The Distilled Demon of Abkadi
I learned to drink in this other world.
After losing my mother to disappearance and my father to death, I spent three years under professors who treated their graduate students like doormats. There was no way I could avoid drinking. That bitch Yerna was a heavy drinker too, after all.
Even though I picked it up late, I was pretty confident in my tolerance. But what exactly counts as tolerance?
For normal people, it’s the limit before they black out completely. But when I talked about my own tolerance, I always claimed it was “the amount I drank right before I nearly died.” Just like how every guy on Earth brags about his drinking capacity.
In other words, I could drink about 7,000cc before passing out—three and a half of those massive 2,000cc beer mugs they use here. Rounding up, that’s roughly 10,000cc. Since a beer bottle is about 500 to 600 milliliters, that’s a whopping twenty bottles. Pretty fucking impressive, right?
Coldly speaking, the maximum amount your liver can handle before it gets wrecked isn’t anything to brag about, but I still took a strange pride in it.
“Holy shit.”
But this liquor was clearly bad news at first glance.
I nearly had a heart attack when Francesca handed me the distilled spirit she’d supposedly drunk and passed out on the very first night we stayed at this inn. She must have wanted to celebrate our first day in Sargadis. The glass bottle looked expensive. From the perspective of commoners in Britannia—who still sealed their windows with leather—glass bottles for liquor were rare. The glass wasn’t very clear, so to a modern person like Kang Bukho it looked cloudy, but the macho Nord of this world was secretly terrified it might break.
And in this world, distilled liquor stored in glass bottles like this meant one thing: it was insanely high-proof poison.
“My husband and I are both pretty heavy drinkers, but even we can’t handle more than three glasses of that ‘Abkadi.’”
That’s what the innkeeper auntie had said.
Fuck, even the name sounds terrifying. Abkadi. Since I couldn’t parse the meaning, it was probably a proper noun, but the vibe of the word already screamed demon or vampire. There was no doubt that if I drank even half a bottle, I’d turn into a zombie drunkard crawling on the floor going “gueeeeh.”
Wait, can you even count this as a single glass?
On the way up to the room I’d opened it slightly and sniffed. This stuff was closer to hand sanitizer or medical alcohol. It would definitely sterilize anything. If you forced it down someone’s throat, it could send them straight across the rainbow bridge—perfect for murder too.
Creak—
I stepped into Francesca’s inn room. She was sitting on the bed, mending the robe I would wear. Seen from a distance, her slender proportions made her look remarkably mature. She resembled a young mother doing piecework sewing at home as a side job.
But if that was the case, what did that make me—walking in carrying expensive liquor? Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt like a piece-of-shit domestic abuser. The discomfort was unbearable.
Francesca noticed the door opening and looked up.
“Ah, Nord. You’re back?”
“Yeah. More importantly, how long has it been since you hurt your hand? You’re already sewing?”
“It’s fine. I stopped the bleeding, so no blood will get on it.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
I sighed and set the bottle of Abkadi down. Francesca flinched the moment she saw it.
“Th-that liquor… don’t tell me…?”
“It’s exactly the one you drank and passed out on. I brought it as disinfectant, so give me your hand.”
I poured a little onto the cloth I’d used earlier and reached for her. This time Francesca obediently offered her hand. I gently pressed the damp cloth over the wound.
The moment the alcohol-soaked fabric touched her, Francesca yelped.
“Kyaaang!”
“Does it hurt? Just bear with it a little.”
“Ughhh…!!”
Francesca stomped her feet. The wooden floor made little thumping sounds. More importantly, fuck, those ridiculously huge breasts kept stealing my gaze nonstop. Please stop jiggling. The sensation of my Juicy Anaconda waking up is giving me goosebumps.
Earth heroes, Vector Men! Lend me your strength!
I exerted superhuman mental fortitude to resist falling into that swaying, bountiful valley. Then I removed the cloth from Francesca’s finger.
