Fried Rice Feast and the Shadow Fang
In one corner of the assassin-proof bunker, a makeshift kitchen hosted a violently explosive cooking show.
"Spam's just gonna rot anyway. Half meat, half rice."
Two cans of canned ham sat on the cutting board, sliced at regular intervals. Thwack, thwack, thwack. The crisp knife sounds cut through the chilly underground air.
I poured oil generously into the frying pan and dumped in the green onions. Sizzle! The sweet, pungent aroma of scallion oil began to conquer the bunker. It was a brutal olfactory assault that made the refined butter scents of imperial banquets look like amateurs—pure, proletarian dominance.
"Hngh... peel... thin..."
Behind me, Ayla sniffled as she battled the potatoes. Clutching a 1,000-won peeler to meet her quota, she looked pathetically determined.
I dumped the diced spam onto the golden scallion oil. Whoosh! The overwhelming stench of pig fat and chemical seasonings exploding under high heat. It was a biochemical weapon that numbed the mind.
"Gasp!"
A choked breath came from Ayla as she peeled. Glancing back, her hollow eyes were locked on the pan. Her throat bobbed relentlessly. I could hear her gulping from here.
"Hey, Employee No. 1. Wipe your drool. If it spits on the potatoes, you're eating them raw."
"Wh-who's drooling?! It's just a physiological reflex to protect my airways from the spicy air!"
Grrrrumble! Boom!
But the majestic thunder from her gut demolished that flimsy excuse.
"Some airway defense. Your stomach's declaring a full-on strike."
"Sh-shut up! How dare you mock the noble sounds from my refined body...!"
"Yeah, yeah. Finish peeling before your noble body starves to death. I'm stir-frying the rice."
I tossed instant rice from the System shop into the pan. Coated each grain in spam oil, added soy sauce for that smoky char, and oyster sauce for the finishing touch.
In the other pan, I drowned it in oil and fried up perfect runny eggs.
"Done. Rations."
Mountainous fried rice piled in a massive stainless-steel bowl. Topped with the eggs and offered, Ayla's hands shot out like lightning, snatching it away.
"Hot—!"
She flinched but refused to let go. Salty steam rose in wisps. Her red eyes shook wildly. The beastly urge to bury her face in it clashed with the duke's daughter's fragile pride.
I grabbed my share and slumped into the camping chair. Stabbing the yolk with my spoon, bright yellow lifeblood oozed thickly over the rice.
"Not eating? It'll congeal and taste like shit when it cools."
Trembling at my slurping sounds, Ayla suddenly bolted up.
"Even if I'm starving, I can't dine with a commoner like you!"
She held her head high.
"Your breathing would ruin my meal anyway. I'll go outside and enjoy my elegant feast alone. Don't peek!"
Ayla flounced off in her dirt-streaked dress, stomping beyond the main blast door. That was outside the bunker—no safety zone. Overhead loomed the auto-targeting Gatling turret (CIWS), its red eyes glaring in the lethal perimeter.
"Do whatever. Just don't cross the red control line, or it'll turn you into Swiss cheese. Your funeral."
I shrugged and heated some mixed coffee. Looked like she was embarrassed about pigging out last time. A slacker employee's table manners meant nothing to an indifferent boss.
But her excuses were kinda cute.
Meanwhile, rewind to just before the Zone 17 sewer entrance was sealed.
"Hurry! This is His Majesty's solemn command. Inject the final Mana Stone and seal every gap perfectly!"
Under the lead mages' shouts, the entrance was layered with massive marble barriers and magic cement.
Behind the chaos, Crown Prince Kasian watched with cold eyes.
'Damn it. Things went to hell like this.'
Based on Captain Kellun's report, he'd branded all of Zone 17 a demon lair. Ayla Erzen, his original target, was buried as a demon consort witch.
But variables remained. What if she survived and crawled out?
'Kill her. She has to vanish without a trace. No loose ends.'
A vengeful ex-fiancée in league with a demon king? He wouldn't leave that risk.
And doubts lingered: Did the demon king really manifest?
But with the Emperor declaring it a Grade 1 disaster zone and banning all access, he couldn't send the Imperial Knights again. If the demon king was real, it'd be pointless anyway.
Kasian glanced around, then pulled a black velvet-wrapped mana beast cube from his pocket. A top-tier assassination monster worth 10 billion gold on the imperial black market.
The Shadow Fang.
A massive hemorrhage even for him, the crown prince. It cloaked mana, assimilated with shadows, and assassinated targets. Magic and aura struggled to detect it.
"Come forth, tongue of darkness."
⟨ Shadow Fang Summon ⟩
As Kasian infused mana, black mist slithered from the cube, merging with the shadows.
If caught, he'd face the Emperor's wrath for defying orders and feeding mana to a demon.
So he was extra cautious. Aiming his 'vision-sharing Mana Stone' at the narrowing barrier gap,
"Enter there. Wait for my signal, then rip out the throat of the silver-haired, red-eyed woman. Devour her without a trace."
The black shadow shot like an arrow across the floor, sucked into the gap.
The priests noticed nothing.
Rumble—Boom!
The final barrier sealed Zone 17 forever.
A sleazy smile curled on Kasian's lips.
"Even if it fails, it'll confirm if that demon king is real."
Outside the main blast door, bunker exterior.
"Hah... hah..."
Only red emergency lights glowed in the chilly space. Huddled Ayla stared at the bowl on her knees.
Thick iron door separated her perfectly from Zeke inside. No need for pretense now.
Her trembling hand gripped the spoon, stabbing the yolk's center. Poke, ooze.
Golden yolk flowed over dark spam. Mesmerized, she shoveled a huge bite into her mouth.
"...!"
Lightning struck Ayla's brain. Goosebumps prickled her skin. That electric sensation returned.
What... is this flavor?
Her refined palate, fed only on head chef's bland delicacies, shattered before 1 SP processed meat and chemical umami—the violence of capitalism.
Brain-searing saltiness on the tongue! Lowly, ecstatic pig fat bursting with every chew!
"Hngh... uh-hngh!"
Beastly sobs escaped her. Etiquette? Noble ego? Worthless as tissue before MSG fried rice.
She buried her face in the bowl. Artistic spoonwork scraped every grain from the edges, shoving them in madly.
Slurp, smack... crunch! Hah...!
Despair of Kasian's abandonment, terror of tomorrow's potatoes—all evaporated before this tongue-raping savoriness.
Pure, instinctual mukbang.
As she scraped the bottom in ecstasy—
Slither.
From the dark corridor end behind her, shadows grotesquely stretched.
No sound, no mana waves.
The 10-billion-gold assassination specialist, Shadow Fang, had descended via pipes to inches from its target.
The pitch-black beast form rose silently. Red eyes locked on Ayla's defenseless nape, face buried in the bowl.
Smack... Ah, one more spam chunk...
Perfect stealth. Ayla had zero chance to sense death yawning behind her.
Same moment, surface.
"Kuh... ku-kuku."
Watching via vision-sharing stone, Kasian shook with irrepressible glee.
Shadow Fang had monitored the weird metal bunker from afar. Iron door shut, ominous vibes kept it at bay.
But Ayla emerged to eat? Hugging a dog bowl, licking the floor—his ex-fiancée's vulgarity.
"Better to die in my beast's jaws than lick that swill to survive. Your final glory."
Demon contract? Look at her. No demon king existed, clearly.
Kasian was certain of victory. Frail lady Ayla couldn't fend off Shadow Fang.
He edged it toward the bunker.
And, 'Rip her throat. No traces.'
From the darkness, Shadow Fang lunged at Ayla's neck with lethal speed.