Two days passed, and Euphoria began to feel a cautious sense of relief.
Luce hadn’t appeared to reclaim her.
She reasoned that perhaps he had simply given up.
Their time together had been brief, and given his status, he surely had no shortage of suitors; maybe he had decided she wasn’t worth the trouble after all.
However, she was oblivious to the singular, obsessive nature of the males in this world.
Wayne had explained that once a male chose a mate, his devotion was absolute and lifelong.
Conversely, a female could dissolve a partnership at any time, a move that resulted in the male being exiled.
Stripped of their purpose and suffering a massive psychological blow, these rejected males often spiraled into self-destruction, eventually transforming into feral ghost beasts.
Because the safety of the tribe rested on the shoulders of these warriors, females rarely exercised their right to end a relationship.
The stability of their society depended on this delicate, if somewhat lopsided, balance.
On the third day after her return, Wayne escorted Euphoria to meet the tribal chief.
He was a middle-aged man with black hair and piercing red eyes, possessing a heavy, dignified aura.
As was the custom, he treated Euphoria with the extreme gentleness reserved for females, welcoming her warmly into the fold.
As they were leaving the chief’s residence, however, they crossed paths with Lara—the tribe’s undisputed beauty and the chief’s pampered daughter.
Lara’s face clouded the moment she saw Euphoria.
“You’re certainly lucky,” she sneered, “surviving a kidnapping by a ghost beast and actually making it back.”
Euphoria met her gaze with a serene smile.
“Thank you for the compliment.”
Lara froze, her face flushing crimson with suppressed rage at the lack of a reaction, but Euphoria didn’t give her the satisfaction of an argument.
She simply took Wayne’s arm and pulled him away.
That evening, Euphoria stared at the inevitable pile of roasted meat with a weary expression.
”Wayne, don’t you guys ever get tired of eating just meat?” she asked.
Years in the military had made her tough, but the greasy, flavorless monotony was starting to make her stomach churn.
“Don’t you have any seasonings?
Salt?
Garlic?
Ginger?
Even a bit of cilantro?”
Wayne looked at her blankly, confused by the list, but he noticed she hadn’t been eating much.
“We have salt,” he said helpfully.
“The other females use it.
But the rest of those words…
I don’t know them.”
”You actually have salt?” Euphoria asked, hope surfacing.
”Yes, wait here.” Wayne disappeared into the house and rummaged through a storage chest until he produced a small jar.
The grains were coarse and the flavor was somewhat weak, but it was enough.
With the addition of salt, Euphoria managed to finish her meal.
As she chewed, she found herself daydreaming of home—specifically, a spicy boiled fish.
”I want fish tomorrow,” she announced, setting her bowl down.
Wayne, who was happily tearing into his own dinner, blinked his bright eyes and nodded enthusiastically.
The following afternoon, Wayne headed to the river to hunt.
Meanwhile, Euphoria set out to explore the village, hoping to scavenge for wild spices.
Wayne’s tribe was smaller than Luce’s, but it was still sprawling.
Having spent much of her childhood in the countryside with her grandparents, Euphoria had a keen eye for flora.
She gathered a few handfuls, feeling somewhat discouraged by the lack of variety, until she stumbled upon a neatly cultivated plot of land.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a row of vibrant red and green pods.
Chili peppers!
She dropped her greens and ran over, her mouth practically watering at the sight.
They were small, but they were definitely peppers.
She scanned the neighboring rows and nearly shouted with joy when she identified the telltale shoots of garlic.
She reached for a larger, unfamiliar plant, but a sharp voice stopped her.
”Who are you?
Why are you pulling up my medicine!”
Euphoria spun around to see an elderly orc—or at least, elderly by their standards.
His hair was yellowed with gray and his face was lined, making him look like a man in his fifties.
Given their long lifespans, he was likely well over a century old but still radiated vitality.
”A new female?” the old man asked, his stern expression softening as he took in her appearance.
