After a rather close and annoying encounter, I was finally left alone with my pooch.

While the entire ordeal was stressful, I'd also gained quite a bit of information and direction from Amalia's interaction with those knights. I sincerely wondered if that Lieutenant named 'Morel' would be able to continue sitting atop his high horse should he find himself lacking in legs one morning.

The past few caravans and that band of knights had enlightened me on the average reception to these 'beastkin', namely the treatment a half-beastkin receives. Normally I would only think the matter barbaric and write it off as something unrelated to myself, but this complicated my plans for Amalia. This world was so backwards.

In addition, I'd mentally made a list of people I certainly wouldn't miss should they find themselves turned into delicious attribute points. If the situation arose naturally, of course. I've an image to maintain now! Ahem.

Nonetheless, that last encounter had me heated. In a way, wasn't insulting my Royal Guard the same as insulting me and my decision making? ... Even if said decision making was done under duress.

Simply put, I didn't like that Morel fellow. That Captain Hend-whatever seemed alright. If it came down to things, I'd eat him last as a token of respect.

Aggravating thoughts aside, we continued traveling along the main road. At one point we'd passed what appeared to be a trading caravan, so I instructed Amalia to see if they had any children's clothes or hats. Offering my hard-grown diamond up and writing it off as a business expense, my ratty little dog-girl soon acquired a ratty, brown skirt and fur hat. Great success.

It was difficult to adjust my values to this world. I was inwardly crying at the loss of such a juicy diamond, especially when I compared it to what we'd received. The skirt was unremarkable, but the hat looked rather cute and fuzzy. Probably not as good to pet as her ears though, but it would serve its purpose.

The way I viewed it, if the only discernable difference between her and regular humans was her ears and tail, then covering them would simplify most encounters. I'm not sure why she didn't do this sooner, really. She protested a bit at the idea but caved in once I explained the rationale. Something about it bothering her ears or whatever.

And so, with a hat on her head, we made our way towards Berrios with renewed gusto. By that, I mean Amalia was my ride while I continued tinkering with her body and working on my magic control. I felt this a rather beneficial and most logical arrangement. It had nothing to do with me not wanting to roll on the ground.

We spent another night camping out in the wilds before resuming our journey the next morning. I'd managed to catch two more of those horned rabbit-things, one of which found its way inside me.

... That sounds strange, but that aside, the rabbit was most delicious. The meat was exceedingly tender and flavorful. The only disappointment was nothing came from Devouring the little thing. A shame.

Well, the flavor made up for that mild disappointment, and we soon found ourselves within view of some crappy stone wall and a moat.

Amalia spoke, aloud this time, "There it is! That's Berrios. I'm so relieved, I didn't think I'd ever make it!"

This is Berrios?

My slime twitched. This place is way too 14th century for my tastes. I can't believe towns really have stone walls and moats and drawbridges and ... Hnnn.

I guess I'd half-expected it, but confirming it with my own sight put a damper on my mood. Hopefully the inside was a bit more well maintained and didn't have moss or vines on the walls.

"Yes, it's quite something, that's for sure. Now, we need a plan of attack."

"Y-You want to force our way in!?" she yelped.

"I ... No, it was a figure of speech. Nevermind."

I spent some time surveying the area. This whole 'entering human civilization' thing was causing me anxiety. Perhaps if my 'ride' had a bit more clout and could argue in my favor, then I'd be more relaxed. As is, if we were discovered I was afraid she'd end up in jail and I'd be Slime-toast. ...

Thinking about how I'd taste on bread aside, I could always jump in the moat. Or down whatever they used as a sewer system. Or use someone as a body-hostage. That one seemed unwise, and all of them were revolting. I'll just wing it and pray I'm being paranoid. If a bunch of their knights didn't notice me, what are the chances of the civilians doing so?

... I hope I didn't jinx us again. Ah, fuck.

