Chapter 11: Core fishing

Chapter 11: Chapter 11: Core fishing

Jason made his way to the kitchen, already turning the problem over in his head.

’A common kitchen knife. Not exactly built for harvesting monster cores.’ He pulled open the drawer and studied the mismatched collection inside l, nothing sharpened for battle, nothing enchanted, nothing more dangerous than dicing vegetables. ’Then again, I stabbed the thing with one of its own claws while unawakened and half-panicking. A knife should manage a just fine.’

He grabbed the first one his hand landed on, didn’t bother checking the edge, and headed back toward the bedroom at a pace just short of a jog.

Novaria arched a brow at him from the bed. "That was fast."

"I have places to be. A creature to violate with cutlery." He held up the knife. "This felt right."

"You didn’t even look at the blade."

"I have faith in it."

"That’s how people lose fingers."

"Noted. I’ll aim for the monster."

He set the knife down and reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one motion and tossing it onto a chair well out of splatter range.

Novaria’s brow rose higher. "Undressing already? Bold, considering the audience."

"Purely practical," Jason said, entirely unbothered. " I’m not letting this shirt die to hound viscera."

"A noble sacrifice, sparing the shirt instead of yourself."

"I have several shirts. I only have the one dignity, and it left the building days ago, so there’s nothing left to protect there either."

"At least you’re self-aware."

"It’s my one redeeming trait." He crouched beside the corpse, rolling his shoulders once before driving the knife down into the hound’s hide.

It went in easier than he expected l startlingly easier, the blade sinking through muscle and cartilage with barely any resistance, where he’d braced for something closer to sawing through leather.

’Huh. That’s new.’ He flexed his free hand slightly, feeling out the unfamiliar strength in it.

’Is this from the azure dragon bloodline?’

"That went in easier than you thought," Novaria observed, watching with clinical interest rather than squeamishness, something faintly appraising in her gaze.

"Apparently so," Jason said, keeping his tone light, deliberately vague. "Guess I’m stronger than I give myself credit for these days." He worked the cut wider, careful not to elaborate further.

’Let her wonder. Easier than explaining something I don’t fully understand myself yet.’

Novaria didn’t push, though her eyes lingered on him a moment longer than the observation strictly required the same look she’d worn that morning, cataloguing something she couldn’t quite name.

"This is disgusting, by the way," Jason said, grimacing as he worked deeper, if only to steer the conversation elsewhere. "I want that on record."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

"I mean genuinely revolting. There should be hazard pay for this."

"You’re the one who volunteered

"The corpse duties were not in the file I was sent."

He reached in, wincing at the wet warmth of it, fingers searching through muscle and viscera until they brushed something smooth and cool a stark contrast to everything surrounding it. He closed his hand around it and drew it free, holding the core up despite the blood coating his fingers.

Even streaked red, the crystal caught the light strangely, a faint orange-gold pulse beneath the surface that seemed to breathe rather than simply glow. Jason found himself staring, something in the pulse of it drawing his attention in and refusing to let go for a beat longer than made sense.

"You’re staring," Novaria said, amusement threading through her voice.

"It’s got a certain charm to it," Jason admitted, blinking himself back into focus and turning it slowly. "For something that came out of a chest cavity, this is oddly captivating."

"It’s an F-rank core," Novaria said, watching him with faint, knowing amusement. "If that’s how you look at one this low, I’d hate to see your face in front of an S-rank. You might propose to it."

"I’m a married man. I have standards now." He set the core aside on a clean cloth, wiping his hand on a rag with visible distaste. "Though I’ll admit, if this is what a low-rank core does to me, I understand why people build entire black markets around the higher ones."

He rose, stretching out the stiffness in his back, and carried the core into the bathroom, rinsing the blood away under the tap with careful, methodical motions until the crystal gleamed clean smaller than a fist, but dense, its faint pulse steady even out of the corpse.

He dried it and wrapped it in cloth, then finally addressed his own hands and forearms, scrubbing until the water ran clear.

He was still drying his hands when a faint sound carried through from the bedroom small, unmistakable, and immediately followed by Novaria clearing her throat as though that might retroactively unhappen it.

