Surviving The Beast World With My 'Sassy' System-Chapter 54: Primitive Roasting Technique

After playing with the baby for some time, Lavayla straightened, letting out a small breath of satisfaction.

She stepped back outside toward the entrance.

Mirek was still there.

But he was nearly done.

Large portions of meat had already been separated and stacked neatly on a flat stone slab, trimmed with surprising care. The beast’s hide—thick, dark, and still faintly warm—had been folded and packed to one side, away from the water and out of the way, just as she’d hoped.

Lavayla slowed her steps, stopping a few meters away.

She hesitated.

Then, scratching lightly at her cheek, she asked, voice tentative,

"Um... is this beast meat even edible?"

Mirek paused mid-motion, one claw still embedded in flesh, and glanced up at her.

She hurried to add, waving a hand awkwardly,

"I mean—I forgot to ask earlier. I really don’t want to eat something that’s going to taste horrible."

The question hung there for a beat.

Mirek stared at her.

Then—

"...Edible?" he repeated slowly.

Lavayla nodded earnestly. "Very edible. Preferably not traumatic."

For a split second, his brows twitched.

"It’s a dusk-horned ravager," he said. "Mid-tier. Herbivore-leaning. The meat is clean."

Her shoulders relaxed instantly. "Oh, that’s good."

He went on, almost as an afterthought, "It’s considered decent even by tribe standards. Slightly tough if overcooked."

Lavayla blinked.

Then her eyes lit up.

"...Oh, I can work with that."

Mirek watched her reaction with a faint crease between his brows, clearly unsure what to make of the sudden spark of enthusiasm.

She smiled, already mentally planning.

"Perfect. Then leave the cooking to me."

Lavayla turned back toward the cleared space near the inner chamber, already mentally lining ingredients up that didn’t exist.

Okay. Meat? Yes. Fire? Also yes.

Pots? Pans? Oil? Seasoning?

Absolutely not.

She stared at the thick slabs of ravager meat, lips pursed.

"Roasting it is," she decided.

She crouched near the fire materials she’d prepared earlier, testing the spacing in her head. If she could get steady heat—not flames licking the meat like they were mad about it—she could make this work. Slow roast. Controlled. Respect the protein.

As she was mapping it out, a familiar voice chimed pleasantly in her mind.

’Host, do you need my help with anything?’

Lavayla paused.

’...You’re being suspiciously polite.’

’If it is the instruction you need, I can help. You only need to perform the practical steps yourself,’ Nessa continued, tone bright and far too cheerful.

’So, what do you say, host~?’

Lavayla exhaled and rubbed her temple.

’Look, I have some modern-world cooking knowledge,’ she replied mentally. ’But I doubt "medium-rare steak tips" are going to save me in a cave with zero equipment. So... yeah. I’ll need your help.’

There was a tiny, unmistakable pause.

Then—

’Alright then! Class is in session!’

Lavayla grimaced. ’You’re enjoying this.’

’Host, you wound me. I am simply passionate about education,’ Nessa said primly.

’Today’s lesson: primitive roasting techniques.’

Lavayla stood and started toward the nearby bushes instinctively, already knowing she’d be sent scavenging.

’Since you lack cookware and storage tools,’ Nessa continued, ’roasting is indeed your only viable option. Frying requires oil and a flat heat-safe surface. Steaming requires containment. Boiling requires vessels. None of which you possess.’

"Yeah, yeah," Lavayla muttered under her breath. "Rub it in."

’Now—roasting requires three things,’ Nessa said. ’A stable fire source, a roasting platform, and distance control.’

Lavayla slowed.

That... actually made sense.

’You already have materials for fire,’ Nessa continued. ’Good work. Next, you need something to place the meat on so it does not sit directly in flame or ash. Direct fire will burn the exterior before the interior cooks.’

’So... like a grill?’ Lavayla thought.

’A primitive equivalent,’ Nessa corrected. ’Think framework, not cookware.’

Lavayla pushed through the bushes, scanning the ground.

’This is a primitive world,’ Nessa went on. ’You will find abundant natural materials. Look for straight branches—hardwood if possible. Avoid green wood that seeps sap; it will smoke excessively and taint the meat.’

Lavayla paused mid-step.

"...Okay, that part I didn’t know."

She began snapping fallen branches, testing their strength, tossing aside brittle ones.

