Rejected No More: The Exiled Princess Returns

Charity dragged the heavy cuts of lynx meat over the threshold of her shelter, her lungs burning. She slammed the iron door shut and locked it.

She hauled the bloody meat into the corner of the room that vaguely resembled a kitchen. The counters were covered in a thick layer of grime.

Charity closed her eyes for a second, actively calling upon the [Top-Tier Beast Butchery and Culinary Arts] resting in her mind.

When her eyes snapped open, her gaze was razor-sharp, entirely focused and professional.

She dug through the rusted drawers and pulled out a dull, heavy meat cleaver. She dragged the blade across the edge of the metal sink, the harsh scraping sound echoing in the small room until the edge caught a faint gleam.

Charity moved with liquid precision. The cleaver sliced down, bypassing the tough outer hide and sliding perfectly between the vertebrae. With a flick of her wrist, she cleanly extracted the dark, pulsing poison sac from the backstrap without spilling a single drop.

She followed the natural grain of the muscle, peeling back the thick, spiked hide to reveal the dense, ruby-red meat underneath.

In less than ten minutes, the terrifying monster parts had been perfectly dismantled. Prime cuts of meat were neatly separated and stacked on the wiped-down counter.

Charity stared at the beautiful ingredients, wiping a line of sweat from her forehead. Her stomach roared in response.

She turned to the stove, only to find the ancient induction burner completely dead. The power light was dark.

She tore through the cabinets, desperately searching for salt, pepper, or any basic seasoning. She found nothing but empty, dust-covered nutrient paste wrappers.

A master chef was nothing without fire and salt. Charity let out a heavy, frustrated sigh.

She had to go to the commercial district. She needed basic cooking gear and spices.

Charity found a relatively clean piece of cloth and tightly wrapped a premium cut of tenderloin. She shoved it into her backpack, planning to use it for barter or cash.

She scrubbed her hands clean, pulled her oversized cloak tightly around her to hide her scabs, and stepped back out into the lower sector.

The acid rain had washed the streets, and the outcast residents were beginning to scurry out of their holes.

Charity navigated the maze of alleys, heading toward the corridor that connected to the commercial sector.

As she passed a corner piled high with rusted metal scrap, a shrill, vicious voice cut through the air.

"You filthy rat! You're dirtying my storefront!"

A heavy-set, middle-aged woman named Brenda stood with her hands on her hips, screaming at a small, trembling figure in the mud.

It was Cletus, a young, emaciated scavenger. He was on his knees, desperately clutching a broken circuit board to his chest.

Brenda raised her heavy boot, aiming a vicious kick right at the boy's ribs.

Charity's eyes narrowed. She lunged forward and caught Brenda's ankle mid-air, her grip like a vice.

Brenda shrieked in surprise, losing her balance and stumbling backward. She glared furiously at the bloated, hooded woman who had dared to touch her.

Charity didn't even look at Brenda. Her face was a mask of cold indifference. She crouched down in the mud in front of Cletus.

The boy flinched, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes, expecting another blow.

Charity's hand hovered in her bag for a second. Her stomach cramped, reminding her of her own desperate situation. But she knew she couldn't consume all the meat she had harvested before it spoiled in this humidity, and a small act of goodwill cost her little right now. She pulled out a smaller, uneven scrap of the perfectly cleaned, toxin-free lynx meat she had separated earlier.

She gently pressed the wrapped meat into Cletus's filthy hands. "I have extra, and it'll rot anyway," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Take it to the market. Trade it for some nutrient paste."

Cletus froze. He felt the heavy, dense weight of the meat. A look of absolute disbelief washed over his face. In this brutal, rotting district, no one had ever shown him an ounce of kindness.

Brenda scoffed loudly from behind them. "Look at the fat saint, giving away garbage!"

Charity stood up. She brushed the mud from her cloak, completely ignoring Brenda's existence, and walked straight toward the bright lights of the commercial corridor.