“There. Disinfection complete.”
“Hoo… hoo… hoo…!”
Tears welled in Francesca’s eyes as she trembled. It made sense that it hurt—she’d just had something that smelled like pure rocket fuel poured on an open wound. This was basically the undiluted essence of this world’s Albochil.
“Hold still. Let’s rinse it with water at the end.”
“A-again…?”
“Hush. Don’t pull away. This is the last step.”
I rinsed away any remaining alcohol residue with water, then tore a strip from the end of the cloth and tied it around the wound. Done. Now I could relax.
“Ugh. Nord, you worry too much. Weren’t you the one who said I should just do whatever I want?”
Francesca said while holding my hand. I gave a small chuckle and sat down on the room’s only chair.
“That’s why you need to take better care of your body. If you want to live happily, you have to be healthy first.”
“You always have an answer for everything.”
She seemed a little sulky. While I watched her with a smile, I wiped the needle with the alcohol-soaked cloth and thought about something else.
Should I learn some magic besides Beast Regression?
Every time something like this happened, I realized it anew. In a world where technological progress had been replaced by a single word—magic—being able to use it or not made a massive difference.
If I could use fire-attribute magic, I could have sterilized the needle by heating it beforehand. And back in that damned ruin, I wouldn’t have had to shiver while trying to light a campfire with sheer willpower.
Glug glug glug—
While I was distracted cleaning the needle, Francesca had somehow produced a cup and was pouring the distilled liquor into it. I jumped in alarm.
“Hey! Why are you pouring that?!”
“Huh? Didn’t you bring it to drink?”
“If I wanted to drink it, I would’ve brought cups too! I told you I got it for disinfection!”
There was no way I was crazy enough to drink something that looked like industrial alcohol mixed with artificial flavoring. The innkeeper had claimed this was the only distilled spirit they had, so I had no choice. Though her claim sounded like total bullshit, arguing with the owner wouldn’t get me anywhere—she refused to sell anything else—so I’d given up and brought it.
“Never mind, hand it over. You couldn’t even handle one glass, remember?”
I moved to stop her, but I immediately sensed I’d said the wrong thing. Sure enough, Francesca’s face twisted with irritation and she retreated with the cup.
“I can drink it! The first time was just because… I was exhausted from traveling! Watch!”
With that bold declaration, Francesca downed the entire wooden mug—easily the size of a beer stein—in one go.
Oh shit. I’d once seen a NewTuber on Earth collapse after doing ten straight shots of Spirytus. The scene overlapping with this one was terrifying.
Gulp gulp! — Clack!
“Puuha!”
Francesca exhaled with a sweet scent and wiped her mouth. She looked surprisingly fine. For a moment I wondered if she was actually okay.
Then she started shaking.
Tremble. Quiver.
“Hey, your legs! Your legs!”
“Eh?”
The legs Francesca had braced against the table were wobbling violently! Her small, pure-looking face gradually turned red like a frozen crab dropped into boiling water, with a slight delay.
Oh fuck. This wasn’t acute alcohol poisoning, was it?
Worried, I rushed to her side. Francesca suddenly slapped her own thigh.
Smack!!
The loud sound stopped the trembling. She crossed her arms beneath her chest and stood proudly.
“I’m fiiine!”
“You look anything but fine.”
Her tongue was already slurring and she was still putting on a brave front. I had no idea what to do with her after she’d gotten completely wasted from a single glass of Abkadi.
Glug glug glug—
In the meantime, Francesca grabbed the bottle again. Even though her hands were shaking, with the persistence of an old man with tremors searching for a porn site, she somehow managed to fill a second cup to the brim.
“You’re drinking more?”
“Nooo….”
Was she a cat in heat or what? The sudden cuteness without warning stunned me. Before I could react, Francesca thrust the full cup toward me.
“Here!”
