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Chapter 29: Chapter 29: There Is No Salt!!!
Isabella stared at the pathetic excuse for a kitchen.
No stove.
No pots.
No pans.
Just a fire pit.
She took a slow, deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Then, she turned to Sheila and Ophelia. "You’re joking, right?"
The two girls blinked at her. "What?"
"This." Isabella motioned wildly at the primitive setup like it personally offended her existence. "You actually cook with this?"
Sheila and Ophelia exchanged looks.
"...Yes?" Ophelia answered slowly, as if confused by the question itself.
Isabella’s eye twitched.
She was starting to understand why this quest was worth 110 freaking points.
It wasn’t even just about finding herbs or almost impaling herself a million times trying to fish with a stick.
It was about this.
This nonsense.
This absolute caveman lifestyle.
She inhaled sharply through her nose. Hold it together.
Ophelia and Sheila were watching her now, their confusion deepening.
Sheila leaned in slightly, whispering to Ophelia, "Are we sure she’s from here?"
Ophelia frowned. "She does talk strange..."
"And act strange."
"And think strange."
"...And expect strange things."
A pause.
Sheila nodded. "Yeah, something’s not right."
Isabella wasn’t paying attention. She was too busy mourning the loss of every modern convenience she had ever taken for granted.
She clutched her head dramatically. "No gas. No pans. No utensils. No—"
Wait.
The system.
She froze mid-complaint, suddenly remembering the stupid, evil, spiteful rule.
No one could help her. At all.
She whipped around to the girls, cutting them off before they could offer a single word of advice.
"Wait—no. Don’t say anything. Don’t help me. Not even a little. Not even if you feel sorry for me. Not even if I start crying—"
"Wait, what?" Sheila blinked, startled.
"You’re... crying?" Ophelia looked mildly alarmed.
"Not yet," Isabella muttered darkly, staring at the fire pit like it was her sworn mortal enemy. "But give it five minutes."
She clapped her hands together. "Alright. I’ll figure this out myself."
Ophelia and Sheila exchanged one last doubtful glance, before shrugging.
"Okay," they said in unison.
And then they stepped back.
Far back.
Because this was about to be a disaster.
Isabella exhaled through her nose, then clapped her hands together.
"Alright. You two, leave." She realized she could not have them see how useless she was.
Ophelia and Sheila blinked at her.
"What?"
"Go away," Isabella repeated, waving them off. "I need to focus. Come back later when this is... edible."
Sheila gave her a skeptical look. "You’re sure?"
"Positive," Isabella lied through her teeth.
The two girls exchanged a look, then shrugged.
"Okay."
And just like that, they left.
Good. Now she could suffer in peace.
She looked at the two pathetic fish she had caught.
They stared back at her, lifeless.
Her hands hovered over them, her stomach twisting. "Alright. Gutting and skinning. How hard can it be?"
Five minutes later, she was gagging.
This was not easy.
The smell hit first—strong, raw, and absolutely gut-wrenching.
Then, there was the texture. The slimy, scaly, disgusting texture.
And worst of all...
The insides.
She had to rip open the fish’s stomach with a makeshift stone knife, which was not sharp enough. So instead of a clean cut, she got a half-butchering, half-mangling mess.
Her fingers were covered in fish guts, and she could feel something squishy.
She swallowed violently. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God."
She turned away, dry-heaving.
Her body shuddered.
The fish guts were still in her hands.
Her bare hands.
"WHY DIDN’T I MAKE GLOVES?!" she screeched.
She grabbed some large leaves from the pile of herbs she’d gathered earlier and wrapped her hands in them like some kind of makeshift medieval surgeon.
It did nothing.
She was still touching fish guts.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. She wanted to go home.
She sniffled. "Gosh, I really miss Earth."
Her voice came out in a whisper—she didn’t want anyone to hear her weakness.
Her spoiled, modern self was not built for this.
She tried to work faster, but it only made things worse. The fish slipped from her grip, splatting onto her lap.
"OH, COME ON!"
She was on the verge of a breakdown.
After what felt like an eternity of suffering, she finally managed to clean out the fish, remove the scales with a sharp rock, and slice the flesh into something that vaguely resembled food.
Her hands were coated in fish juices, her clothes were ruined, and she had genuine emotional damage.
She sat back, staring at the crime scene before her.
"This should be illegal."
Her arms dropped to her sides. She had never suffered like this before.
And then—finally—she moved on to the next step.
"Okay," Isabella muttered. "Seasoning. That’s easy."
She paused.
Then frowned.
Wait.
Wait a damn minute.
She had no idea how to cook.
At all.
Her brain short-circuited.
All she had was pepper and onions.
But then—realization struck.
She had no salt.
A deep, eerie silence fell over the stone-age kitchen.
Isabella just... stared.
Then, she read the quest details again.
Make edible food
Reward: 110 points
How was she supposed to make edible food with just peppers and onions?!
She froze.
Her mouth fell open.
She had nothing.
Not even a handful of the right ingredients to TRY to make this taste good.
She couldn’t even fake it.
If this food tasted bad, she failed.
And that was when it happened.
She wailed.
Like a grief-stricken widow.
She collapsed dramatically onto the dirt floor.
"NOOOOOOO—!!"
Isabella sat before the crude fire pit, staring at the two fish like they were her mortal enemies.
Her hands were already dirty, sticky, and slightly smelly from gutting them, and now she was about to season them with nothing but crushed onions and pepper.
No salt. No oil. No hope.
She felt a deep sense of betrayal. Not by anyone in particular—just by life itself.
"How am I supposed to make this edible?" she muttered, wiping her hands on her already-ruined dress.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that failure was not an option. The system had been clear: Make an edible meal. If she messed up, she’d wasted all that effort for nothing.
She stared at the fish. The fish stared back.
This was war.
