[Kaelum's POV]
There are very few things that can terrify a Chieftain of the White Tiger Clan.
I had fought Ice Wyverns. I had survived the Black Plague. I had dueled my own father for the throne.
But waking up with my tail knotted around a small, soft human woman while the three most judgmental Elders of the tribe watched?
That was fear.
"Chieftain..." Elder Varg's voice trembled. He was an ancient tiger, his fur gray and patchy, leaning heavily on a staff made of dragon bone. "Has the madness finally taken your mind? You are... cuddling the rations?"
The silence stretched.
I looked down at the human. She was still asleep, drooling slightly on my pectoral muscle. My arm was numb from where she had been lying on it. My tail—traitors, every inch of it—was wrapped around her waist like a safety belt.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my grogginess.
"No!" I roared.
I didn't think. I reacted.
I shoved the human away. Perhaps a bit too hard. She rolled across the massive bed like a log, tangling in the furs until she hit the far edge with a muffled thump.
"Ow!" Her head popped up from a pile of blankets. Her hair was a bird's nest of static. "What was that for? I was comfortable!"
"Silence!" I barked, sitting up and frantically adjusting my loincloth to look somewhat regal. I glared at the Elders. "This... this is not affection. This is... interrogation."
Elder Varg raised a bushy gray eyebrow. "Interrogation? While asleep? In the spooning position?"
"It is a psychological tactic!" I lied, my voice cracking slightly. "I was lulling her into a false sense of security to extract secrets about the human armies!"
"She is wearing your tail as a blanket," the second Elder pointed out dryly.
I unraveled my tail from the furs, twitching it irritably. "Enough. Why are you here so early? Unless the camp is under attack, get out."
"We are here because the camp is in an uproar," Varg said, his tone hardening. He thumped his staff on the stone floor. "You brought a human into the sacred nest. The pack is uneasy. They say you have been bewitched. They say she is a spy sent to weaken us."
He pointed a bony finger at Elara. "She must be removed. We cannot feed useless mouths in the Dead Winter. If you will not eat her, we will throw her into the ravine."
Elara went pale. She scrambled up, clutching a pillow to her chest like a shield.
I felt a surge of anger. Not just possessiveness over my property, but genuine anger that they would threaten the only thing that stopped my pain.
"She stays," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble.
I stood up from the bed. I didn't bother grabbing a cloak. I walked toward the Elders, letting the Curse flare.
My skin began to glow. The red veins on my chest pulsed brighter. The air in the tent grew instantly hot, smelling of ozone and sulfur.
I reached out and placed my hand on the heavy wooden table beside the entrance.
Hiss.
Smoke billowed instantly. The wood blackened, curled, and then burst into flame under my palm.
The Elders stepped back, shielding their faces from the heat.
"You see?" I snarled. "The Curse grows stronger every year. I can barely touch a weapon without melting it. I can barely sleep because my own blood boils."
I turned and pointed at Elara. "Come here."
She didn't hesitate. She hopped off the bed and scurried over to me, dodging the burning table.
"Hand," I commanded.
She reached out and took my burning hand in hers.
The effect was instant. The red glow on my skin receded. The flames on the table died down as my body temperature plummeted from 'Volcanic' to 'Feverish.'
I let out a breath of relief, squeezing her cool, small hand.
"She is not a pet," I announced, looking Varg in the eye. "She is a Cooling Totem. A medical necessity. Anyone who touches her is stealing my medicine. And the penalty for stealing from the Chieftain is death."
The Elders stared. They looked at the charred table, then at the human girl holding my hand.
"A... totem?" Varg muttered. He looked skeptical, but he couldn't deny the evidence. The Chieftain wasn't burning.
"Very well," Varg grunted. "If she keeps the madness at bay, she is useful. But..." He narrowed his eyes. "She cannot simply lay in your bed all day. That breeds resentment. If she wants to eat our food, she must work."
"I can work!" Elara piped up. She stepped forward, looking surprisingly confident for someone wearing a see-through silk dress. "I'm not useless. I have... skills."
"Skills?" Varg sneered. "Can you hunt? Can you mine ore? Can you fight?"
"I can cook," she said.
The Elders blinked. Then, they laughed. It was a dry, rasping sound.
"Cook?" Varg scoffed. "We eat meat. Raw meat. Fire ruins the flavor. But fine. If you wish to be useful, report to the Butchery. Head Chef Bargash is short-handed."
I frowned. "Bargash? He hates humans. He will tear her apart."
"I'll be fine!" Elara squeezed my hand, looking up at me with big, determined eyes. "Trust me, Chieftain. I'll make you the best meal you've ever had. Just... don't let them throw me in the ravine while I'm gone?"
I looked at her. She was insane. Weak, fragile, and utterly insane.
"Fine," I grumbled, letting go of her hand (and immediately missing the cold). "Go. But if you die, don't come crying to me."
[Elara's POV]
[Quest Accepted: Tame the Stomachs] Objective: Prepare a meal that satisfies the Head Chef. Reward: Clan Acceptance + 50 EXP. Failure: You become the stew.
The "Butchery" was a horror show.
It was a large cave near the center of the camp. The smell hit me first—a copper tang of old blood and musk that made my stomach flip.
Inside, carcasses of strange, massive beasts hung from hooks. The floor was slick with ice and gore.
And in the center of it all stood Bargash.
He was a Bear Beastman. Standing nearly eight feet tall, he was a mountain of brown fur and scars. He wore a bloodstained apron and was currently hacking the leg off a deer-like creature with a cleaver the size of a surfboard.
Thwack! Bone splintered.