While making our way towards town, Amalia and I went through a brief outline of how to react, what our business was in town, our intentions and destination—all the things I imagine a town guard would ask. I'm not sure if she's one to get nervous, so I tried to keep it casual and low-pressure.

Surprisingly, things went well. The guard didn't bat an eye at a lightly armed and ill-dressed teenage girl coming up, presenting ID, and stating she was looking to join some knight corps. There wasn't even a waiting line. Not a lot of traffic, perhaps?

We passed through the archway and into the city proper. I snuck a peek out, only for me to realize I was indeed in a largely foreign world. The pavement was cobblestone, shoddy lamps were placed at the street corners, and the houses were made out of varying materials—mostly mortar or logs. Rather than glass windows, they used wooden paneling. Or something resembling it.

Countless people were out and about, moving to and fro. There was a stable a short distance from the entrance, a few oxen-pulled carts lining the street, and the level of clothing was abysmal. It really hit me how much mental adjustment was going to be needed for this level of civilization.

"So is this normal?" I asked Amalia.

"Normal? What do you mean? Is something wrong?"

Ahh. Everything's wrong, and your reply cements it in further.

My mental anguish aside, "No, I'm just not sure what I expected from this town. Carry on. You want to try joining those knights or whatever, yes? Lead the way."

Amalia stood off the side of the road, seeming to look around.

"Yeah, it's just ... I haven't been to Berrios since I was a little girl. I need to figure out where the barracks would be."

"Oh. Well, you can just ask someone to point you in the correct direction, yes?"

"That's ..."

There was a drop of concern in her voice, prompting me to ask what the issue was. Amalia replied that she didn't want to attract attention to herself as part beastkin. Bothersome.

"You'll attract more attention to yourself if you continue standing here gawking. Besides, I doubt anyone can even tell when your tail and ears are covered. You're being too self-conscious."

That seemed to be enough of a push, as she managed to ask a nearby middle-aged woman carrying a sack which way to go. Some brief directions were given and off we went again.

"Amalia, I'll be counting on you should problems arise. And don't be discouraged if you can't become a knight today. We'll figure something out so far as food and income goes. You've two people now contributing to funding."

Yes, it was best to make sure she was prepared should her interview fail. I'd seen and heard people get discouraged far too often before. Ensuring you had a good mentality going into such things was essential. She needed to be resilient!

At this point, Amalia let out of an audible, soft laugh, which I thought odd. Was her head quite alright?

"Is something funny?"

"No, it's just ... the term 'people' is generally used for humans. Not half-beastkin and Slimes. It sounded unusual when I thought about it."

"Oh, I see."

I wasn't sure how to reply to such a thing. When I thought about it, I suppose it made sense for the different races to have different terms for their groups. To me, 'people' included any intelligent humanoid. Or at least, that's what I thought at first. When I considered it a bit more, I was unsure where to draw the line. Were kobolds considered 'people', in a way? Goblins? Pure-blooded beastkin?

We continued traveling inward while I thought about such matters. Morality wasn't my strong suit, so I soon dismissed the topic and focused on listening to the surroundings. Being stuck under Amalia's clothes was stifling, but I didn't want to keep poking my 'head' out and draw attention.

A shame I couldn't use Domain to get a better picture of our surroundings. I couldn't attach it to Amalia and her clothing didn't seem to have the right characteristics or mass to put an anchor into. This whole thing made me uneasy.

I doubted it would happen, but should Amalia betray me to any of these people here, I'd be in for a very bad time. Still, she'd have to be an immaculate liar for me to not notice anything amiss after all this. I'd hate to have to start over in the wilderness alone, but I kept that option open. I needed to keep my wits about me.

Amalia signaled, "This is it. I'm going to enter now."

We'd arrived.

There was a heavy creak of a wooden door, followed by light chatter and several men's voices of a short distance away. Amalia stood at the entrance, looking around.

Apparently, someone took notice of us, as footsteps ensued.

A man's voice, "Can I help ya, lass? You lost or something?"