’Next,’ Nessa said, ’you need supports. Forked branches are ideal. They can be driven into the ground to hold crossbars.’

’So like... two sticks on each side, one across the top?’

’Precisely,’ Nessa replied, pleased. ’Alternatively, flat stones can be used to elevate meat near the fire if branches are insufficient.’

Lavayla gathered several sturdy sticks, then glanced at a cluster of rocks nearby and nodded to herself. Redundancy. Always good.

’Finally,’ Nessa added, ’fire control. You do not want roaring flames. You want embers. Let the fire burn down before roasting. Rotate the meat periodically to ensure even cooking.’

Lavayla snorted softly.

’You’re really in your element right now.’

’I am fulfilling my function,’ Nessa replied smoothly. ’And helping you not poison yourself.’

"...Appreciated."

Arms full, Lavayla headed back toward the cave, already visualizing the setup. A low fire pit. Stones to contain heat. Forked branches driven into the ground, crossbars resting securely. Meat skewered or laid flat and turned slowly.

Primitive.

But doable.

As she emerged into the wider cavern again, Mirek glanced over briefly, eyes flicking to the pile of materials in her arms.

Lavayla lifted her chin, oddly confident.

"Don’t worry," she said. "I’ve got a plan."

Mirek studied her for a moment, then nodded once, returning to his work.

Lavayla set the branches down near the fire pit and cracked her knuckles.

Alright, Stone-Age Chef era activated.

First, she arranged the stones.

Lavayla crouched low and dragged the flattest rocks into a rough circle, pressing them into the dirt with deliberate care. Not too tight—she wanted airflow—but close enough to keep the heat contained. She nudged one stone, frowned, nudged it again.

"There," she muttered. "You behave."

Next came the fire base. She layered dry leaves and brittle moss at the center, then added thin strips of bark, building upward instead of outward the way Nessa had insisted. Tinder first. Always tinder first. On top of that, she laid the smallest twigs in a loose crisscross, leaving gaps so the flame wouldn’t suffocate itself.

She struck the stones together.

Clack. Clack.

A spark jumped. Then another.

Lavayla leaned in, breath held, coaxing the ember gently until it caught. A thin thread of smoke curled upward, followed by a soft, hungry flame.

"Yes," she whispered triumphantly.

Once the fire stabilized, she fed it gradually—never rushing—adding thicker sticks only after the smaller ones burned clean. She watched closely as the flames rose, then waited. And waited.

Patience was a virtue. Also, the difference between food and charcoal.

While the fire settled, she turned to the roasting frame.

She drove two forked branches into the ground on one side of the pit, angling them slightly inward for stability. Then another pair on the opposite side. She tested them with a push.

Solid.

Across the forks, she laid two straight branches as crossbars, adjusting their height so they hovered just far enough above the embers to radiate heat without direct flame.

Lavayla stepped back, hands on her hips, evaluating the setup.

"...Honestly?" she said to no one in particular. "Kinda proud of this."

Lavayla wiped her hands on her trousers and turned toward the cave entrance.

She didn’t make it far before nearly colliding with a broad chest.

Mirek stopped a step away, gaze steady.

"I was coming to inform you," he said, voice even, "I’m done preparing the meat." 𝐟𝕣𝗲𝕖𝕨𝗲𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝗲𝚕.𝗰𝚘𝐦

"Oh—perfect timing," Lavayla replied, nodding quickly.

They walked out together.

The moment she stepped fully into the open space near the waterfall, her breath left her in one long, helpless exhale.

...That was a lot of meat.

Slabs upon slabs were laid out—thick cuts, dense muscle, enough to feed a small group of Beastmen.

"Wow," she said honestly. "Okay. Yeah. That tracks for a mid-tier beast."

Mirek gave a quiet huff, something between a sigh and mild amusement. "It will last."

"Oh, it absolutely will," she agreed, then pointed decisively. "Could you grab six slabs for me? Just those."

He did without question, lifting the meat with ease.

Lavayla led the way toward the far side of the cavern, where the waterfall thinned into a narrow stream as it ran along the stone wall. She stopped at a bend where the rock jutted outward, creating a natural blind spot.

"Just set them there," she said.

Mirek placed the meat down, glanced once around the cavern, then nodded. "I’ll check the perimeter."

"Thanks," Lavayla said lightly.

He turned and left, footsteps fading as he moved deeper toward the entrance area.

