CHAPTER 451: CHAPTER 451: I SWEAR, THIS MOUNTAIN HATES ME

The glowing notification hovered midair in front of Isabella’s face.

+230 Points Earned.

She smirked seeing the notification. "Two hundred and thirty?" She sighed dreamily, then said in a singsong voice. "No one does it better than me"

She spun around, doing a little victory twirl before stopping abruptly when her eyes landed back on the body lying a few feet away.

Her smile faltered.

The mountain stag — elegant even in death — lay still beneath the faint blue glow of the moss. Its golden fur shimmered faintly in the low light. The arrow still stuck clean through its side, perfectly placed.

Isabella swallowed. The rush of excitement drained out of her, leaving something heavier.

"Damn it," she muttered softly. "You were so pretty."

She crouched beside it, brushing a finger against the fur. It was softer than she expected, warm even. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest.

She sighed. "You know, I didn’t even want to kill you. I was just... following orders."

Bubu floated closer, its soft glow illuminating her face. "You did what you had to do, Isabella."

She made a face. "You say that like I just committed a war crime."

"You look like you think you did."

She let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes. "I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m fine."

A beat of silence passed. Then she groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Okay, fine, I’m not fine! I hate this part. I hate this part so much. Do you have any idea what comes next?"

Bubu hummed, as if pretending not to. "Skinning. Gutting. Cleaning. Cooking."

She let out the loudest whine he had heard yet. "Ugh! It’s going to smell. And be slimy. And I’m probably going to cry."

"You could choose to starve," Bubu offered unhelpfully.

"Wow. Supportive as ever," she muttered.

Her gaze lingered on the body again. For a fleeting second, she thought about Cyrus — about how he’d always handled these kinds of things without flinching. He never complained, never made a mess of it. He would’ve done this for her, teased her while doing it, then smiled that soft, frustrating smile when she looked disgusted.

The memory made her chest ache.

"Ugh. No," she muttered, shaking her head quickly. "Nope. Not doing that. We are not thinking about him."

"You just did," Bubu pointed out.

"Shut up," she snapped, standing and brushing the dirt off her dress.

Bubu’s glow dimmed slightly, clearly suppressing a comment.

She sighed. "Where’s the nearest water source? I’m going to need to clean this up somewhere that doesn’t make me vomit."

"Use your map," Bubu said.

"Ugh. Fine."

With a roll of her eyes dramatic enough to be seen from the next mountain, Isabella swiped her hand through the air, summoning her map. The holographic sheet shimmered to life, faint blue trails marking out terrain lines and nearby energy signatures. She zoomed out, scanning, then spotted the soft pulsing symbol that marked flowing water.

"There," she said. "Two clicks east."

"That’s... meters," Bubu corrected gently.

"I know what I meant."

"You don’t."

She squinted at the glowing cube. "You really love testing my patience, don’t you?"

"I am merely coexisting."

"Coexisting my ass," she grumbled, grabbing the stag by the legs. "Let’s just get this over with before I cry again."

The trek to the water source was short but clumsy. The stag was heavy, and Isabella’s strength boost from earlier had already faded. By the time she reached the stream, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, her arms ached, and Glimora had decided to hitch a ride on her head like a tiny queen.

"Lazy little fluff ball," Isabella muttered.

Glimora yawned adorably, tail flicking across her forehead.

"Yeah, yeah. You’re cute. Still lazy."

When they reached the water, Isabella dropped the carcass with a thud and bent over, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. "I swear, this mountain hates me."

"The mountain is impartial," Bubu replied.

"I was being dramatic!"

"I noticed."

She groaned again. "Can’t even suffer in peace."

The stream was clear, glowing faintly with streaks of silver light from the mineral-rich rocks beneath it. Mist rose off the surface like soft smoke. It was beautiful—too beautiful for what she was about to do.

"Alright," she muttered to herself, rolling her shoulders. "Queen of the mountain or not, let’s butcher a deer."

From her space, she summoned a set of knives, gloves, a small pot, and the portable fire stones she had bought days ago. The gear shimmered into existence beside her like a grim picnic spread.

She took a deep breath, tied her hair up, and stared at the stag. "This is going to suck."

The next thirty minutes were... loud.

"Ew! Gross! Why is it so warm?"

"Because it was recently alive," Bubu said.

"Don’t say that while I’m cutting!"

Glimora squeaked, burying her face in Isabella’s shoulder fur. Isabella grimaced, holding up her hands. "Oh my god, there’s blood on me. Ugh. I feel like I need a full-body exorcism."

"You’re being dramatic again."

"I am being traumatized!"

Despite her complaining, she worked through it. Her movements grew steadier the more she focused, and by the time the meat was clean and laid out, her face had lost most of its color but her eyes burned with stubborn pride.

"There," she said, wiping her hands on a towel. "Done. I hate it. Never again."

+15 Cooking Points Earned.

Congratulations, Host: Level Up — Cooking Skill: Level 2.

The notification flashed cheerfully in front of her. Isabella glared at it.

"Yay. Woohoo. I’m a master chef now," she muttered, sarcasm dripping like venom.

Bubu’s light pulsed faintly. "You’ve improved."

"I’ve emotionally deteriorated," she countered. "But sure, let’s call it a win."

The faintest trace of amusement colored Bubu’s tone. "Progress is still progress."

She snorted and began setting up a small campfire. The flames crackled to life, orange light flickering across her face. She seasoned the meat with a few dried herbs she had kept from the system shop and skewered it on a metal rod.

The smell that rose up was heavenly—rich, smoky, and mouthwatering. Her stomach growled instantly.

"Okay, I take it back," she murmured, leaning closer to the fire. "Maybe this mountain isn’t that bad."

Glimora was already drooling, tail flicking in excitement. Isabella smiled faintly, patting her tiny head. "Don’t look at me like that, I’ll share, okay? Just don’t catch on fire."

The flames danced, painting everything in soft gold. The forest hummed quietly around her. For once, there was peace.

And that was when her mind began to wander again.

Her fingers drummed against her knee as she stared into the flames. "Hey," she said suddenly, glancing toward Bubu’s faint light. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," Bubu replied.

"How many... children do these women usually give birth to?"

The fire cracked softly. The question hung there, heavy in the quiet air.

Bubu didn’t answer immediately.

Glimora stopped chewing, blinking up at her with wide eyes.

Isabella’s expression faltered, her own question echoing in her head.