She did that goofy salute again, which felt strange since that meant pressing down on some of my smoothed out body.

"Sir! I was, uhm ... looking to apply as a Knight Cadet."

By the end, I could hear her voice becoming more meek. That was mildly annoying. If she wants to become a knight so badly, she should have more confidence, shouldn't she?

The man replied, "Cadet? ... Well, you'd want to speak to Scribe Peterson. He's manning the counter over there. And mind you, no unsheathing of any weapons within the barracks. Peterson can explain more."

Amalia thanked the man and we began moving again. Almost a shame I couldn't see what was going on. I was curious if this 'barracks' was of higher construction standards than what I'd seen so far. We both stopped moving and Amalia remained silent for a short while.

"May I help you?" a velvety smooth man's voice came from in front of us.

"Sir. Scribe Peterson? I was told to speak to you in regards to applying as a Knight Cadet."

Amalia saluted this Peterson fellow for a short while before relaxing. There was an audible hum opposite of us.

Peterson spoke, "Alright then. I can conduct the initial screening. As a warning, let me remind you that this magic artifact of mine allows me to more or less tell if you're dishonest. Now, a few questions. What is your name and why do you want to enlist?"

Though Amalia's body may not have tensed up, mine certainly did. Magic artifact? What?

"Amalia Alcott, Sir. My father was a Knight-Captain in Kulve. He passed away three years ago. I've always wanted to become a knight and serve, just as he did."

I heard a scratching noise from the direction of that man. Was he ... writing something down? I didn't like this situation. Despite racking my brain, I couldn't think of a good way to escape without drawing attention.

"Interesting," Peterson replied, "Why not enlist with the regiment in Kulve, then?"

At this, I heard the falter in Amalia's voice.

"I ... That's, ... It wasn't possible for me to do so."

More scribbling, "Oh? Care to explain? Berrios is a fair distance to travel from Kulve without reason."

No, I didn't like how this conversation was going.

Amalia let out a quiet sigh before continuing, "My father passed when I was 11 years old. The same illness took my mother when I was young. I had no other family, and a steward was appointed to the estate. All the money was siphoned, and I was kicked out of my home two years later. The Knight Order in Kulve would not take me, and I was unable to find employment. To sum the following year up, I ... I was jailed and forced out of Kulve for stealing bread."

Despite having heard the tale recounted numerous times now, the absurdity of it still surprised me. Were there no child welfare programs in this world? Or just none for non-humans? Ridiculous.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"So you decided to try Berrios? I see."

This Peterson fellow sounded undaunted. I almost respected his steadfast demeanor. Still, were tales like this ... common? He continued scribbling and scratching on his parchment.

"So a minor 'criminal record', we'll say. Moving on. You have identification I'd presume? Show me."

Amalia replied as such and fished her identification plate out, handing it to the man.

"Amalia Alcott? While it appears your story true and verifying it shouldn't be difficult, I've still more questions. There were some things that don't add up. Even if the Knight Order isn't actively looking for young, female children to join, they wouldn't turn someone away without reason. There are many positions in the military. Additionally, stewards are generally appointed only in specific circumstances. Now, ... why did the Order in Kulve reject your application?"

"That's ..."

My stomach sank a bit. While I should in many ways be happy if Amalia didn't manage to join these knights, her disappointment and apprehension was palpable. It actually managed to make me feel bad, which is saying something given my conflicting interests. Consoling her wasn't a task I'd be looking forward to either.

Peterson sighed, "Yes, I think I've an idea. Would you mind taking your hat off, Miss Alcott?"

There was a very, very long pause. I then felt Amalia do so, her hand falling at her waist. Peterson's previously velvety smooth speech turned much more dry and professional.

"As I presumed. While the Order does accept applications from most children and young adults, I am going to have to return your ID and decline such an application."

"Th-that's ... But I can work hard! I've been trained with armor maintenance, swordsmanship, and even archery since I was young. I can tend to horses, do laundry and paperwork, read, and even cook. I guarantee you'll have no problems from me, Sir!"