Lavayla waited.

One breath. Two.

When she was absolutely sure he was gone, she reached into the space vault.

In an instant, a clean cutting board appeared, followed by a proper knife. She worked quickly, trimming two of the slabs into manageable portions, movements efficient and quiet.

Once done, she stored the board and knife away and moved to the stream.

From the vault came two buckets.

She filled one, rinsed the meat thoroughly, then poured the water out downstream. A second rinse followed—more careful this time. Then, she pinched out a small amount of salt.

Just enough.

She sprinkled it over the meat, then rubbed it in with her hands, working it across the surface until it disappeared completely—no residue

Next, she went scavenging.

It didn’t take long to find a broad, sturdy leaf—thick-veined, waxy, perfect. She rinsed it clean, laid the meat atop it, folded it carefully, then returned the buckets to the stream, rinsed them spotless, and slipped them back into her space vault like they’d never existed.

Only then did she straighten.

Lavayla picked up the wrapped meat and headed back into the cave.

She settled near the fire pit she’d built earlier, placed the leaf-wrapped portions nearby, and sat down, rolling her shoulders once.

"Alright," she said quietly, eyes on the embers.

"Let’s cook."

She first chose a medium-thick slab to try—large enough to feed two adults, not so thick that it’d stay raw inside forever. Using a sharpened stick, she skewered it carefully, then rested it across the crossbars.

A soft hiss filled the air.

Fat began to drip, sizzling as it hit the embers below.

Lavayla’s stomach growled loudly this time, absolutely shameless.

She rotated the meat slowly, counting in her head, watching the surface change color—raw sheen dulling, edges tightening, juices sealing in. She adjusted the height once, lifting the crossbar slightly when the heat grew too aggressive.

Behind her, she felt it before she heard it.

Mirek’s presence.

He stopped a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the fire, then the meat, then the structure holding it up. His gaze lingered—not judgmental, but it was definitely assessing.

"...You’ve done this before," he said finally.

Lavayla didn’t look up, just smiled faintly as she turned the skewer again.

"Not like this," she admitted. "But cooking is cooking. You control the heat, don’t rush the process, and don’t let your food suffer for your impatience."

Mirek watched in silence for a moment longer.

Then, quietly, "It smells... good."

She glanced up at him, eyebrow lifting.

"Thanks for the praise," she said lightly.

She treated the remaining slabs the same way.

Each piece went onto the fire one at a time, rotated patiently, lifted or lowered by inches depending on how the embers behaved. The rhythm settled into her bones: turn, wait, listen to the hiss, adjust, repeat. Cooking like this demanded attention, the kind that drowned out everything else.

At some point, Mirek left without a word.

She noticed only when he returned.

He came back carrying armfuls of broad, thick-veined leaves—larger and sturdier than the ones she’d found earlier. He set them down beside her, arranging them neatly on a flat stretch of stone within easy reach.

Lavayla glanced at the leaves, then up at him.

"...You read my mind."

Mirek shrugged. "They keep heat. And they won’t tear under the weight."

"Perfect," she said, genuinely pleased.

From then on, the process became seamless. The moment a slab finished roasting—surface browned, juices clear, scent rich and mouthwatering—she lifted it off the fire and laid it carefully onto the waiting leaves. She folded the leaves loosely over the meat, trapping warmth without smothering it, then moved on to the next piece.

Time stretched.

The cavern filled with the steady crackle of embers and the slow, smoky perfume of roasting meat. By the time the last slab came off the fire, nearly an hour had passed.

Lavayla straightened with a groan, rolling her neck.

She was... absolutely covered in smoke.

Her hair smelled like a bonfire. Her clothes definitely looked like she’d fought the fire and lost. Soot dusted her sleeves, her cheeks, probably the tip of her nose too.

She surveyed the neat line of leaf-wrapped meat, still steaming faintly, then glanced at the fire pit. The embers were healthy, steady—perfect for an overnight burn with more fuel.

She didn’t bother cleaning up.

Instead, she turned to Mirek and said briskly, "You can take the meat inside and tend the fire. Add more kindling so that it will keep burning through the night."

He blinked once, clearly about to respond.

"I’m going out to clean up," she added immediately.

And without waiting for his reply, Lavayla pivoted on her heel and hurried toward the waterfall, already tugging at the hem of her smoke-soaked clothes as the cool mist ahead promised blessed relief.