Chapter 50 — An Acquired Taste

  After the dark mana experiment, my training for the day was over.

  The rest of the day was mine.

  I decided this would be the day I tried something new using the farm’s ingredients. Something I had never actually made before—but had once seen in a recipe video back in my old world.

  So I began preparing.

  First, I used metal creation to make the utensils I needed. I carefully formed a shallow metal bowl, a flat-bottomed pan, and a thin fork meant for mixing rather than cutting.

  Next, I harvested the fist-sized wheat. The soil beneath the shack was dry and dark, untouched by snow. Above it, the slanted roof caught the weight of the falling ice before it could reach the ground, letting the plants grow as if winter had simply been pushed aside. Despite the cold in the air, the crops were healthy—warmth lingering in the earth where it shouldn’t have.

  I ground it down into a fine powder, then used cloth to filter it until only the softest flour remained. Once that was done, I moved on to the other preparations.

  As I plucked berries from their stems, the hunting group returned with their prey and began preparing their own meal nearby. Lately, Lyra and Cira had been getting better and better at cooking.

  Honestly—better than me.

  While I worked, Umbra, who was still nearby observing, finally spoke.

  “What are you making today?” he asked.

  “You’ll have to wait and see,” I replied. “I can’t guarantee it’ll work. This is my first time trying.”

  Umbra tilted his head slightly. “Don’t worry. Just tell me what you need.”

  “In that case,” I said, “could you bring me some eggs?”

  “Just eggs?” he asked.

  “That’s all.”

  He nodded. “Alright. I’ll be back.”

  As he left, Kael approached.

  “You’re at it again, it seems,” he said.

  “I had time today,” I replied. “Training’s already done. I even learned how to mask my aura with dark mana.”

  At the mention of dark mana, Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing,” he said after a moment. “I sensed more traces of dark mana in the territory yesterday as well. The Elder isn’t near the shrine. The guardians weren’t there either.”

  “…Something must have happened,” I said.

  “I’m not worried about her strength,” Kael replied. “She’ll be fine. But whenever she disappears like this, something has happened.”

  He paused.

  “And it’s never pleasant.”

  Then he shook his head lightly.

  “I didn’t mean to worry you. Continue with your work. I’m sure it will be alright.”

  His gaze hardened—not with fear, but resolve.

  “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Umbra returned not long after.

  He didn’t bring just a few eggs.

  The space beside him folded without warning. Dark mana rippled once—quiet, controlled—and a bundle appeared in his grasp, wrapped in broad leaves and secured with vine. When he set it down beside me and unwrapped it, I paused.

  “Enough,” Umbra said simply. “You said eggs.”

  I nodded, accepting it without comment.

  As I worked, I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of reassurance. Luckily, back in my old world, I had once watched a recipe for this—one that didn’t rely on milk. At the time, it had felt like a novelty. Now, it felt like preparation I hadn’t known I’d been doing.

  So what if I was missing a few ingredients from Earth?

  This world had others. Stronger ones.

  I cracked the eggs carefully, one by one, into the metal bowl. I mixed them slowly, deliberately, watching the texture change as the yolks and whites became uniform. Nectar followed—thick, fragrant, its sweetness sharper than anything I remembered from home. Then oil, poured in a thin stream, binding everything together into something glossy and smooth.

  When I added the flour, I did it gradually. No rushing. I folded it in until the mixture thickened, heavy but cooperative, clinging to the fork before slowly falling back into the bowl. Finally, I crushed a handful of berries and worked them into the batter, their color bleeding through in dark streaks.

  The pan was already warm.

  I coated it lightly with oil and poured the mixture in, spreading it evenly before covering it with a second metal plate to trap the heat. From there, it was patience. Low flame. Slow cooking. Turning the pan occasionally, careful not to let the heat spike.

  Time passed quietly.

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  Then the smell began to change.

  It wasn’t the sharp scent of cooked meat or the earthiness of roasted roots. It was warmer. Fuller. Sweet, but not cloying—carrying hints of fruit and something richer beneath it.

  I noticed the shift before I saw anyone move.

  Conversations nearby trailed off. Movements slowed. One by one, figures drifted closer—not crowding, just… gathering. Even those busy with their own preparations paused, noses lifting subtly, attention pulled in without intent.

  The scent spread through the clearing, carried by the cold air, lingering where it shouldn’t have.

  I lifted the cover and checked.

  The surface was firm. The edges had pulled cleanly from the pan. When I pressed lightly, it held—springing back just enough.

  Done.

  I removed it from the heat and set the pan aside, letting it cool.

  By then, everyone nearby had gone quiet.

  I exhaled slowly.

  Whatever this was—

  It had worked.

  The meat was eaten first.

  As always.

  The hunting group’s catch was shared evenly—thick cuts seared over open flame, rubbed with crushed herbs and sharp spices, finished with berry-based sauces reduced until they clung to the meat. The scent was layered and heavy, familiar yet refined, the result of weeks of quiet experimentation that had already changed how the pack cooked.

  Everyone ate.

  Conversation stayed light, broken by the sounds of tearing meat and low remarks about flavor. The pups finished fastest, as usual, licking sauce from their paws before circling back in restless loops. The others ate more steadily, satisfied, unhurried.

  Only once the meal had settled did I stand.

  I carried the pan over myself.

  The scent followed—warm, sweet, unfamiliar—and this time it pulled attention immediately.

  Kael glanced at what I brought and understood. Without comment, he stepped forward and cut the cake into equal portions. Fourteen pieces. Clean, precise cuts. No ceremony.

  He stepped back.

  I took the plates and served them.

  There was no hesitation.

  The pups dug in the instant the plates touched the ground.

  “Wait—what is this?!” one of them blurted out mid-bite.