A scene played out in my mind, as my thoughts wandered. How many times had I heard that tone before? Desperation. Only this time I wasn't on the side of the desk with a clipboard. How ... surreal.

"Per Article XI of the Knighthood Charter, applicants are normally refused on grounds of non-human heritage. Unless you have three Order members of First Lieutenant rank, or one member of Captain rank or higher vouching for you, I ask that you take your leave. Should you have a voucher, we'd be happy to continue your application."

"B-But I ..."

I heard the sound of metal lightly sliding across wood.

"I'm sorry. Perhaps you'd have more luck at the Mercenary Hall? I suggest trying there. Good day, Miss."

----------------------------------------

Amalia and I both sat along the roadside. The atmosphere was uncomfortable, to say the least.

Rather than make a disastrous attempt at encouragement, I'd more or less stayed silent so far. Cheering people up wasn't my strong suit. Still, this couldn't go on. Time was being wasted and I feared she'd fall into a deeper mood should she reflect too long. Thus, I gathered my wits and hoped I didn't mess things up too badly.

"Are you ... alright?"

All I received was a small nod in return. I peeked up at the bottom of her face.

"Don't be discouraged. These things happen often. Just because you weren't born male or as a human doesn't make you less capable than those fellows. It just means you have to try harder to prove yourself. We'll figure something out."

In the very least, I could speak from experience on this topic. I'm not sure if it'd strike the right nerve or not, but I thought it a sensible outlook on the situation. I hoped she was of similar mind.

She nodded again, so I continued.

"Besides, didn't that man say you could get in on a recommendation? You just need to get stronger and prove yourself capable, then take delight in other's disbelief when you become a knight."

"Ah, I suppose you're right," she finally replied.

Getting a response was a good start. If I could delay or prevent her from becoming a knight, while still keeping her motivation to do so, that would be the best way to handle my new employee. People needed goals and targets to aim for. It was a general fact of life.

"Shall we stop by the place the Scribe mentioned and see if they take ... applicants? Employees? ... What is a Mercenary Hall, anyway?"

For some reason, Amalia's shoulders slumped.

"The Mercenary Hall handles requests, contracts, and disputes posted by basically anyone who wants to post. It's ... They're mostly a bunch of sellswords who'll do anything for money. There's a small branch in Berrios, but none in Kulve. I don't think there's one in Eigach either? I'm not sure."

This was interesting information. Wasn't this Mercenary Hall right up our alley? I mean, I'd do a lot of things for a paycheck right now. Even remove boogers out of noses, if need be. Or clean up messes. Or just straight up eat things, for those who wanted a more direct wording.

"Why do you sound unhappy about the idea of visiting there?"

"Mercenary Hall is ... not a place I want to go. It's mostly a bunch of knaves with no honor. The thought of being known as a 'mercenary' ..."

Oh. So it's a psychological thing. Well, such barriers can be overcome more easily than financial or logistic problems.

"Can we make money there?"

Amalia groaned inwardly, before nodding. Huh, she really doesn't like the idea of being known as a mercenary, does she? Why don't they call it something else, like 'freelancer' or 'professional problem solver'?

Whatever. It's a lead.

I spoke, "Let's inspect the place. I want to get some fat and muscle on you. Unless you prefer going hungry every night?"

As if declining my comment, I heard and felt a rumbling from Amalia's stomach again. Her shoulders tensed up.

"F-Fine, let's go take a look."

Ah. That was ... a bit too easy. Food really is a driving force in life, I suppose.

While I let Amalia transport us to our destination, I reflected on the fact that I'd successfully made it out of that cave, only to get stuck in a different 'cave'. The upside was nothing was trying to kill me in this one. Still, even if she didn't mind, I wanted to replace her atrocious clothing with something nicer and cleaner. I began mentally prioritizing potential expenses.

