The low, grinding groan vibrated through Tsetsu’s molars as support struts twisted beneath the vault flooring. Frost spidered across the bulkhead seams, sucking moisture straight from their lips. Chuluun, his jaw smeared with grease, had already stuffed three Hoarfrost Peppers and a clump of shimmering Gloom-Lichen into his tool pouch. He gestured frantically at the gaping vault door. “We need to move, Tsetsu! The integrity fields are dropping!” Ganzorig trailed two steps behind, dragging his tailored trousers and clutching his bruised ribs. “Twenty-four hours?” he rasped, staring blankly at the frost crusting his oxfords. “That’s… that’s less than a full financial cycle. This is impossible.” [WARNING: AMBIENT EUPHORIA CRITICALLY LOW. REACTOR CORE MELTDOWN IMMINENT. RECOMMENCE COOKING PROTOCOLS.] She pushed Ganzorig towards the exit, her dizzy smile momentarily forgotten. “Meltdown in reverse, Ganzorig. It’s freezing. And to fix that, we need heat. Not just any heat. We need the kind of heat that only pure, unadulterated Culinary Euphoria can generate. The kind locked inside an apex beast.” Her gaze skipped past split barrels of gray algae toward the mental blueprint stamped behind her eyelids: the great fire-drake of the Outer Steppe. Scavenger logs claimed its hide bled raw combustion. “We hunt,” Tsetsu said, dropping her goofy slouch. “Pack the scraper blades.” The frozen barrens bit through every weld of the chassis. Their borrowed, rusted rover, a relic from before the megastructures, rattled and groaned over the fractured ice-plains. Inside, the heating unit sputtered, coughing weak, tepid air. Ganzorig rattled where he sat, his thin silk blend stiffening under the drafts. “Are you sure this isn’t some kind of… performance art, Tsetsu?” he grumbled, pulling his collar tighter. “The seats aren’t even heated. And the lack of climate control is simply barbaric. My private shuttle had full environmental regulation.” Chuluun, bundled in layers of scavenged thermal-weave, merely snorted from the driver’s seat. “You’re lucky it has wheels, former CEO. Most of us walk.” Tsetsu ignored their banter, her eyes scanning the swirling blizzard for any sign of movement. The air outside was a white-out, a relentless torrent of ice shards. Suddenly, a jagged, crystalline projectile materialized from the maelstrom, whistling directly towards Tsetsu’s head. A six-inch barb of frosted quartz sheared through the canvas roof. Ganzorig threw his weight sideways into her shoulder. The spike clipped his shoulder blade, pinning shredded wool to the seatback frame. He sucked in a sharp hiss through his teeth, pinned rigid against the metal panel. “Ganzorig!” Tsetsu shoved him flat against the padding, her slack-jawed grin gone cold. “Are you out of your mind?” He clutched his shoulder, a trickle of crimson blooming on the pristine white shirt beneath. “Someone has to protect… the chef,” he wheezed, a faint, almost imperceptible blush creeping up his neck. “Wouldn’t want my future meals… to be jeopardized.” His chin quivered as red crept across his collar, though he held her stare without blinking. Tsetsu slapped thermal bio-tape over the puncture, smoothing the seal in two fast strokes. “Keep pressure on it. The drake won't wait for your blood to clot.” Sulfur steam choked the basalt canyon where the beast nested among cracked tectonic vents. Its armor resembled jagged basalt slabs that hissed against the snow, eyes burning like blast-furnace slits. It was easily fifty feet long, a living mountain of destructive power. Chuluun gulped, adjusting his goggles. “That’s… a lot of protein,” he whispered. Tsetsu, however, was already at work. She set down a portable induction plate and cracked open an iron canister of gray nutrient paste. Luring an apex predator with standard ration paste was absurd, but she had altered the base compound. With surgical precision, she had mixed it with her grandfather’s ‘Crimson Ember’ spice rub—a blend of forgotten Outer Steppe herbs, ground to a fine, fragrant powder that hummed with latent energy. She patted the mixture into a flat disc, slapping it onto the bronze cook-surface until the fat caramelized into dark blisters. The aroma, infused with the Crimson Ember, wasn’t just fragrant; it was a siren song, a whisper of true taste in a world starved of it. It wafted into the ravine, a tiny, potent spear of scent piercing the cold air. The coiled reptile snapped its nostrils open, pupils zeroing in on the sizzle. A low growl rumbled from its chest, not of aggression, but of something akin to curiosity, then longing. Tsetsu pinched the charred ration disc between iron tongs and waved it through the air. “Here, boy. Dinner time.” What happened next was not a battle, but a surrender. The scaly titan lowered its horned snout to the gravel, settling its bulk into the gravel with an inquisitive tilt of its skull. With a low rumble that dislodged shale, it flopped its armored belly toward the sky, tail knocking dull thuds against the ice as it stared at the grease-slicked bait. “It’s… begging?” Ganzorig sputtered, utterly dumbfounded. “Under all that armor, they're starving just like Sector 9,” Tsetsu murmured. She approached the massive beast, her movements fluid and silent. With a precise, almost tender stroke of her wok’s razor edge, she found the vital point behind its neck. The creature never flinched from the bait; it released a long vent of white vapor as its furnace-glow faded into still ash. No struggle, no thrashing. Just the respectful end for a magnificent creature. [NEW RECIPE ACQUIRED: SHULMUS-DRAGON’S HEARTFIRE NOODLES.] Tsetsu wasted no time. Her wok was already hot. With Chuluun assisting, expertly collecting the shimmering, heat-infused blood into a thermal flask, Tsetsu began the intricate work of butchering. Each cut was deliberate, efficient, separating muscle from bone with practiced grace. She reached the beast’s stomach, its tough hide giving way with a final, deep slice. The contents spilled across the drifts: half-melted slag chunks, sulfur quartz, and jammed between two rib bones, a lacquered black module stamped with the silver K-Z crest of Khargai Zenith.

Baiting the Shulmus-Dragon