Chapter 36: The Alpha And His Prize
Liam looked at the orbs, then at his inventory, then at the taro roots still sitting in the mud on the far bank, waiting.
Water pressure, he thought, with the calm of a man who has identified a problem and is already three steps into solving it. High mana density in the lake. The serpent is using the lake itself as a weapon. Which means if I change what the lake is made of, the weapon changes with it.
His eyes moved to the Legendary Basil in his inventory.
Thermal catalyst, he thought. Eight hundred degrees.
A slow, terrible smile crossed his face that had nothing pleasant in it for the serpent.
"Elizabeth," he said, "I everyone out of the water."
"W-why, i guess can do.," she said.
The water around the serpent began to bubble.
"Hmm," Liam said, watching as the creature thrashed in confusion. "Water boils at 212 degrees."
He pushed more energy into his Inner Hearth, feeling the skill strain against its limits. The lake’s surface erupted in steam, the water turning from blue to frothing white as the temperature climbed.
What the actual fuck is happening?Is he... cooking the water?
The serpent’s hisses turned to shrieks as the water around it reached critical temperature. Liam stood his ground, his albino features flushed pink with exertion, his red eyes reflecting the boiling lake.
"Three thousand degrees," Liam muttered, remembering the theoretical maximum his cooking skill could achieve. "Good for searing."
The water’s surface exploded. The serpent’s massive body contorted as its scales began to crack and peel away, the flesh beneath turning from blue-gray to pink to white. The smell hit Liam first not the usual game scent of monster death, but something rich and savory, like seafood stew.
The serpent’s movements slowed, its thrashing becoming lethargic as the boiling water penetrated its massive body. Liam watched with detached interest as the creature’s health bar plummeted, not from damage numbers but from something more fundamental—it was literally being cooked alive.
With a final shudder, the serpent went still, floating belly-up in the now-simmering lake. The water around it had turned milky, filled with rendered fat and cooked flesh.
Liam waded into the still-hot water, his high defense allowing him to ignore the temperature that would have killed any other player. He grabbed the serpent’s jaw and dragged the massive creature toward shore.
"Good ingredients," he said, examining the perfectly cooked meat. "Could use salt."
"Go," Liam grunted, already turning back to the carcass. He kept his back to the group, desperately trying to hide the fact that his internal Mana was overheating. It wasn’t the fight, it was the lingering image of Elizabeth, drenched and triumphant, that was causing his thermal regulators to redline.
Rogue didn’t need to be told twice. "Swimming buff and a hot spring vibe? Mirra, let’s move!" He kicked off his boots and sprinted toward the far bank, with Mirra following at a more dignified, yet eager, pace.
The clearing fell quiet, save for the rhythmic thwack of Liam’s blade as he began to process the beast. He was trying to stay focused; he really was. The [Legendary Basil] emulsion was still sitting on his mental timer, and the 300-man Lich raid was looming. But his peripheral vision had become a battlefield of its own.
He kept his eyes on the serpent.
He kept them there for a full thirty seconds before they moved on their own.
The wet fabric traced the curve of her waist as she wrung the hem out, the hem lifting slightly with the motion, and her damp pink hair was stuck to the nape of her neck in a way that exposed the pale skin underneath, and Liam became aware that his throat was dry in a way that had nothing to do with mana expenditure.
Serpent, he told himself firmly, and looked at the serpent.
Elizabeth was standing a few feet away, wringing out the hem of her pink dress. The fabric, soaked through from the serpent’s thrashing and the lake spray, had become almost translucent, clinging to her curves like a second skin. Every time she moved, the wet silk traced the swell of her hips and the small of her back with agonising detail.
Liam’s throat felt dry, and it wasn’t from mana exhaustion. He tried to lock his mind back onto the "Tuna Belly" meat of the serpent, but his gaze kept sliding back to the way her damp pink hair stuck to the nape of her neck, exposing the vulnerable, pale skin beneath.
"Liam? You okay?" Ellie asked, her voice slightly breathless from the fight. She stepped toward him, her tail giving a low, curious flick. "You’re staring at that scale like you’re trying to set it on fire with your eyes."
"I’m fine," Liam rumbled, his voice a pitch deeper than usual, vibrating with a resonance he couldn’t quite suppress.