He had initially mistaken her for a male due to her short hair, but as she turned, his attitude shifted immediately.
“Are you ill?
Those herbs aren’t ready for harvest yet.”
”These are all herbs?” Euphoria asked, pointing to the peppers and garlic.
The man, whose name was Harry, nodded.
“I am the tribe’s doctor.”
Euphoria’s eyes lit up.
“I actually need some ‘medicine.’ Can I see what else you have at your place?”
Harry led her back to his dwelling.
Unlike the doctor Luce had taken her to, Harry’s home was a treasure trove.
Bunches of dried plants hung from every rafter, and Euphoria recognized dozens of them.
”How do you have all of this?” she asked, her excitement mounting.
Harry smiled, amused by her energy.
“I’ve been a healer for over a hundred years.
One picks things up.”
”A hundred years!” Euphoria stared at him, impressed by the longevity of his orc genes.
Harry actually blushed under her intense, appreciative gaze—it was clear he wasn’t used to such direct attention from a female.
”Can I have some of these?” she asked, pointing to the dried spices.
”Take what you need,” Harry replied, handing her a skillfully woven vine basket.
”You made this?” Euphoria asked, admiring the craftsmanship.
”I needed something light for gathering herbs in the mountains,” he explained.
“It’s quite practical.”
Euphoria gave him a bright smile and a thumbs-up.
Harry looked puzzled, so he mimicked the gesture back at her, his head tilted.
Euphoria laughed, reminded of her own grandfather.
“It means you’re very capable,” she explained.
Pleased by the rare praise, Harry gestured toward his stores.
“Go on, then.
Euphoria helped herself to a stash of chilies, garlic, ginger, star anise, and Sichuan peppercorns.
She was careful not to take too much, but Harry insisted she take more, noting that he grew them all himself.
”I’ll bring the basket back soon,” she promised.
”Keep it,” he waved her off.
“I have plenty.”
Before leaving, Euphoria handed him the bitter wild greens she had picked earlier.
“I know you guys aren’t big on ‘grass,’ but these are excellent for clearing heat.
It won’t hurt to try them.”
Harry sniffed the greens.
They were common, but most beastmen ignored them because of the taste.
“Alright,” he said earnestly.
“I’ll give them a try.”
When Euphoria arrived home, she found Wayne already at the fire, carefully grilling a fish.
She hurried over and, seeing it was nearly done, gave him a playful flick on the forehead.
Wayne yelped, covering his head and looking at her with wide, wounded eyes.
“What was that for?”
”Who told you to grill the fish?” she scolded, though her eyes were twinkling.
”You said you wanted fish!” Wayne pouted.
”I want boiled fish,” she corrected.
”I caught two,” Wayne said, pointing to a second fish resting on a broad leaf.
“That one is still raw.”
Satisfied, Euphoria looked around.
“I need a pot.
A stone one will do.
And I’ll need a wild boar as well.”
Wayne grinned, happy to be useful again.
He shifted into a lion and sprinted off to fulfill her requests.
By the time he returned, Euphoria was already at work.
She used her dagger to slice the raw fish.
Her movements were surgical; the slices were translucent and perfectly uniform.
Wayne watched, mesmerized.
“What is that thing?
It’s so sharp!”
”It’s a dagger,” Euphoria said, a bit of nostalgia in her voice.
It had been a gift from her captain.
If he could see her using it as a kitchen knife, he’d probably lose his mind.
“It’s sharper than your claws.”
”Awoo?!” Wayne scoffed, clearly offended.
His claws were his pride, his primary weapons.
This tiny sliver of metal couldn’t possibly compare.
Euphoria caught the disdain in his expression.
With a playful smirk and a flick of her wrist, she twirled the blade, the steel flashing as it grazed the air near Wayne’s head.
Wayne instinctively leaped back, but the blade was faster—a single lock of his hair fluttered to the ground, severed cleanly.