Chapter 25: She actually spat on the firewood…!?

While Lester remained in a deep, unconscious slumber, Rosie finally completed the arduous task of changing him into dry clothes.

Right now, she sat on the floor like a little duck, her back turned firmly toward the source of all her recent trouble.

Her cheeks burned as if on fire, and even the tips of her small ears were flushed a vivid red.

The intimate scenes from moments ago replayed uncontrollably in her mind—

Struggling to flip his heavy body over, propping him up into a sitting position, clumsily stripping off the soaked garments, and worst of all… that most mortifying part…

She had never imagined she would experience such a day in her life!

Her palms still seemed to retain the lingering sensation of that firm chest—warm with faint body heat—and the sharply defined, explosively powerful lines of his abs.

All of it made her heartbeat chaotic. The embarrassment was so intense she wished she could dig a hole in the floor and crawl inside!

Thank goodness Ankira wasn’t here!

No one saw!

Rosie desperately comforted herself, trying to force those uncomfortable images out of her head.

Just then—

Creak—

The wooden door was pushed open.

Ankira’s figure appeared in the doorway.

In his hands, he carried a large bundle of fresh ingredients neatly bound with tough spider silk: several plump wild rabbits, a handful of plump, juicy mushrooms, and some crisp green wild vegetables.

He scanned the interior of the cabin.

Lester was now dressed in clean coarse clothes and lay peacefully on the floor.

Meanwhile, Rosie sat on the ground like a duckling, silver hair slightly disheveled, face beet-red, breathing a little heavily—as though she had just finished some intense physical exertion.

The moment her gaze landed on the ingredients in Ankira’s hands, her silver eyes lit up instantly, filled with a long-lost, pure hunger for food.

Right on cue, a loud, unmistakable “gu-gu-gu—” rumbled from her flat little stomach, shattering the brief silence.

“Yo, looks like someone’s starving?”

Ankira walked in with a grin, set the ingredients down, and glanced at Rosie.

“Why haven’t you changed your clothes yet?”

“Because…”

Rosie hurriedly averted her eyes, not daring to meet Ankira’s gaze for fear his sharp eyes would see right through her earlier embarrassment.

Those scenes flashed uncontrollably through her mind again. The whole process had been exhausting—more tiring than dressing herself ten times over.

She stammered, quickly throwing out an excuse, her voice thick with guilt:

“Uh… I—I thought I’d take a bath after eating and then change… so it feels fresher!”

Ankira raised an eyebrow. Clearly he knew it was a flimsy excuse.

But he kindly refrained from calling her out and simply nodded along:

“Sure, whatever works.”

He smoothly changed the subject, picking up a cleanly processed wild rabbit and gesturing with it:

“By the way, Miss Rosie—do you know how to cook? Want to lend a hand with prepping the ingredients? It’s a bit slow doing it all by myself.”

“Okay.”

Rosie answered immediately—as though granted a pardon. She stood up in a flash and practically fled after Ankira to the crude stove area.

In Ankira’s deft hands, the ingredients were quickly cleaned and prepared.

He picked up a few pieces of dry firewood, but paused just as he was about to start the fire.

Out of habit, he glanced toward Lester.

In the past, at moments like this, the Demon King would only need to snap his fingers or blow casually and flames would appear.

But now…

He gave a helpless smile, turned to the petite silver dragon beside him, and his purple eyes sparkled with expectation:

“Miss Rosie, could you help me start a fire? Just light a match is fine.”

“Start… a fire?”

Rosie tilted her small head, looking utterly confused.

“Do we need a fire-attribute magic crystal? But I don’t have any on me…”

She instinctively looked around but saw no sign of anything like a magic crystal.

Ankira gazed at this “newborn” who knew almost nothing about demonic instincts, softened his voice patiently, and explained:

“No need to make it complicated. We demons usually draw on our racial attributes to directly manipulate corresponding elemental forces.”

He gave a meaningful glance at Rosie’s small hands:

“Just like how you can release electricity—fire attributes work the same way.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gave specific instructions:

“I’ve seen Lester ignite things—usually he just breathes it out from his mouth. Why don’t you concentrate, take a deep breath, and try ‘blowing’ toward the firewood pile? Imagine the feeling of flames?”

Breathe fire?!

Rosie’s eyes widened in shock.

She looked down at the dry firewood Ankira held out to her, then touched her own mouth.

As a former human priestess, her mouth had only ever been used for praying, eating, and occasionally arguing with people…

Breathe fire?!

This was completely beyond anything she had ever imagined!

But under Ankira’s encouraging gaze, Rosie took a deep breath and decided to give it a try.

She closed her eyes, trying to recall the strange flow of mana inside her when she released electricity—guiding it toward her chest and throat.

At that moment, she suddenly felt a familiar, faintly numbing energy gathering.

Then she puffed out her cheeks—like blowing out a candle—and forcefully exhaled toward the pile of firewood:

“Huuu—!”

Pssshhh——!!!

No scorching airflow emerged. No leaping flames appeared.

Instead, a slender, crystal-clear jet of water shot from her mouth like a miniature water gun—hitting the poor, dry pile of firewood dead-center. Droplets even splashed onto the edge of the stove.

In an instant, the entire kitchen fell into an eerie, awkward silence.

Ankira: “…”

Rosie: “…”

She could clearly see the water beads rolling across the surface of the wood.

Time seemed to freeze for several seconds.

Rosie’s cheeks visibly flushed from pale pink to the deep red of a ripe tomato in record time.

Her small mouth remained frozen in a perfect “O” shape. Her clear silver eyes were filled with utter disbelief and overwhelming shame!

She… she had just… sprayed water?!

She had actually spat a mouthful of water onto the firewood pile?!

Ankira was momentarily stunned by the unexpected twist, but he recovered quickly. He forcefully swallowed the laughter threatening to burst out and tried to keep his expression serious and sincere:

“It’s… it’s fine! Not being able to breathe fire is no big deal!”

He cleared his throat, attempting to salvage a shred of dignity for her:

“See? Spraying water is actually a very… uh, practical ability! For example… quenching thirst? Or rinsing ingredients?”

But the more he spoke, the lower Rosie’s head sank. Her ear tips were practically glowing red.

Ankira instantly realized the best way to “put out the fire” was to change the battlefield!

He swiftly turned his gaze toward the long wooden table nearby, piled high with random clutter:

“Ah! Miss Rosie! Doesn’t that table look a bit messy? Could you do me a favor and tidy it up first? I’ll take care of starting the fire and cooking right away! It’ll be done in no time!”

Relief washed over Rosie like a tidal wave.

She nodded frantically like a startled rabbit, practically fleeing toward the long table. Turning her back to the stove, she began frantically sorting through the mess—trying to bury her exploding embarrassment beneath busywork.

Ankira watched the tiny back that seemed desperate to shrink into nothingness, gave a helpless smile, shook his head, and obediently crouched down. He picked up two pieces of flint and began striking them together—“click-click”—manually starting the fire.