This was an addendum to the 'to-do' list, it would seem. It felt like I was biting off more than I could chew, with all these plans and whatnot. Managing another person was too stressful. I just hope it was as good an investment as I felt. My Royal Guard was still young and ... malleable. My gut told me this would work out as long as we cleared the initial road bumps in our relationship situation.

Time would tell.

Amalia had to ask for directions again, but we soon found our way inside the Mercenary Hall. It sounded much more rough and less serene than the barracks. People were laughing, talking loudly, and were they ... drinking?

God, I'd kill for a drink right about now. Damn it. Can Slimes get drunk? If not, I am going to be livid. Experimentation will be required.

Grumbling aside, I left Amalia to navigate this 'Hall' place and tried eavesdropping on some of the conversations.

"... those Orc bastards didn't stand a chance!"

"I'm telling you, the bounty isn't worth ..."

"... knocking back a pint is the ..."

"... so then Fenny boy decided to stick his hand in a Venus Witcher Trap! Bwahaha-!"

This place is ... most peculiar. I wonder if I could use my Adaptive Coating to hide and be a fly on the wall. There's probably a lot of information to be gathered here.

I spoke to Amalia, "Do you see anything?"

"There's a lady and an old guy behind the bar counter. I think she handles the requests? He looks like the barkeep."

So there's like a secretary here? Hmm.

"Can you go talk to her and see how this works?" I asked. There was silence for a moment.

"Do I really have to? There are requests organized on the wall over there, but ..."

Her stomach growled again.

"It's either that or let's leave town and find some food. Either way, I'm a bit cramped under here so would like to move around a bit. Decide."

Amalia audibly groaned before we moved forward again.

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Amalia spoke up, after which I heard a sultry woman's voice respond, "Can I help you, child? I doubt it, but you aren't lost, are you? This is the Mercenary Hall. Do you have a request to make?"

"N-No, that's not it. ... I was wondering how to accept requests. I know most of them have deposits, but I was looking for some simple work and wasn't sure if there were any requirements before I took a request paper down."

The secretary woman seemed to pause for a moment, while I felt Amalia shift her weight on the other foot. Fidgeting?

"Well, ... the Mercenary Hall isn't one to turn workers away. Just know that the Hall takes 10-percent of the bounty, and there is an application fee of 50 bronze for new members. You're free to look over the 'Unranked' section of the bounty board. Some of the simpler ones don't have deposits.

"That being said, I don't recommend anything that takes a young girl like you outside the town walls. Might I suggest looking for a simple task? I think there was one to help at the Smith's workshop, Mrs. Dunn's cat went missing, and another to work at the Gold Leaves Inn."

Listening to the exchange, I began to understand a bit more about this whole 'Mercenary Hall' deal. Honestly, it didn't seem like a bad place to seek out employment. I'm really not sure why Amalia was so against the idea. Membership fee, a modest slice of the pie, probably can't guarantee you don't die, and the requests may or may not be worth the pay.

Wow, I really need to work on my phrasing. That sounds horrible.

"Is it ... possible to make payments on the membership fee?"

Oh. Amalia's right. We're flat broke, aren't we? We've no seed money.

"Hall policy normally states that we can't assign requests without a membership card, but ... well, if it's a no-deposit request and you don't mind having it all taken out of your payment, I suppose we can make an arrangement."

Nice! I like this secretary, she appears to be rather flexible in thinking. Honestly, that Peterson fellow should be more like her. That damn slouch.

I whispered to Amalia, "Tell her yes. Let's look for a job."

Amalia shifted again. For some reason, her tone was hesitant, "That would be fine, thank you. I'll go take a look now."

"Come see me when you've found a suitable request. Oh, and ... you can read, yes?" the woman asked.

At this, my ride's chest puffed up a little, "Of course! My father taught me when I was young."

"Oh? I see. Well, let me know if you need anything else."

"I will, thank you."

