Chapter 24: That’s too much! Too cunning!

Rosie glared at the coarse set of clothes Ankira had casually tossed onto the floor.

Her small nostrils flared slightly. Her silver brows twisted into a tight knot. Her face was written over with pure, unfiltered disgust.

Faced with this devilish either-or choice, she didn’t hesitate for even a second.

She would much rather brave the danger-filled forest to forage for food.

Even if it meant digging up some bitter wild vegetables or picking a few questionable mushrooms of unknown toxicity—it was still ten thousand times better than changing clothes for that Demon King.

Her soft, slightly baby-fat cheeks parted just enough for her lips to open. She was about to declare—loud and firm—“I’ll go find ingredients myself!”—

But Ankira seemed to have anticipated it long ago.

He cut in first, face blooming with an expression of extreme innocence mixed with gleeful anticipation. In one smooth, machine-gun-rapid chant-like flow, he rattled off an absurdly long list of names with perfect clarity:

“If Miss Rosie is going out to gather ingredients, then—”

He paused deliberately. His purple eyes twinkled with mischief.

“—my demands aren’t high. I’ll settle for steamed lamb, steamed bear paw, steamed deer tail, braised flower duck, roasted young chicken, roasted goose, oven-roasted pig, oven-roasted duck, sauced chicken, smoked chicken with white tripe, glutinous rice-stuffed duck, jarred wild pheasant, jarred quail, braised goose, mountain chicken, rabbit jerky…”

“STOP!!”

Rosie exploded like a kitten whose tail had been stepped on.

Her small face flushed scarlet. She shrieked, cutting off his ridiculous menu mid-barrage.

“What kind of joke is this?! Where am I supposed to get all that?!”

She waved her little hands furiously, pointing toward the desolate, silent forest outside.

“This is the middle of nowhere—no restaurants! Just gathering the raw ingredients for half that list would take me all night! We’d all starve to death by then!”

“So you see—”

Ankira’s smile instantly widened into a triumphant, “I knew you couldn’t do it” grin.

He spun lightly on his heel as though completing a grand mission, voice suddenly bright and breezy:

“—which is why it’s better if I handle it. Lester is a gravely injured patient, and I just exhausted all my mana and stamina carrying him while fleeing. I’m so hungry my front is glued to my back—I really can’t walk anymore. You two just wait here peacefully. I promise I’ll bring food back!”

Before the last word even fully left his mouth—bang!

The wooden door was slammed shut behind him.

He even called back from outside in an obnoxiously “considerate” tone:

“Don’t worry—I’ll be back soon—”

And then his footsteps rapidly faded into the forest silence.

Everything happened so fast Rosie didn’t even manage to finish her final “No!”

The cabin plunged into dead silence.

Only the faint wind outside the window and her own somewhat ragged breathing remained.

Now it was just her and Lester in the room.

She turned her head in frustration, staring at the man sprawled on the floor, feeling utterly played.

She whirled around again, glaring at the true culprit lying there like a dead pig—still completely unconscious.

These two didn’t need a full imperial banquet!

This was clearly just Ankira, that bastard, finding an excuse to slip away—deliberately locking her alone in this rundown shack with Lester!

Too much! Too cunning!

The suffocating sense of being outmaneuvered made her chest feel tight.

She shot a murderous glare at the firmly closed wooden door, as though she could bore holes through the wood and vivisect Ankira with her eyes alone.

But the door stayed stubbornly shut.

With extreme reluctance and a sense of walking to her own execution, Rosie shuffled her feet.

She inched slowly toward Lester.

Squatting down, her silver eyes fixed on him with complex emotion—staring at his tightly closed eyelids and pallid cheeks.

Her fingertips hesitated, then cautiously reached toward the space beneath his nose.

A faint but steady breath brushed her skin.

He was still alive.

Her gaze drifted downward, landing on the black robe soaked through with blood and lake water. The congealed dark red stains stood out starkly.

A tangled mix of guilt, resentment, and something nameless surged in her chest.

Rosie crouched beside the unconscious Lester. Her voice was barely above a whisper—like talking to herself—tinged with confusion:

“I didn’t know… my current would affect your mana…”

She frowned slightly. Silver lashes lowered, hiding the turmoil in her eyes.

She muttered softly, half-explanation, half-complaint:

“…affect your challenge match.”

The room was utterly quiet. Her voice echoed strangely clear in the emptiness.

Gradually, Rosie’s gaze turned cold—like the frozen surface of a lake—staring down at Lester’s utterly defenseless, vulnerable state without any warmth.

Her eyes drifted involuntarily toward the stove.

There, leaning crookedly against the wall, was a rust-spotted but razor-sharp kitchen knife.

In the dim light, its blade gleamed with icy menace.

An extremely tempting—yet utterly dangerous—thought quietly crawled into her mind.

Right now… there was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Ankira was gone. Lester was deep in coma. Faced with a completely powerless Demon King, all she had to do was pick up that knife—one swift motion—and the shackles binding her would be severed forever.

She could gain true freedom!

Freedom…

If she killed him… would she really be free?

No.

Rosie denied it inwardly.

Even if she killed Lester, how far could she run?

Ankira was nearby. With his tracking ability and fanatical loyalty to the Demon King, she would never escape this woodland.

Even if she somehow got away, Ankira would drag her down to die with him.

And the real consequence of the Demon King’s sudden fall?

The entire demon race would plunge into endless civil war.

A leaderless, chaotic demon horde would sweep over humanity’s fragile defenses like a bursting dam.

In that scenario, she wouldn’t save anyone—she would become the spark that ignited an even greater war.

The thought drained the strength from her limbs. The impulse vanished in an instant.

She let out a resigned sigh.

The small hand that had reached toward his collar retreated.

Taking a deep breath—as though making the most difficult decision of her life—she began clumsily, with twelve thousand parts reluctance, to undo the black buttons on Lester’s blood-and-water-soaked heavy outer robe.

One… two…

As the buttons came undone, the sight beneath gradually revealed itself.

Large patches of cold, hard, obsidian-polished dragon scales covered the vital areas of his upper body—exuding an inhuman beauty and formidable strength.

But that wasn’t all.

Between the gaps in the scales lay distinctly defined, sculpture-perfect wheat-colored pectorals and abs—lines smooth yet brimming with explosive power. Even unconscious, the body radiated the raw, oppressive aura of a primeval male creature.

Droplets of water mixed with blood trailed slowly along the contours of muscle, leaving winding paths behind.

The sight made Rosie’s breathing turn tense.

She suddenly remembered her past self as a priestess—pale-skinned from years spent in the cold, sunless prayer rooms of the monastery. Never much exposed to sunlight. Her frame had been neither muscular nor frail—just slim and even.

On rest days her greatest pleasure had been lying flat at home. On busy days she sometimes ate only a single dry piece of bread.

This body before her—full of power and wildness—was as alien and novel to her as a creature from another world.

After painstakingly handling the upper body, Rosie’s gaze inevitably fell on Lester’s soaked trousers—and the tightly cinched belt.

Her movements froze instantly.

Her small hands hovered in midair. Her fingertips trembled faintly.

Her face was written over with unprecedented, colossal conflict and mortification.

She… she couldn’t possibly have to change… the pants too… and the inside… right?!

The thought exploded in her mind like thunder.

After all… everything underneath must be soaked through. She couldn’t just leave him like that… could she?

Rosie felt her cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg.

She stared at Lester’s unconscious, peacefully sleeping face.

Her heart plunged into the eye of an unprecedented storm of embarrassment.

And right now, that kitchen knife on the stove seemed to gleam with an even more “tempting” light…