What kind of “here” was that? Was she telling me to drink and then sleep? I recoiled from the sharp alcoholic scent of the Abkadi she shoved at me.
“Fuck! The smell is insane, don’t shove it in my face!”
“Eh? Does Frang smell…?”
“Not you, the liquor! The liquor!”
Francesca buried her nose in her own arm and sniffed. Taking advantage of the moment, I quickly snatched the bottle, sealed it, and set it aside.
“That’s enough. Don’t drink any more. No matter how I look at it, this isn’t liquor. If you put this in a flask with microorganisms and shook it a few times, the microbes would probably survive. It’s that strong.”
“Not gonna drink…? I shee….”
Dejected, Francesca’s shoulders slumped. Then she brought the cup in her hand to her own mouth—wait, why the hell are you drinking it, you idiot?
“Hey! Stop! That’s mine now. Give it here.”
Whoosh! I snatched the cup from her hand. She looked up at me with expectant eyes. You’ll drink it, right? Right? That kind of look.
“…Tsk.”
Logical conversation with a drunk person was impossible. Knowing that well, I decided to take just one sip.
Gulp.
“—Oooaaagh.”
It felt like my tongue was burning! The moment I swallowed, I pulled my mouth away. She really downed this in one go? Was her stomach okay? If I drank the whole thing, I’d probably be puking until morning.
“…Nor, can’t you dwink?”
Francesca looked at me with pity. Her expression seemed to say she’d lived half her life at a loss, and it pissed me off. She was the one whose brain had short-circuited after one glass and was running on pure spinal reflex, yet she had the nerve to say that?
“I can drink. And who are you calling Nor? Am I a roe deer?”
“Dunnow…. If you won dwink, I’ll dwink it.”
She reached for the cup again, so I quickly raised it high. As if a girl under 160cm could challenge Nord, who stood over 180cm, in a game of keep-away.
“Enough. Don’t drink any more. You won’t be able to work tomorrow at this rate.”
“Don’ wanna. Wanna dwink…. The innkeep auntie never gave it to me. She told me not to dwink, so I never got to….”
“Good thing the innkeeper stopped you.”
Maybe she’d decided not to sell it after seeing what happened when Francesca drank it. The innkeeper auntie was kinder than I’d thought. In this world, plenty of merchant scum would still overcharge a man trying to buy poison to kill himself, telling him to hand over the rest of his money since he was going to die anyway.
“If Nor won dwink, then I’ll dwink it….”
“No. I’m not giving it to you. Go away.”
Drunk people never listen. The more Francesca approached, the more I backed away. But before I could think of a solution, my back hit the wall.
“Nooor….”
With her mind gone from the alcohol, Francesca pressed herself against me. Then she stood on her tiptoes and reached for the cup I held high. Of course, a mere 30cm height difference couldn’t be overcome so easily—but she had one weapon that could completely ignore it.
Actually, two weapons.
Rub. Rub.
Two massive, soft masses pressed against my lower body. The sensation was completely different from last time, when they’d been tightly wrapped in leather armor and underclothes like Korean snacks in dense packaging. Fuck, so until now they’d practically been vacuum-sealed!
“Gah!”
I cried out in panic. The height difference between us was roughly 30cm. Francesca’s head, as she clung to my chest, only reached my solar plexus. If her head was at my solar plexus, that meant her shoulders were around my navel, which meant—
Her absurdly large breasts were softly enveloping my Juicy!
I was fucked! If this continued, the Juicy Anaconda sleeping in the canyon between my legs was going to wake up!
“F-fuck!”
My body shuddered. I emptied my mind and downed the entire cup in one go. I figured that once the liquor disappeared, Francesca would give up.
Gulp gulp!Gulp… glug!!!
From the second mouthful I nearly sprayed it out. I used every trick I’d learned as a grad student—the open-esophagus drinking technique—and emptied the cup completely!! Only then could I finally scream!!
