The wolf bodies had been on the warehouse floor for weeks, evidence of Sharath's recent dungeon excursion. He'd been boasting at first—he'd even wandered around the manor, nonchalantly throwing out gems such as, "Oh, those? Yeah, just some wolves I killed. Hybrid ones. Dungeon stock, you wouldn't get it."
Now. now they stank.
Not a noble odor, either. It was the sort of odor that would kill diplomacy. If an off-territory visiting envoy approached within thirty feet of the warehouse, they'd either pass out, throw up, or both.
It began quietly—one or two servants excusing themselves to go on "urgent errands" far from the warehouse. Next was the whispers, worried looks, and then outright rebellion.
"Lord Sharath," one of the warehouse keepers grumbled anxiously, holding a cloth to his nose, "we can't have these here. They're… fermenting."
Sharath narrowed his eyes. "Fermenting is for wine, not wolf corpses."
[🐧NeuroBoop]: Technically speaking, decomposition is a process of fermentation. Just… you know… not the kind where you take it home and have dinner.
"Helpful as ever," Sharath grumbled. "So you're telling me my precious wolf loot is becoming a biological threat?"
[🐧NeuroBoop]: No, I mean if you continue, in three days you'll develop biological warfare.
The choice was made—something had to be done. This wasn't about saving rare dungeon booty; it was about the future. Because if elemental creatures like ice boars could be kept for ages without going bad, then anything could be kept… with the right system.
So Sharath set out on his magnum opus: the Chillbox.
The Birth of the Chillbox (and the Death of His Sanity)
The idea was straightforward in principle: design an airtight box with air runes to circulate fresh air, low-chill runes to maintain the temperature just above ice, and magic insulation so stable it could make the Darsha Estate's wine cellar look shabby.
In practice? Oh boy…
The initial prototype solidified—literally. The wolf meat hardened to the point where it could be used as a weapon. Sharath had to use a chisel to remove a chunk of it for testing, and it rebounded off the lab and struck Thermo.
The cat yowled in anger, glaring as if Sharath were guilty of a war crime. Thermo sulled around on a shelf for the next hour, every now and then swatting at any piece of paper that Sharath attempted to grasp.
[🐧NeuroBoop]: Congratulations. You've invented the first meat-based projectile. I'm sure the military will be thrilled.
The second prototype went in the opposite direction. A small rune miscalculation caused the interior to heat slightly instead of cool. The wolf meat… cooked. Slowly. Over two days.
By the time Sharath realized what had happened, he had inadvertently created the world's first dungeon-wolf stew. It smelled delicious but looked deeply questionable.
Thermo, naturally, okayed it. He pawed at the lid for half an hour before Sharath shooed him out of the lab.
The third model blew up.
Fair enough, that one wasn't Sharath's fault—at least, not exactly. Apparently, piling too many air circulation runes into a small area caused a wind tunnel effect. When he opened the Chillbox, the herbs stored within were shot around the room at almost-lethal velocities. He discovered one stuck to the ceiling two days afterward.
[🐧NeuroBoop]: At least on the positive side, you just created magical air-drying.
After a dozen failed prototypes and one close call due to rune polarity, Sharath managed to succeed at last.
The last Chillbox was smooth, compact, rune-savvy, and—most crucially—safe. Its cooling magic was precisely tuned, capable of keeping meat, herbs, potions, and even temperature-sensitive dungeon treasure from spoiling.
The "Accidental" Presentation
It was supposed to be the end of it—Sharath having solved his warehouse woes in secret. But no. Lady Luck—or rather, Lord Basanna—had other ideas.
Sharath's grandfather showed up the very next day.
If Lord Darsha was the patrician pillar of the family, Basanna was then the cunning merchant breeze at its underside—or maybe the typhoon. He possessed a uncanny sense of smell for profit, a talent so acute that Sharath wondered if it was God's own favor.
Basanna came into the laboratory unexpectedly that morning.
"Sharath, my boy," he began with that deceptively warm tone that merchants use when they smell gold. "I hear you've been… tinkering."
Sharath, already suspicious, glanced at him over a stack of rune diagrams. "I tinker all the time, Grandpa. That's not news."
"Ah, but this tinkering…" Basanna stepped closer, his eyes scanning the gleaming Chillbox in the corner. "…this smells like money."
[🐧NeuroBoop]: Technically it stinks like wolf meat, but I'll let him have his big moment.
Sharath sighed. "It's not for sale. It's for preservation. The wolves—"
"—are rotting," Basanna concluded. "Yes, yes, I know. I know too that merchants from all over the kingdom have the same issue. Meat goes bad, herbs wither, potions deteriorate… and here you are, holding the answer in a shiny box."
"It's a Chillbox," Sharath corrected reflexively.
"Patentable name," Basanna replied at once. "I like it."
From there, the talk ran wild. Sharath attempted to show him the practical applications—how it would keep wolf meat, ice boar chops, exotic herbs, temperature-controlled potions, even fragile dungeon material like slime acid without danger of contamination.
Basanna, though, had already gotten ahead of himself, grumbling to himself about trade monopolies, distribution pipelines, and undercutting rivals till they begged for mercy.
"Grandpa—"
"Mass production," Basanna interrupted. "We'll establish three manufacturing centers. One here, one in my city, and one near the capital. Price them just low enough to make imitation unprofitable but high enough to drain every noble's treasury. Oh, the sweetness of it!"
[🐧NeuroBoop]: Your grandfather scares me, and I'm an AI with no fear receptors.
The Wolf Problem… Solved (and Monetized)
They negotiated a deal—Basanna would work the commercial aspect, and Sharath would get a share of the profits, which would be channeled into Unnatirajya's growth.
Sharath tried out the last Chillbox that afternoon. The wolf meat within was as fresh as it was when it was taken off the beast. Even Thermo gave its seal of approval, flopping down on top of it like a plush cat bed.
From there, the uses proliferated. The Chillbox would be able to:
Store Dungeon Loot – No more scrambles to sell or process before it went bad.
Keep Food for Trade – Fish off the coast could be transported inland without spoiling.
Lengthen Potion Shelf Life – Some potions broke down in days; now they could remain usable for months.
Medical Use – Some herbs and alchemical mixtures could be stored stable until required.
Luxury Goods – Fresh fruit in winter, cold wine in summer—nobles would murder for it.
Basanna almost fainted with excitement over that last one.
By the evening, contracts were already on the way to being drawn up. Basanna's merchants would procure the rune materials, Sharath would design production, and the returns would come flooding in.
Political Ripples
Of course, this wasn't merely a commercial venture—it was political. Nobles looking for a Chillbox would have to either pay Basanna's merchants or try to curry favor with Unnatirajya.
Lord Darsha saw the stakes immediately. "Son, this will make you a target," he told dinner that evening. "Control over preservation is control over supply chains. Food, medicine, trade—it's a lever over the kingdom itself.
Sharath merely smiled. "Precisely. And I intend to execute it."
[🐧NeuroBoop]: You're beginning to talk like your grandfather. I don't know if that's frightening or unavoidable.