Chapter 192: The Snowhouse Girl
Behind him, the cries of Wolfmen still echoed—wailing, mournful, chillingly agonized, sending shivers of dread through his bones.
Stuffed Bun sprinted down the narrow, shadowed path of the valley, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the pursuing horde, until at last he burst into open terrain, gasping for breath, finally free.
“Pant… pant…,” he panted.
“What in the world… why are there so many Wolfmen here? And all of them… mutated?”
He looked up, heart skipping a beat.
Perched on the mountainside, jutting abruptly from the snow-laden cliffs, stood a quaint wooden cabin. Its roof, made of rough-hewn logs, was thickly blanketed in fresh snow. Warm, golden light seeped from the windows, casting a gentle glow into the frozen silence.
“Where… is this?” Stuffed Bun murmured, curiosity pulling him forward.
He knew better than to trust such a sight in this desolate, forgotten wilderness. A place like this had to hide something—some secret, some trap, or perhaps a rare treasure. But for a Player, ignoring such a discovery was simply not an option.
“Never mind! I’m going in!”
With a determined grit, Stuffed Bun pushed open the creaking wooden door.
The interior was unexpectedly cozy. A plush fur sofa, intricately woven rugs, and a crackling fireplace filled with burning logs created a warm, inviting atmosphere. On the table sat a feast: milk, fresh bread, ripe fruit, silver spoons, and delicate decorative ornaments—luxuries utterly out of place in this barren, snowbound wasteland.
“This… this place shouldn’t exist,” Stuffed Bun whispered, scanning every corner, yet finding no clue, no trap, no hint of danger.
Then, a soft, clear voice spoke from behind.
“Guests who barge in without invitation aren’t very polite, you know…”
Stuffed Bun spun around.
A girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen, stepped through the doorway, gently closing it behind her. She wore her hair in a neat, tidy ponytail. In her slender hands, she held a steaming cup of tea. Her face was delicate and sweet, her expression kind, with just a hint of playful mischief in her eyes.
She placed the cup on the table and winked at him.
“It’s freezing out there. Please, have some tea. Warm your belly.”
She paused, smiling. “Oh, and by the way—I’m Valina. Daughter of the house’s master.”
Stuffed Bun was flustered, staring at her wide, sparkling eyes, nodding mutely. He grabbed the cup and took a sip—thankfully, his Red Dragon Bloodline made him immune to heat.
“Ah… thank you,” he stammered. “I, uh… I’m Stuffed Bun.”
He barely set the cup down before answering, his voice still shaky.
“Your name… is quite unusual,” Valina said, her gaze fixed on him, unblinking.
Her stare was so intense that even Stuffed Bun—once hardened by countless failed online romances—felt his cheeks burn. His dragon-scaled skin even began to emit faint wisps of steam.
“Stuffed Bun, you fool,” he thought desperately. “She’s just a NPC! A virtual character! How can you fall for a fake fantasy? You’re not some love-struck rookie!”
Valina tilted her head, feigning confusion.
“Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?”
“N-no, not at all—” Stuffed Bun stammered, flustered.
Valina giggled, her eyes twinkling.
“Don’t be so tense.”
Her gaze remained locked on him.
“No, I should be the one who’s nervous. This place is isolated—very few travelers pass by. You’re the first in years. I’ve been waiting for you… for a long time.”
A soft, apologetic smile touched her lips.
“I’m sorry to disturb you. But I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve never left. So I’ve only ever learned about the outside world from passing travelers.”
She leaned forward, her voice earnest.
“So… could you tell me about it? Just a little? Please?”
Her sincerity was overwhelming. Stuffed Bun couldn’t refuse. He scratched the back of his neck, heart pounding.
“Uh… uh… of course.”
At first, his words were stiff, halting. But as the tea warmed his chest, his speech grew smoother, his voice dreamy, enchanted.
“This place is called the Karka Mountain Range. To the south lies Storm Ridge—beautiful, lush, home to Ogres, Goblins, Goblinoids… and beyond that, the Northern Regions. There, humans like you have built great cities—beautiful, bustling, full of life… people working, building, living.”
“Cities?” Valina whispered, eyes wide.
“Yes. Real cities. Places where thousands live together, sharing stories, dreams, laughter…”
The fire crackled in the hearth.
Stuffed Bun and Valina sat side by side on the soft fur sofa, talking long into the night.
As they spoke, Valina slowly leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her eyes shining with wonder, with longing.
“The world you described… it’s so beautiful,” she murmured.
Stuffed Bun’s face burned. He sat rigid, unsure what to do, then desperately changed the subject.
“Valina… why have you stayed here all this time?”
She looked up at him, unafraid, her gaze steady.
“My father is here. I must stay with him.”
“But… don’t you ever feel lonely?” Stuffed Bun asked gently, brushing a hand through her hair.
She leaned into his touch, calm, accepting.
“Have another sip of tea, Stuffed Bun brother,” she whispered, her voice soft and warm. “Finish it, and you can tell me the next part of your story.”
Stuffed Bun, almost unconsciously, lifted the cup to his lips—ready to drink.
“STUFFED BUN! YOU’RE UNDER AN ILLUSION!”
A sharp, familiar voice cut through the dream.
Singo.
The moment shattered.
Stuffed Bun jolted awake—like a man ripped from a nightmare. He hurled the crystal-clear glass cup to the ground. It shattered. The tea—no, not tea—spilled in a dark, steaming puddle.
Crack!
“Ah—!”
He collapsed to his knees, scrambling backward on all fours, terror seizing him.
He looked around.
This wasn’t a cozy cabin.
This was a cold, metallic chamber. Walls of dull, rust-streaked metal. Bloodstains—old, dried, cracked—spattered the floor.
And in his arms… a figure.
A “girl.”
But it wasn’t flesh. Not really.
It was a monstrous patchwork—a grotesque fusion of stitched-together flesh, twisted and pulsing, fused into a misshapen, towering form.
Its body was a mangled mass of raw, exposed muscle and oozing tissue, covered only sparsely by pale, peeling scales. Its head hung low, wild, matted hair cascading like a dead beast’s mane.
From its back, jagged bat-like bones protruded—wings, but ruined, torn, hanging like corroded rags.
The “tea” on the ground wasn’t warm. It was a thick, ghostly fluid, steaming with unnatural vapor.
And the creature—still smiling—opened its mouth.
A multi-petaled maw, split open like rotten fruit. Rows of twitching, needle-like fangs glinted in the dim light.
Its lips trembled.
“Big brother… drink it… please…”
“Then… I can hear more of your story…”
(End of Chapter)
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