  Another froze, mouth still full. “What—what is this sensation?! Why is it so soft?!”

  Then they went back for more.

  “It’s like eating a sweetened cloud!”

  The reactions spread fast.

  Lyra bit down properly—no restraint—and stopped mid-chew, ears lifting.

  “The flavors…” she said, surprised despite herself. “…they’re dancing.”

  Cira didn’t comment at all. She ate her piece quickly, then stared at the empty plate as if offended it had ended.

  Umbra took a solid bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Balanced,” he said. “Nothing overwhelms anything else.”

  Grey snorted. “You say that like it’s a tactic.”

  Kael ate last.

  For a brief moment—barely noticeable—his posture eased. The edge he carried softened, just slightly.

  Then he corrected himself.

  Composure restored.

  Lyra noticed anyway.

  She turned to me, eyes sharp, tail flicking once.

  “How,” she asked, “did you hide this from us for so many days?”

  “I didn’t hide it,” I said.

  She scoffed. “You did.”

  Then, without looking away—

  “I want to learn it too.”

  Around us, the last crumbs disappeared, and the clearing settled into a quiet that felt earned.

  The pack began to rest after that. Some were lying down, others sparring quietly nearby. I sat with them, letting my body settle, letting the calm linger.

  For a while, everything was peaceful.

  Snow drifted lazily through the open clearing, settling over pawprints and cooling the stones still warm from cooking fire. The air had grown still again.

  Then Kael went rigid.

  He rose in a single motion, eyes locking onto a point deep within the forest. There was no hesitation—no warning. He launched forward with extreme speed, the air tearing apart behind him. The pressure of his movement hit me a heartbeat later, a concussive rush that stole my breath.

  The first elemental strike detonated before I could fully turn.

  Stone and fire collided with the treeline, the impact folding the ground inward. A second followed immediately—then a third—different elements layered together, each one violent enough to level the clearing on its own. Trees were ripped from the earth. The ground cracked and buckled. Smoke and debris surged outward, swallowing everything in a churning wall of chaos.

  Snow detonated upward with every impact, white turning to vapor where fire touched it, to slush where stone fractured beneath it. What had been a quiet winter clearing vanished beneath steam and flying frost.

  Then it pushed back.

  The smoke tore apart from the inside as something moved through it—resisted it.

  When the haze cleared, I saw it.

  Fully black. Massive. Its form was dense and anchored, claws driven deep into the fractured earth, holding its position against the aftermath of Kael’s opening assault. The ground around it had been pulverized, yet it still stood at the center, unbroken. Its surface rippled as it regenerated, damage sealing itself almost as quickly as it had been inflicted.

  Its eyes burned through the smoke.

  It was a Noctyrr.

  The species responsible for the annihilation of Kael’s first pack.

  Kael did not wait.

  He slammed into it with life force-infused strikes, abandoning distance entirely. Each blow landed with catastrophic force—air collapsing, shockwaves tearing outward, the impact echoing like thunder through the forest.

  The Noctyrr met him head-on.

  Condensed power erupted from its body, countering Kael’s advance. The collision threw debris skyward, raw force grinding against raw force.

  Melted snow hissed against shattered earth. Frost reformed in jagged sheets where cold mana surged, only to be obliterated again by the next strike.

  Each exchange sent pressure waves rippling through the clearing. The sound alone was unbearable—metallic, violent, wrong—like the world itself screaming under the strain.

  The Noctyrr held.

  It adapted.

  Its movements sharpened. Its counterattacks grew more precise, each strike aimed not just to wound, but to break. It raked through Kael’s defenses with brutal efficiency, regeneration compensating for every mistake, every opening Kael forced.

  And Kael answered with rage.

  Not reckless.

  Not blind.

  Focused.

  His aura surged, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on everything around him. The air distorted under the weight of his intent. His attacks intensified—not faster, but denser, layered with killing force meant to overwhelm regeneration itself.

  The battlefield collapsed inward under them.

  The Noctyrr tried to disengage once it realized the balance had shifted. Power surged beneath it as it turned, the ground exploding outward in an attempt to create distance.

  Too late.

  Kael closed the gap instantly.

  I had never seen him fight like that.

  There was no restraint left in his movements—only precision fueled by something colder than fury. His true strength crushed down on the Noctyrr, every strike stripping away its ability to recover, every impact denying it time.

  Its regeneration slowed.

  Then failed.

  Its movements faltered.

  And Kael ended it.

  One final strike—absolute, decisive—erased what remained of its resistance. The Noctyrr collapsed, its form finally still.

  Kael stood over it, unmoving.

  He killed it without hesitation.

  Without mercy.

  Without a second thought.

  Kael returned to the clearing moments later.

  The moment he stepped among us, the atmosphere shifted.

  “Prepare your minds for battle,” he said, voice carrying without effort. “They will come.”

  No one questioned him.

  “The enemy moves in numbers,” Kael continued. “They will use any tactic available to them. Deception. Lures. Ambush. Anything that allows them to wipe us out and claim this territory.”

  His gaze swept across the pack, steady and unyielding.

  “They can strike at any time—from this moment onward. Stay alert. If you sense anything out of place, report it to me immediately through the link.”

  He paused briefly.

  “I killed one of the Noctyrrs,” he said. “They know now that we are aware of them.”

  The weight of that settled heavily.

  “Do not underestimate them,” Kael finished. “They will sink to any depth to achieve what they want.”

  That was all.

  The pack moved instantly.

  Groups split and fanned out, patrolling the perimeter without hesitation. Positions were reassigned on the fly. Sectors overlapped. No gaps left unattended.

  The pups were pulled close to Cira, staying within her presence as the rest of the pack spread out.

  The calm was gone.

  What remained was readiness.