantly, I became their head chef. In a way, my childhood dream of being a "great master" came true. Heh.

My treatment soared above other captives. After days of good behavior, they saw me as half-comrade. Trust wasn’t just about cooking.

I stopped speaking their language entirely, muttering only Chinese occasionally. Since they couldn’t understand, they saw me as a skilled but odd cook who babbled nonsense. With my good conduct, they dropped their guard. My act worked perfectly!

Pity I can’t access poison. Wiping them out would be sweet… but I’d die too. Just a thought.

My diary’s in Chinese—safe from prying eyes.

I never liked writing. This journal just eases boredom. Seeing these familiar square characters gives me comfort. I set aside the Wind Spirit Pen, blew out the candle, and climbed into bed in the dark.

This pen’s a magic tool—useless enough to end up with me. No ink needed. A green bead at its tip writes when wind touches it. Blow on it or swing it hard.

A female pirate gave it to me. A pretty blonde with sea-green eyes, around twenty. Her smile’s lovely. Why be a pirate?

Truth is, this world differs from my expectations. Where’s sword-and-sorcery? Epic beasts like Behemoths or Nagas? None seen! No mages either—only magic crystal cannons, this Wind Spirit Pen, and the leader’s giant blade.

I’d love to see a majestic Great Dragon… but not if it risks my life. No suicidal stunts for me.

With these thoughts, I drifted to sleep.

Dawn broke. I hopped out of bed—time for breakfast. Pirates split duties: some guard base, others sail to raid.

My job: feed them before they leave. Mornings are busiest. They never return for lunch; dinner’s iffy.

Even with helpers, cooking for many isn’t easy. Training them took effort—I had to act dumb, using only gestures since I "don’t speak."

After breakfast, I headed to the shore. I lounged on a big rock. Wind Season lives up to its name—constant breezes. Lying here felt great. Though… I probably looked like a salted fish drying in the wind.

"The leader didn’t sail today," I muttered, eyeing his massive anchored ship. Luck’s on my side. From what I’ve seen, my pirate crew rules these seas.

Cevira Island’s heavily guarded. They even raise snorting pigs and clucking chickens for meat—no endless seafood. Their strength keeps trouble away. Life’s comfortable here.

I waved at patrolling guards. Everyone respects me for my cooking. Boredom’s brutal with no entertainment—and I avoid talking. I either breeze-watch or listen to pirates brag. God, give me a computer! With internet!

Around 2 PM, ships returned early.

"Back so soon? Catch anything?" Pirate A asked. "Catch" meant raiding; "catching fish" meant scoring loot.

"Look at the waterline—that’s a big haul!" Pirate B cheered.

I watched the docks. Pirates and captives unloaded goods. They’d hit a merchant convoy. Usually, pirates take partial loot, leaving survivors a chance. Their strength and mercy prevent desperate fights.

Some merchants even pay protection fees to sail safely through Cevira territory. Pay more, get escorts. Other pirate crews then avoid them. Strong crews mean luck. This convoy skipped fees and got caught.

The leader emerged from headquarters, looking pleased. I’d be happy too with that haul.

"Hey! What’s that?" A leopard beastkin pirate pointed. His vision’s sharp—second only to the captain’s pet hawk.

Others squinted but saw nothing.

"Looks like a person… approaching fast." The leopard-man’s words made me strain my eyes. Too distant to see clearly. But if it’s a flying person… a mage?

Excitement sparked—I might finally see real magic!

"All hands, battle stations!" The leader drew his giant blade, face grim.

Tension snapped tight. I edged backward quietly.