That was a modest leather wineskin.

It was the bullhide flask Fang Senyan had scavenged from the tentacle monster's corpse on that icy altar!

More importantly, it contained no wine at all—

But rather one of Saruman's groundbreaking alchemical creations: Hekhimja Mucilage...

A most extraordinary substance. The graver a drinker's injuries, the more potently this mucilage activated latent vitality within their body, accelerating regeneration exponentially! Its healing rate boosted from 1 health point every 10 seconds to 10 per second, lasting 120 minutes.

And at present—Fang Senyan was unquestionably grievously wounded! Meaning once he imbibed the potion, this debilitating bleeding effect (5% max HP loss every 20 seconds) would be utterly trivial. As for any aftereffects? Let them take a hike! If some residual affliction defied even spatial magic to cure, Fang Senyan would accept it willingly!

With unhurried grace, he lifted the wineskin and gave it a shake before pressing his thumb firmly against the stopper with a sharp "pop." At this moment, he even offered a polite nod toward Luz in the opposite canyon's outcropping—who was now red-eyed from fury—raising the flask like an old-world gentleman toasting across a ballroom. The entire sequence exuded such refined courtesy it evoked visions of 18th-century European nobility exchanging wine salutes!

Indeed, only with this mucilage could Fang Senyan let the reef rock cart all Hekhimja eggs away. He had miscalculated one thing, however: while the mucilage only restored health points, those magical eggs provided total rejuvenation.

Luz suddenly went rigid. Closing his eyes, he silently leapt down from the rock and strode back toward the orcish city without so much as a roar of rage. Though Fang Senyan's strength appeared like an ant to him now, this minuscule insect had carved indescribable humiliation into Luz's life...

...

Flickering fire shadows danced across the cave walls.

Pine resin perfumed the air with soft explosions crackling intermittently.

Above the flames stretched a thick branch bearing a plump salmon fish. Under relentless roasting, its skin wrinkled and cracked to reveal snowy flesh beneath. The oily interior seeped out in golden rivulets that flared blue when consumed by hungry embers.

After further cooking, the fish's surface developed delicate fissures. Aromatic fat filled the cave with irresistible temptation.

Fang Senyan awoke amidst this intoxicating smell. His sudden unconsciousness at the pass had nothing to do with Hekhimja mucilage—but stemmed from blood loss exacerbated by cold winds! Weakened like any ordinary man, he naturally fainted... Fortunately, the mucilage's healing properties crushed the "life force evaporation" debuff completely until it fizzled out.

Seeing him stir, Fogge the girl tending the fire rushed to support him. Fang tested his limbs and found them functioning normally—his chest wound had evidently been magically treated by Fogge as well. Only lingering weakness from blood loss remained.

Suddenly recalling something, he asked urgently: "How long was I unconscious?"

Fogge, tilting her head to blow on the fire while brushing back silvery locks of hair, murmured softly: "About four hours. Don't worry—our escape succeeded completely. This place is very safe; those half-orcs will never find us."

A deep sigh escaped Fang Senyan—he had risked fleeing precisely to accomplish an urgent task requiring at least 30-60 minutes. With roughly three hours remaining in this world, he felt ample time for anything.

Thoughts of hunger surged forth immediately. Without ceremony, he accepted the roasted fish Fogge offered and devoured it ravenously. The coldwater salmon proved exceptionally fatty with exquisitely tender flesh. Especially its charred blackened skin—though unappealing in appearance—yielded mellow crispness that lingered on the palate.

Midway through his feast, Fang suddenly realized there was only one fish and Fogge hadn't eaten yet. He chuckled sheepishly: "I'll catch another soon..."

Fogge smirked as she whistled sharply. Dozens of squirrels bounced in with pinecones clutched in their paws before dropping fifteen or so plump ones at her feet. With practiced elegance, she selected pine seeds from the cones while watching him through sly eyes: "No need—I'll just eat these. I didn't even touch meat when we were in Rivendell."

Repositioning himself against the stone wall proved comfortable—except raising his hand to eat now tugged at his chest wound, making Fang wince instinctively. Fogge immediately moved beside him and took up the skewered fish for easier feeding. Evidently very hungry, Fang devoured the entire salmon with gusto before suddenly noticing oily residue on Fogge's slender white fingers. Without thinking, he extended his tongue to lick it clean.

This single action sent Fogge trembling violently through every limb.

Her fingertips felt electrified as her entire body numbed simultaneously—her breath grew hot despite the cold cave air. The crisp, fresh aura that once surrounded her transformed into something indescribably intoxicating—a fragrance like night-blooming jasmine warmed by summer heat, awakening both exhilaration and dizziness within her heart.

This sensation was wholly unfamiliar to Fogge, even when earlier in the cave she had confessed feelings while lying across his chest. Elves possessed tree-like patience through their long lives—measured, elegant, rarely experiencing such intense emotional combustion.

Still replete with hunger, Fang licked every trace from her fingertips before finally noticing the shift in atmosphere: not just because the air now carried overwhelming sensuality, but due to Fogge's flushed cheeks and bashful downward gaze that was maddeningly alluring. Stirred, Fang began plotting ways to charm her further—before hearing Fogge whisper bewilderedly: "What...what is this feeling? Why does it feel so strange? It's like my entire body wants to catch fire! I've never experienced anything like this before!"

Her pale hand emerged slowly now, tinged with both shyness and yearning as she murmured guiltily: "Though it sounds terrible...would you kiss my fingers again, Guardian? I want to feel that sensation once more..."

How could Fang refuse such a request? Gripping her delicate hand, he began kissing from the fingertips upward, letting his tongue roam freely across her snowy skin. The air thickened with sultry fragrance that gradually morphed into heady rose perfume as he neared her pointed ear. When his burning lips finally touched there, Fogge's self-control shattered entirely—her tightly closed mouth emitted a stifled cry like a kitten: vulnerable, inexperienced, laced with indescribable shivers of pleasure.

Suddenly the fire dimmed from lack of tending and collapsed into smoldering embers. In the faint glow, Fogge's alabaster skin remained dazzlingly luminous as her long legs curled around Fang's waist. Her eyes fluttered shut, cheeks flushed, yet she shyly began seeking his lips for reciprocation despite howling winds outside.

Fang had always been disciplined—yet as he gradually removed the silken layers from her body, marveling at its alien smoothness and whiteness, all restraint dissolved into aching desire to kiss, touch, caress...eliciting only soft moans and hesitant returns of affection.

Elven physiology differed from humans in many ways, lacking human-like shyness but embracing directness and candor as natural. To Fang's requests, Fogge complied with surprising willingness—and though his original intention had been gentle care, something savage now roared within him like a wildfire needing only reckless expenditure to extinguish itself!

"Damn!" Fang suddenly realized—the side effect of that Hekhimja mucilage? Inducing half-crazed states for subsequent hours? Then reason surrendered completely...

What followed was storm-wracked passion—greedy bites and plundering kisses while the defenseless elf girl silently yielded, shivering with timorous compliance. Every whimper she exhaled only fueled Fang further into ever-freer indulgence...