45

About an hour after I started accompanying the mercenary band—we were still trudging forward, cutting our way through a rough, pathless terrain.

It seemed they didn’t know exactly where the target snake was. They weren’t wandering completely blindly, but the search was clearly stalling.

In fact, maybe they hadn’t found a single clue yet.

(Rather, that seemed most likely. I wouldn’t mind having their potions—they’re never a bad thing—but honestly, I could just kill them and take them.)

But then I would also have to kill the busty sorceress, who had reacted so intriguingly.

Since I didn’t want to kill beautiful women or children, I thought it would be a shame to let her die.

So, I figured I could at least deal with the snake. But the search began with no leads at all.

‘This is going to take a while.’ I thought, my shoulders sagging as vegetables—the real goal—seemed to drift further away. Still, I kept following at a distance that was neither too near nor too far.

If I got too close, they became visibly more wary, so some space was necessary.

Given we had fought to the death before—and I’d actually killed a few of them—I couldn’t blame them.

At first, I thought we’d just wander aimlessly forever, but apparently, they did have a destination. We arrived at what looked like a campsite, cleared by human hands.

The mercenaries seemed to be using this place to set up camp.

In two hours, the sun would set.

So they would prepare to bivouac here.

“Not bad,” I nodded, and entered the campsite myself.

Things got a little noisy, but I ignored it, set down my pack, and looked for the one I was after—and found her quickly.

Perhaps she was keeping an eye on me, for she was nearby. I lumbered over and gently lifted her in both hands.

“I’m busy too.”

That was probably what she meant, but my busty sorceress had a role to play.

I carried her over, sat her down atop my backpack on the ground.

“You want me to keep watch?”

I didn’t answer. I left to hunt in the forest.

I heard her call something after me, but ignored it.

If left alone, someone would definitely poke through my things out of curiosity—so I left her with the responsibility of guarding them.

About thirty minutes later, I returned with two boars.

Their necks were broken, but they were barely alive.

Now the mischief could begin.

When I came back, tents and some unidentifiable setups had been erected, and the sorceress sat on my backpack, looking bored.

Upon seeing me, she stood and began preparing.

I set the boars outside the camp, then fetched a spade, a hatchet, and rope from my pack. Casually, I slit both their throats.

I strung them up on trees for bleeding, digging a pit to guide the blood flow.

Meanwhile, I began preparing a barbecue.

I built a hearth from stones, placed the iron griddle on top, and tossed in dry branches for fuel.

I set out iron skewers, salt, and pepper. Using my ignition tool, I lit the fire.

While the fire grew strong, I butchered the boars.

Unwanted parts went into the pit. From the fat, I first drew grease, placing it on the griddle.

When there was enough oil, I removed the fat and began grilling thin slices of meat.

I sprinkled the right amount of salt and pepper. While the meat cooked, I continued butchering.

Using tongs, I flipped the meat, finishing one boar’s butchering and tossing the unwanted parts into the pit. I washed my hands in water, wiped them on cloth, and started eating.

The mercenaries stared as I ate from skewers, their voices and faces showing not just shock but disbelief.

They were eating dried meat and hard bread, softened only with thin soup.

Mine, by contrast, was clearly better.

(After all, I had salt and pepper. Not just salty jerky or hard bread only meant to keep long. This was the real flavor!)

My prank was a success. The mercenaries stopped eating to gawk at me.

The sorceress near me seemed completely dazed.

I still had plenty of meat, so I kept grilling more.

Never forgetting the salt and pepper.

“That’s ridiculous!”

She pressed me with words that could be roughly interpreted like that.

But I was a monster—I couldn’t understand.

So I skewered a small piece of meat and offered it to her lips.

It was bite-sized; she could manage.

“That’s not the point!”

When she opened her mouth, I shoved the steaming hot meat in.

“Mmmph!” she groaned, writhing at the heat, but after chewing and swallowing, she pressed me again.

“Why! Is a monster! Grilling meat! On a griddle!”

She enunciated every word, making it easy to understand.

“And! With salt! And pepper! For seasoning!”

I tilted my head as if I didn’t understand, skewered another piece, and offered it again.

“That’s not it! I don’t want meat!”

I wanted her to understand the unfairness of a language barrier—so I held out the meat again. But she refused.

So I said, “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” and popped it into my own mouth.

It occurred to me—meat was meaningless before my jaw’s strength, but to human senses, it must have been tough.

I offered her three more pieces to calm her, and she accepted once.

Afterward, she hugged her knees, muttering “What even is this…” until she stopped moving.

I gave up and left her alone.

I had wanted to tease her more, but with everyone watching, I restrained myself.

Just once, I wanted to tug down her off-shoulder robe by slipping a finger into her cleavage.

I had wanted to change the saying “It’s fine if kids do pervy things” into “It’s fine if monsters do them.” But there was still time.

I added “one accidental slip” to my goals, then finished eating and started cleaning up.

I rinsed the griddle with water, scrubbed it, and propped it up to dry.

The skewers I washed and put back into their case in my pack.

I butchered the second boar, took only the useful parts, packed them into containers, and stored them in the cooler box.

The hide, bones, and guts I tossed into the pit—though two boars’ worth overflowed it.

Then I washed my hands and drank water.

Next, I filled a pot with water and set it on the still-burning hearth.

A waste only possible thanks to its size.

Once the water was warm, I dipped a cloth, wrung it out, and began wiping my body.

From the mercenaries, I heard yet another round of “Ehh…?”

“Why are you… wiping yourself down?”

The sorceress raised her head and muttered at me.

Perhaps I’d gone too far, tormenting her.

So I pulled out a fresh cloth, made a quick hand towel, and offered it to her. She ignored it.

I tilted my head and tried to wipe her myself, but she slapped my hand away.

So I hung the towel around her neck.

“Eek!”

She shrieked and glared at me.

She grabbed the towel, sniffed it, and confirmed it was clean—not the one I had just used.

Then she began wiping her face.

After that, she wiped under her arms and around her chest where sweat might collect.

Once I confirmed she was actually using it, I stepped away.

Staying closer wouldn’t be good for her mental health, and I had already enjoyed a fine view.

As for the cloth, it was only padding for potion bottles. I didn’t mind using it up.

Back at my base, I had a stockpile of cloth and even towels, so it was no issue.

Time passed. Half the mercenaries rested while the others stood watch.

Their eyes on me had changed—from “terrifyingly strong monster” to “bizarre, incomprehensible creature.”

Well, I’d done it now.

Still, none of them wanted to approach, so they just watched me from afar.

(Ah, but is that okay? If you treat me like that, I won’t tell you about the big guy slowly approaching…)

Overexcited from too many successful pranks, I had gotten carried away and was acting a little strange.