I swallowed hard. "Um... Excuse me? Mr. Bear?"
Bargash stopped mid-swing. He slowly turned around. His snout wrinkled as he sniffed the air.
"Human?" He rumbled. His voice sounded like rocks tumbling down a hill. "Why is food talking to me?"
"I'm not food!" I squeaked, holding up my hands. "I'm Elara. The Chieftain's... uh... Totem. The Elders sent me to help."
Bargash snorted. "Help? Humans are weak. You cannot lift the meat. You cannot skin the hide. You are useless."
He turned back to his chopping. "Get out. Before I mistake you for a rabbit."
I looked around the kitchen. It was tragic. Massive piles of meat were freezing on the floor. There were no vegetables, no herbs, just raw protein.
'Okay, Elara. Think. Game Logic.'
Beastmen in Primal Hearts had high constitution but low resistance to "Cold Stomach." Eating raw frozen meat in winter gave them a debuff called [Gut Rot]. That's why they were always grumpy in winter.
"I can make the meat better," I announced.
Bargash ignored me.
I marched over to a rusted iron cauldron in the corner. It was being used as a trash can for bones. I kicked it over, dragged it to the center of the room, and gathered some dry wood.
"Hey!" Bargash roared. "Do not play with fire in my kitchen!"
"I'm making a Hot Pot!" I shouted back.
I opened my System Inventory. As a "Starter Gift" for transmigrators (thanks, System), I had a [Basic Survival Kit]. It contained:
1 Flint & Steel
1 Bag of Salt
1 Jar of Dried Spices (Chili & Garlic)
I lit the fire. I scooped up clean snow to melt into water.
Bargash watched me, confused. He walked over, his shadow engulfing me. "Fire ruins meat. Makes it tough."
"Not if you do it right," I muttered.
I grabbed a slab of the deer meat. I sliced it thin—not chunks, but ribbons. I tossed the meat into the boiling water. I added the salt. I dumped the entire jar of chili and garlic.
The smell changed.
The copper stench of blood vanished. In its place, a rich, savory aroma filled the cave. The sharp scent of garlic and the spicy kick of chili mixed with the hearty smell of boiling meat.
Bargash's nose twitched.
Sniff. Sniff.
He leaned closer. His terrifying bear face was inches from the pot. "What... is that smell?"
"It's called flavor," I said. "Try it."
I ladled some of the steaming stew into a wooden bowl and held it out.
Bargash looked at the bowl suspiciously. He looked at me. Then, he grabbed the bowl and downed it in one gulp.
He froze.
His eyes went wide.
The warmth hit his stomach first. Then the spice hit his tongue. For a beastman living in -30 degree weather, eating hot, spicy soup was like a religious experience.
[Critical Hit!] Target [Bargash] is affected by 'Culinary Bliss'. Status Effect [Warm Belly] applied: Mood +100.
"It..." Bargash rumbled. He licked his lips. "It warms the insides. It does not hurt the teeth like ice meat."
He looked at me. "Human. Give me more."
"Only if I get to work here," I bargained.
"You are hired," he grunted, shoving the empty bowl at me. "Make more. Make it for the whole clan."
I grinned. "Yes, Chef!"
I spent the next hour chopping and boiling. The smell wafted out of the cave entrance and drifted down the canyon.
That was my mistake. Or maybe my victory.
I felt a tug on my skirt.
I looked down.
Standing there was a Tiger Cub. It was maybe three feet tall, standing on its hind legs, wearing a tiny fur vest. Its eyes were huge and round.
"Meat?" it chirped.
Then another head popped up. And another.
Suddenly, the kitchen entrance was swarming with them. Tiger cubs, wolf pups, baby bears. They were drawn by the smell of warm food like moths to a flame.
"Me! Me!" "Smells yummy!" "Totem lady, feed me!"
"Oh my god," I gasped. The cuteness was overwhelming.
I started ladling soup into tiny bowls. "Okay! Line up! Don't push!"
The cubs swarmed me. They were soft, fluffy, and incredibly strong. Within seconds, I was buried under a pile of purring, yipping fluff balls.
"Help!" I laughed, falling backward into a pile of furs as three tiger cubs licked the gravy off my fingers. "I'm being eaten! I'm being eaten by cuteness!"
"What is the meaning of this?"
A deep, thunderous voice cut through the noise.
The cubs froze. They scattered, diving behind barrels and under tables.
Kaelum stood in the entrance. He was wearing his heavy fur cloak again, looking majestic and terrifying.
He looked at Bargash (who was happily drinking from the ladle). He looked at the pot of stew. And then he looked at me—covered in gravy, sitting on the floor, holding a baby tiger in my lap.
Kaelum's eye twitched.
"I sent you to work," he said slowly. "And you have... built a nursery?"
"They were hungry!" I defended, holding up the cub (who let out a tiny mew). "And Bargash likes the soup! See? I'm useful!"
Kaelum stared at the cub in my arms. The cub snuggled into my chest.
Kaelum's red eyes narrowed. His tail lashed behind him.
He walked over, grabbed the cub by the scruff of its neck, and set it gently but firmly on the floor.
"Go," he ordered the cub.
The cub ran away.
Kaelum reached down and pulled me to my feet. He wiped a smudge of gravy off my cheek with his thumb. His skin was burning hot again.
"You are useful," he muttered, glaring at the empty spot where the cub had been. "But do not let them touch you. You are my totem."
[Affection Score Update] Kaelum: +10 (Possessiveness) Bargash: +20 (Respect) Tiger Cubs: +50 (Fan Club Established)
End of Chapter 4