“Gaaaaaaaah!!! Gahk!! (It burns!!) Gahk!! (It burns!!)”
I screamed like an ancient elementary schooler throwing a tantrum! It hurt!! Forget being drunk—this was just my throat getting absolutely fucked!!
According to modern chemistry, the hydroxyl group in alcohol molecules easily bonds with water. That’s why high-proof liquor feels like it’s burning your esophagus—it generates heat through hydrogen bonding with the body’s moisture. That’s what I’d learned, anyway.
But humans are such fucking stupid creatures. Even after paying ridiculous tuition to learn that in university, you don’t truly understand it until you experience it yourself!
“Ptooey ptooey, you motherfucking son of a bitch!!”
Having personally experienced that damned chemical reaction, I could only scream! It felt like boiling water had been poured down my throat!! My stomach acid writhed like a longhorn beetle doused in hydrochloric acid—I could practically feel it!
“Hehe. You drank it.”
At that moment Francesca pressed even closer and rubbed her face against me. Her soft-looking cheeks were incredibly charming, but between my burning esophagus and my rapidly awakening Juicy, I could barely control my own body.
Tilt—
My body, at its limit, began to fall! Fuck! No matter what, collapsing on top of Francesca here would be way too cliché!
So I twisted with the last of my strength.
“Kyoooooot!!”
Thud!!
“Gek.”
“Kyaa♥”
I made a sound like a stepped-on frog, while Francesca let out a delighted cry. In that inn room, every form of chaos, destruction, and oblivion that alcohol could grant a human being was present.
“Ughhh…. Khaaaak….”
I endured the pain in the back of my head and breathed roughly. Falling to the floor had hurt like absolute hell. But lying down gave my brain a tiny bit of breathing room. A way to overcome this situation had occurred to me.
It felt like lightning had struck inside my skull.
When humans who manipulate mana grow stronger, it’s because the mana inside their bodies enhances the function of their organs. That’s why even abilities difficult to train through normal means—like eyesight—can be improved. So what about the liver?
If I used mana cleverly, couldn’t I strengthen the liver’s ability to produce alcohol-metabolizing enzymes?
With that idea in mind, I closed my eyes and activated mana catheters throughout my body. I tried to concentrate the mana flowing through me into my liver.
Squish.
But fuck, I felt a strange sensation. I cracked my eyes open and looked for the source of the discomfort. Francesca was straddling me, staring down.
“…Nord.”
Her voice was filled with longing. Hearing it, I understood a hundred times over how men fell for honey traps. I finally got why people were seduced by female spies or succubi. It wasn’t just skin contact. The scent drifting from her, the sweet sighs, the pounding heartbeat—they were more than enough to vaporize a person’s reason.
Humans are creatures ruled by hormones from birth. Remaining unaffected while pressed against a woman was only possible for eunuchs or gay men. I was neither.
In this situation, my Juicy was fully erect. I was a healthy adult male.
“…Haa, seriously.”
Slide.
I reached out and touched Francesca’s cheek. She squirmed as if tickled, yet still rubbed her face against my hand. Honestly, I’d already noticed. The way she opened the window during her bath and poked her face out, calling me into the room with wet hair, drinking in a closed room with just the two of us—the circumstantial evidence was so overwhelming that anyone who didn’t notice would be an idiot.
The reason I’d pretended not to notice until now was—
Fuck, it was all because of this damn Anaconda Juicy. What the hell are you asking, it’s annoying.
The dick I’d gained from the influence of Beast Regression was honestly too big. I didn’t even know why it had become an +18 legendary cock. I’d hesitated to go through with the act while still clueless about its origins.
“Nord…. You smell so good….”
But running away with excuses here wouldn’t make me a macho man—it wouldn’t even make me a real man. A guy like that might as well cut off his dick and bite his tongue. I met Francesca’s eyes as she buried her face in my chest. No more mood-killing conversation was necessary.
We tangled together and kissed.