The town at the bottom of the ridge was small but alive with warm scents. Fires burned in round clay stoves that gave off gentle sweet smoke. Pots simmered with stews filled with root vegetables that carried soft earthy notes. People walked between wooden stalls where glowing herbs hung from cords. Some plants shifted colors as if breathing. My head spun with all the aromas. Lira watched me take it all in like a child seeing the ocean for the first time.

She guided me toward a stone building shaped like a half circle. A wooden sign hung over the door. Adventurers Guild. Two torches burned beside it. Their flames smelled like pine resin. Inside the hall long tables lined the walls and hunters sorted supplies. Some carried strange leaves. Others had shards of monster shells. But the thing that caught my attention was a basket filled with round purple fruits. They smelled bright and floral on the surface but carried a rotten twist beneath. Someone was about to die if they ate those.

I walked over and pointed. Do not eat these. A tall man with heavy armor looked at me like I insulted his lunch. They are healing fruits. We brought them from the ridge. I shook my head. The surface aroma was clean but the inner tone screamed corrupted mana. I lifted one to my nose. The shift was sharp. Like mold hiding behind berries. These are unstable. They will poison you.

The armored man frowned. Lira stepped beside me. He is a plant reader. He knows what he is doing. The man snorted but let me continue. I pressed the fruit lightly. A tiny puff of scent escaped. A wave of bitterness touched my tongue. No doubt. These fruits were absorbing corrupted magic from the soil. I told them to toss the batch. A guild officer overheard and came over. A woman with sharp eyes and braided hair. She smelled of dried herbs and old paper. A scholar.

Is what he said true she asked. Lira nodded. He has some kind of sense for plants. He knew about the burning vine too.

The officer studied me. What do you call your skill. I said flavor reading. She tilted her head. Can you demonstrate on something safer. She called for a young assistant who brought several samples. Dried leaves. Fresh petals. A small vial of glowing sap. I breathed in the scents one by one. The dried leaves had a mellow grassy tone with a fading sweet note. They were losing magic strength. The petals carried a cooling aroma that hinted at light healing. The sap was dangerous. It smelled like burning citrus mixed with metal which meant unstable ignition magic.

I explained the details in simple terms. The officer listened with widening eyes. The assistant scribbled notes. When I finished the officer folded her arms. Your sense is more precise than trained mages. We need someone like you. The guild has lost too many people to the forest shifts.

She led me to a private room behind the hall. A dim lantern flickered. The air smelled of ink and dust. She placed a wooden box on the table. Inside were three samples. One was a small branch with red needles. One was a silver leaf. One was a tiny stone with faint scent. She asked me to identify them. I leaned in.

The red needles smelled like cold fire. A contradiction but it made sense. They were used for frost ignition. The silver leaf smelled clean and sharp like sliced apple mixed with mineral earth. It was a clarity enhancer. The tiny stone surprised me. It carried almost no aroma but the faintest hint of dry heat. This thing was drained. Whatever magic once lived in it was gone. A dead mana stone.

When I finished the officer had the expression of someone discovering a treasure chest. She told me her name was Maren. She explained the guilds trouble. Forest plants were changing faster than records could track. Magic storms shifted plant properties. Hunters needed someone who could read the changes in real time. I asked why their mages could not do it. She said mages sensed mana but not flavor. They could tell strength but not direction. They felt fog. I felt patterns.

Maren offered me a position as a field taster. The title sounded strange. But she assured me it was important work. The pay was good. The risk was high. I accepted because staying alive meant understanding this world. And because a small part of me was excited. I spent years judging coffee beans now I judged the heartbeat of magic.

Lira returned and handed me light gear. A simple coat tough boots and a small satchel for samples. She smiled. Welcome to the guild. Tonight you eat with us. Then tomorrow we take you out to the ridge to test more plants. I followed her to a long table where adventurers gathered. Bowls of stew steamed. Bread smelled warm and soft. The air was thick with laughter and fatigue.

I tasted the stew. The flavors surprised me. The vegetables carried faint magical tones. Not harmful but lively. A root tasted like ginger mixed with glowing heat. A leaf tasted like mint with a sweet afterglow. Every bite felt like a small puzzle. Lira watched me eat slowly and said You really do taste everything.

I nodded. In my old world flavor guided my work. Here flavor keeps us alive. And something told me that magic itself spoke through these tastes. If I learned the language I might do more than survive. I might shape the future of this place.

Night settled. I found a bed in the guest quarters. As I lay down the scents of the day drifted through my mind like notes from a rare coffee batch. Bright. Deep. Dangerous. Beautiful. I whispered to myself. This world is built on flavor. And I can read every page.