World Awakening: The Legendary Player
Chapter 122: So called Meal

Chapter 122: So called Meal

Serian’s whole face lit up when she talked about them. It wasn’t the competitive fire from the race or the cautious look she got during a fight. This was something real, something warm.

"My older sister, Vexia, she’s the smart one," she said, her voice full of a pride that was impossible to fake. "A scholar, a master of ancient runes and histories. She could probably tell you the entire history of this world just from looking at the dirt."

She shook her head, a small, fond smile on her face. "She’s also the one who’s always telling me to think before I act."

"And then there’s Elisa," she continued, her gaze turning a little softer, a little more distant. "She’s the strong one. A true warrior. She could probably beat you and me both without breaking a sweat." A shadow passed over her face for a second. "They’re my home. The only one I have left."

Nox listened, and for a split second, he tried to picture it. Family. Sisters. A home. He tried to pull up a memory of his own parents, of a mother’s face or a father’s voice.

But all he got was static. Just blurry, faceless shapes and a big, empty feeling in his chest that tasted like cold metal.

’Crap.’ The feeling was uncomfortable, a hollow ache he wasn’t used to. He pushed it down, hard. This wasn’t the time to get all sentimental.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, trying to be the guy who didn’t care. "So, a bookworm and a bruiser. Sounds like a fun time at parties."

Serian’s smile faltered, her sharp eyes catching the sudden wall he’d put up. "They are... more than that."

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbled, looking away. He needed to change the subject, fast. "So these mountains. How far are we talking? ’Cause my feet are starting to get tired of all this walking."

She just watched him for a moment, her expression a mix showing understanding. She knew she’d touched on something he didn’t want to talk about, and for once, she decided not to push.

"A few days’ journey, at this pace," she said, her voice gentle. "We should be able to see their peaks by tomorrow morning."

Just as the awkward silence was about to settle back in, a rustle came from the nearby grove. Mela stomped out of the trees, looking even more furious than before. She was holding two very dead, very fluffy rabbits by the ears.

She marched right up to Nox and shoved them in his face.

"Here," she snarled, her voice a low growl. "Dinner. I hope you choke on it."

Nox just grinned, taking the rabbits from her without a hint of hesitation. "Aww, you shouldn’t have. But since you did, you can skin ’em and cook ’em." He tossed them right back at her. "The winner of the race doesn’t do manual labor. It’s in the rules."

Mela caught them with a fumbled grab, a look of pure, murderous rage on her face. "There are no rules! You made that up!"

"Sounds like something a loser would say," he shot back, his grin widening.

"I am going to kill you in your sleep, human."

"Get in line," he said with a wave. "The list is getting pretty long."

Serian just shook her head, a real laugh bubbling up. This was her life now. A bickering, mud-slinging, probably-suicidal road trip with the two most stubborn people she’d ever met.

And for some reason, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Let’s be clear: Mela was not a cook. She was a highly-trained, needle-wielding, shadow-sneaking weapon of elven fury. The concept of "seasoning" was as foreign to her as the concept of "not getting mad at Nox for five consecutive minutes."

So, her approach to cooking the rabbits was, shall we say, direct.

She skinned them with a brutal efficiency that was frankly terrifying, then jammed them onto a sharp stick and held them over the fire she’d started by angrily kicking two rocks together. She just stood there, rotating the stick with a grim expression, as the poor rabbits went from raw to blackened in about ninety seconds.

"Dinner’s ready," she announced, her voice flat. She slid the charred carcasses off the stick and onto a couple of large leaves.

Nox peered at the offering. The outside was a solid black crust of carbon, but he could see pink, uncooked meat peeking through the cracks. It smelled like burnt hair and disappointment.

"Wow," he said, his voice full of mock awe. "It’s... a metaphor. For your personality. All hard and angry on the outside, but completely raw and underdeveloped on the inside."

Mela’s eye started twitching. "Just eat it, you ungrateful little—"

"I think it has a certain rustic charm," Serian cut in, trying to be the voice of reason. She gracefully picked up a piece of the charred rabbit and took a polite, princess-like bite. Her face didn’t change, but Nox saw her jaw working a little too hard to chew.

He grinned and grabbed a leg. He took a huge bite, chewed for a second, and then his face went blank. The texture was a nightmare, a combination of crunchy charcoal and chewy, cold meat.

He swallowed with a heroic effort. "It’s, uh... crunchy," he managed to get out.

"It’s perfect," Mela declared, taking a bite of her own portion and chewing it with a stoic expression that dared anyone to disagree. Her pride was clearly more powerful than her taste buds.

The rest of the "meal" was eaten in a tense silence, punctuated only by the sound of Nox trying not to gag.

As the sun went down, they found a small, defensible clearing to make camp. Mela, still radiating waves of pure frustration, immediately volunteered for the first watch. She stomped off to the edge of the clearing and stood there with her back to them, a stony, needle-wielding gargoyle.

Nox just lay back on his blanket, staring up at the stars he could see through the canopy. His mind was buzzing.

’Dragonkin. Dwarves. Friggin’ cat girls. This world is a complete mess. And I’m right in the middle of it.’ The thought wasn’t scary. It was exhilarating. ’And these Elders... Fena was the weakest one. The weakest. That means there are at least three other monsters out there who are even stronger.’

The idea was like a shot of adrenaline. He had so much further to go, so much more power to get.

He glanced over at Serian. She was sitting by the fire, poking the embers with a stick, her face cast in a soft, orange glow. He remembered what the System had said. Limit Breaker mode. She’s been holding back.

She wasn’t just some princess he was escorting. She was a powerhouse in her own right, with a secret trump card she hadn’t even played yet. The thought was a weird mix of annoying and... impressive. She wasn’t helpless. She wasn’t just a mission objective. She was a player in this game, just like him.

He felt her eyes on him and looked over. She gave him a small, quiet smile.

’This is so stupid,’ he thought, but he sat up anyway. "You’re not cold?"

She shook her head, her silver hair catching the firelight. "Elven blood runs warm." She paused, her smile turning a little teasing. "Besides, I have a very loud, very angry space heater over there to keep the chill away." She nodded towards Mela’s fuming silhouette.

He snorted out a laugh, a real one this time. "Yeah, she does seem to run pretty hot."