Jason grinned before he’d even stepped back into the room. "Was that your stomach?"

"No."

"It sounded exactly like a stomach."

"It was structural. The house settling."

"The house is one story." He set the wrapped core down on the dresser, and as if in solidarity, his own stomach chose that moment to voice a complaint of its own, low and undeniable. "There. Now we’re both structurally unsound."

Novaria’s mouth twitched despite herself. "We haven’t eaten since the wedding."

"I noticed. Repeatedly." He crossed the room, still shirtless, entirely unbothered by it at this point. "Alright. Breakfast. Let’s see what this kitchen actually has to offer."

He carried her through to the kitchen and settled her into a chair at the small table, then set about the cupboards with the particular optimism of a man who had no idea what he was doing but refused to let that stop him. He found some rice, a handful of vegetables, some dried herbs, a few eggs, basically just enough for a few meals.

He worked with more care than the earlier bathwater incident had suggested he was capable of, chopping vegetables into a pot, coaxing a broth together from what little the kitchen offered, and setting rice to steam alongside it.

Novaria watched from the table, quiet, her earlier amusement fading into something more careful as she took in the domestic picture of it him barefoot in the kitchen, half-dressed, cooking for both of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the soup was ready, he ladled out two bowls, set hers in front of her, and only then registered the obvious problem her hands, capable of little independent fine motor work after the meridian damage, weren’t going to manage a spoon steadily.

"Here," he said simply, pulling a chair around beside her and taking up the spoon himself.

Novaria stiffened. "I can feed myself."

"I know you can. Doesn’t mean you have to right now." He held the spoon steady, waiting rather than pushing.

She didn’t move for a long moment, jaw tight, something proud and stubborn flickering behind her eyes the same look, he suspected, that had once carried her through a squad of Hunters twice her size.

He said nothing about it, didn’t soften his expression into pity, just waited with the spoon steady until she finally, grudgingly, allowed him to bring it to her lips.

’Noticing isn’t the same as fixing it.’ He kept his focus on the bowl rather than her face, giving her what privacy he could within the small act. ’But I can feed her without making her feel smaller for needing it. That much I can manage.’

He fell into an easy rhythm spoon, brief pause, quiet comment about nothing in particular filling the silence just enough that it didn’t feel like she was being tended to, more like they were simply eating together, which happened to require his hands instead of hers.

"This is good," Novaria said eventually, sounding faintly surprised. "Genuinely good. You had nothing to work with."

"Low bar, high execution. That’s my specialty." He offered another spoonful. "Careful with the compliments, though. I might start believing I have a future outside monster hunting."

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just soup."

Later, with both bowls empty and Novaria settled back with a cup of tea he’d talked her into, Jason gathered the dishes to the sink and paused as a familiar translucent panel flickered into his vision.

[System Notification: Care Objective Fulfilled Nutritional Provision]

[Reward: Recipe Compendium Restorative & Nourishing Meals (Tier 1) unlocked]

Jason blinked at it, dish still in hand. ’It’s rewarding me for soup.’ He glanced toward Novaria, who was very obviously not looking at him, sipping her tea with studied nonchalance. ’The system has genuinely low standards for what counts as heroism today.’

He skimmed the compendium unfolding in his mind regardless recipes built for restoring damaged meridians, easing chronic strain, encouraging circulation. Not miracle cures. But not nothing, either.

’Recovery food. For her.’ He set the dish down, already thinking ahead. ’Half of it needs ingredients this kitchen doesn’t have.’

"You’re making a face," Novaria observed.

"Good news, apparently," Jason said, deciding against explaining just yet. "I’m going to head to the market this afternoon. Need to pick a few things up."

"For what?"

"Groceries," he said simply, sliding past the specifics. "The little they left us with would barely be enough to get through the week."

Novaria studied him a moment, clearly aware there was more to it than that, but let it go with a small shake of her head. "Don’t set anything on fire on the way there."

"No promises." He grabbed a shirt from the chair, finally pulling it back on, and pressed a brief hand to her shoulder on his way past. "I won’t be long."

He left her at the table, already mapping the ingredient list waiting in his head, and the quiet, deliberate shape of a plan he hadn’t told her about yet.