"Here, let me help. You can’t reach the dorsal plate from that angle," she said, leaning over him to grab the hilt of the sword she’d wedged into the serpent’s neck.
As she reached across him, the scent of wet lilies filled his senses, mixing with the iron scent of his own adrenaline. The wet fabric of her sleeve brushed against his bare shoulder, and Liam felt that "flicker" in his chest turn into a full-blown roar. The heat radiating from his skin was enough to start drying the mud on his greaves.
"Elizabeth, stay back, the ground is..."
But it was too late. The edge of the lake bank was a treacherous slurry of churned-up silt and mud. Ellie’s boot slipped on a patch of slick moss, and with a small gasp, she tumbled forward.
Liam’s instincts kicked in. He didn’t think; he just reacted. He reached out with his massive arms to catch her, but the sheer momentum of her fall, combined with his own precarious footing in the mud, sent them both down.
Splat.
They hit the mud hard. Liam was at the bottom, his broad back taking the brunt of the impact against the soft, squelching earth. Elizabeth landed squarely on top of him, her chest pressed firmly against his bare, overheated chest.
The air left Liam’s lungs in a rush, but not because of the fall. His large, calloused hand had landed instinctively to steady her, and it was currently cupping the soft, firm curve of her chest through the wet, thin fabric of her dress.
Ellie froze. Her eyes went wide, her face turning a red so dark it rivalled Liam’s eyes. She could feel the raw heat radiating off his skin, the steam literally rising from his body as his mana surged. Beneath her leg, she felt something heavy and rigid pressing firmly against her thigh. It wasn’t his sword.
Liam’s heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He looked up at her, her pink hair matted with mud, her pupils blown wide and dark. He knew he should move. He knew he should apologise. But the sensation was overwhelming.
The soft give of her breast spilled past his fingers, and the peak of her nipple pressed firm against his palm through the thin fabric. His thumb moved on its own—a slow, heavy drag across the tip, then back, circling without permission from any part of his brain that still functioned.
She was bigger than his hand. That registered with a clarity that felt almost academic, a fact he was cataloguing for later. He squeezed again, testing the weight, the give, the way the flesh shaped itself around his grip as if it had been moulded for his hand alone. He could feel her heart racing in sync with his, a frantic, thumping rhythm that drowned out the forest’s sounds.
He didn’t notice the flush crawling up her neck. He didn’t catch the way her lip disappeared between her teeth, bitten white, and he didn’t register the small, strangled sound that broke from her chest at first. She was biting her lip, trying to contain the moans that were bubbling up in her throat.
"Haah... L-l-l-iaam..." Elizabeth whimpered. Her whole body trembled above him, her pink tail lashing frantically in the mud behind her, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned down just a fraction, her wet hair dripping onto his forehead, her scent, lies, and pure, unadulterated female, overwhelming his remaining senses.
The "Absolute Focus" Liam prided himself on was currently shattered into a million pieces. The "Hard" reality of the situation was pressing between them, a rigid, pulsing heat that no armour could contain. He felt his fingers sink deeper into her softness, his body reacting with a primal hunger that had nothing to do with culinary perfection.
Liam’s other hand, the one buried in the mud, clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white. He was a Vanguard, a man built to withstand the heaviest hits in the game, but this, the weight of her, the sound of her whimpering his name, was the first thing that had ever truly brought him to his knees.
"Elizabeth," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic rumble that vibrated directly into her chest.
She didn’t answer with words. She just leaned closer, her breath hot against his neck.
[System Warning: Physical Tension at 99%]
[Liam: Level 37 (Status: Overheated / Combat Logic Offline)]
[Elizabeth: Level 21 (Status: Brain Implosion Imminent / Arousal Peak)]
[Environmental Note: Ambient temperature increasing. Mud is beginning to simmer.]
[Current Objective: ...Don’t move. Don’t stop.]
[Tool Tip]:
[Unique Passive: The Chef’s Discernment]
Type: Sensory Analysis Passive
Status: Triggered by High-Proximity Interaction.
Description: Usually reserved for judging the marbling of A5 Wagyu or the ripeness of a Golden Peach, this skill has automatically recalibrated to analyze the current... "ingredients" in Liam’s hands.