Shabby?

No, no, no—not at all.

Sasha was utterly stunned by the lavish display. For the next while, she simply followed Tina to fully secure the small villa.

Meanwhile, Agnes had already lit the fire. A rich aroma slowly filled the air.

They’d worried cooking might attract monsters—but to their surprise, the others had already set up a double-layer barrier around the area, sealing in all scent and smoke.

After all, aside from Sasha, the other three were seasoned mages.

Agnes, Tina, and Xue Die were all Elemental Envoys; setting up basic barriers was effortless for them.

…

Night had fully fallen.

Inside the warm villa, bathed in bright light, a feast of Blackblood Boar pork sat atop an elegant glass table.

Agnes placed a plate, knife, and fork before Sasha.

“Take your time. I’m quite confident in the taste.”

“I made these, Sasha.”

Xue Die pointed to several dishes.

“A hundred out of a hundred—please score it.”

“Can I score too?” Tina asked, amused. Xue Die nodded.

“Of course.”

“Then score mine too. Whoever wins gets to sleep with little Sasha tonight.”

Agnes’s words instantly ignited Xue Die’s competitive spirit.

“Perfect.”

“No, really… no need to go that far,” Sasha waved her hands. The young lady beside her added,

“There are only two usable rooms. Sasha must choose who to share with.”

“I’m fine on the sofa. It’s comfy.”

“Let’s begin. Sasha—no favoritism. Let your taste buds crown the true culinary queen.”

Xue Die was unusually chatty only at moments like this.

Sasha sighed, picked up her knife and fork.

“Fine. But if one score’s lower, absolutely no mocking the other. Or I’ll sleep outside.”

Tina laughed. “Haha, little Sasha really looks out for everyone.”

…

…

…

“This is awful.”

Thuke, curled tightly in his sleeping bag, shivered uncontrollably, face flushed.

Night in this cursed Black Forest was bitterly cold.

And…

“Roland, are you *sure* this emergency ration isn’t pig feed? My cat’s kibble back home tastes better!”

“What can I do? Why didn’t *you* prep anything?”

Roland bit into his dry flatbread. Thuke huffed,

“I thought *you* brought supplies.”

“Don’t rely on others for everything.”

Autumnwater summed it up.

His compressed biscuit wasn’t much better—but at least carried a hint of sweetness.

Split three ways, it was enough to stave off hunger.

Yet Thuke kept ranting, making everyone hungrier.

“I want Black Pepper Beef Tongue! Tianpo Meat! Zhuxin Duck! Beggar’s Chicken! Hairy Crab!”

He mumbled while still chewing the flatbread.

Curling into a fuzzy caterpillar, Thuke reluctantly burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag.

“Goodnight. Hope my dreams serve what I crave.”

“You’re making *me* hungry too.”

Roland stared at his flatbread and biscuit. Sure, Sasha’s group shared senses—but without real food in hand, it felt hollow. Worse: it sharpened the hunger.

Like watching a gourmet show while starving—you smell the sizzle, see the steam… but can’t taste a bite.

Even if *another* him could eat!

It did nothing for Roland’s empty stomach. Minds and consciousness were one; bodies were not.

“Autumnwater.”

Roland whispered. No reply.

“Hey! Autumnwater.”

Autumnwater: “Hmm? What is it?”

Roland: “You know monsters can be cooked, right?”

Autumnwater: “Depends. Livestock-type? Fine. Pus-covered horrors? Hard pass.”

…Way to kill the appetite.

But Autumnwater caught his thought.

“Want to hunt?”

“It’s only eight. Plenty of time.”

“We can. Back in the army, I’ve cooked monsters—big-pot stew or campfire roast. Don’t expect gourmet skills.”

Clearly, Autumnwater had zero culinary finesse.

“What about you, Thuke?”

“Do I *look* like a chef?” Thuke poked his head out of the sleeping bag like a hermit crab.

“Ugh… if only a capable girl were here. Like Miss Agnes—she *looks* like she can cook!”

“Assuming all women are gentle and must master cooking is deeply disrespectful. Respect individuality.”

Autumnwater corrected him.

“Some women are as rough and unreasonable as men—and many can’t cook at all.”

“Dude. You just offended *everyone*. Whose side are you on?”

Thuke shot him a dead-fish glare.

BOOM!!

A deafening blast echoed from the distance.

The three locked eyes, scrambled from sleeping bags and tent.

They swiftly stowed leftovers into their Spatial Storage Rings and raced toward the sound.

“That blast—Mercenary Guild heavy artillery. I recognize the gunpowder scent.”

Autumnwater assessed instantly. Roland added,

“Mercenaries who entered Black Forest ahead of us. This model fires only against strong foes… or when cornered. Either way—they’re in trouble.”

“Scents say four people,” Thuke said. As a beastkin, his nose was far sharper.

“Heavy blood smell. Two critically wounded. Opponent’s a large monster… and the berserk aura is thick…”

…Berserk aura.

Monsters leak this energy unconsciously. Denser = stronger—a key gauge for seasoned mercenaries.

“Grade B?”

Roland and Autumnwater couldn’t judge the density yet.

But Thuke confirmed:

“Likely Grade B. The monster’s injured too. If we move fast, we might save them.”

“Spread out. Autumnwater, Thuke—ground approach. I’ll close in from the air.”

Roland leaped upward. Pure white angelic wings unfurled; a halo shimmered above his head.

From this height, the smoky battlefield’s devastation was clear.

Time was running out.