Overall, I'd say this Mercenary Hall business was going splendidly. Even the staff was an improvement. Honestly, I'd half expected to strike out on our visit here and go back into the wilds in search of food. I suppose I could've stolen some in the dead of night, but I doubted Amalia wanted to wait that long, or eat it after it'd been inside me.

I shelved that thought and spoke to Amalia, "Are you in front of the board? Is it safe for me to take a peek?"

"Yeah, I'm taking a look at them now. I'm the only one over here. Are you ... going to read them too?"

At that, I finally surfaced from the depths of Amalia's undershirt. Freedom! And relatively fresh air. Not that I can smell.

"Of course," I replied, "We need to decide on a suitable request and maximize our earning poten-"

I paused.

"Is something wrong, Rozalin?"

What ... What the hell are these scribbles? Are these the requests? What is this writing?

"Rozalin? Are you okay? You stopped speaking all of a sudden."

This is bullshit! What language is this!? You mean to tell me I can understand what people are saying, but I can't read? That's stupid!

"Amalia, I ... What language is this written in?"

"Huh? Well, ... it's written in Common, of course. Why?"

I had the sudden urge to eat someone, yet didn't know where to direct that feeling.

"And what language are we speaking right now?" I asked.

Amalia paused, "Is this ... Am I missing something? We're speaking Commontongue, of course. Most simply call it Common too, nowadays."

What the flying fuck is a Commontongue? Is that an innuendo? This damn country or whatever is supposed to be called Brita, isn't it? What happened to English?

The middle of a Mercenary Hall wasn't the place to question such things. I pushed the horrendous nagging feeling aside and tried grappling with the words I was about to tell my traveling companion. This would no doubt lower my perceived worth to her, which was unacceptable to me. Frustrating.

"Amalia, I ... can't read this language. Please do so for me."

A long, painful silence went by. I felt my body seem to heat up in embarrassment.

"You ... What?"

I refused to repeat myself.

—And so, after a lengthy translation period, we decided on a course of action. Or rather, I basically decided what we'd be doing.

There was one request to go out and collect half a dozen 'Horned Rabbit' pelts. As incredibly tempting as that meat was, I chose a request posted by one of the local blacksmiths. It basically involved cleaning all the soot off some surfaces, tools, and whatnot.

The Horned Rabbits were viable, but I pointed out my reasoning to Amalia rather easily. So long as we weren't under close watch 24/7, I could just gobble up all the dirt and soot then spit it out. Or eat it. Disgusting? Yes. But it would be much faster than trying to hunt down and skin a bunch of agile rabbits. The pay seemed good too, plus it'd improve my worth to Amalia.

Time efficiency was another factor, given the grumbling in my steed's stomach. I wanted to hurry and be done with this, then move on to other ventures.

This brought us to present. Amalia and I stood in front of a metal counter with intricate engravings. While speaking to the counterman, we realized that he was the son of the owner. The counterman's name was Ellis, and from the peek I managed to steal of him, he seemed unremarkable.

Early 20's; average build; brown hair styled in a crew cut; a short, full-faced beard; a thick, wool undershirt; and some brown overalls. He really didn't give me much of an impression, other than having a rather deep voice. The man's father was a different story.

Halfway through inquiring from the counterman about the request, a thunderous voice boomed from the back. I could nearly feel the vibrations in my body. A thick, tree-trunk-like man stepped out from the back, causing me to go into hiding.

This guy was jacked. Christ. He'd be like three or four of me! ... Were I still human. Was it normal for a 50-ish-year-old guy to have this much muscle? What the hell is he being fed?!

His head was shaved bald, and rather than cover his rippling muscles like any decent person, he wore only a pair of blue overalls. He also had a braided beard that'd put vikings to shame and a fur-matted chest to boot. Unlike the brown hair of his son, his was mostly gray with a few strands of black lingering. While my vantage point made it hard to judge, he also seemed at least half a head taller. Truly a mountain of a man.

"Boy! Is this supposed to be the Merc from the Hall? Did you write the request wrong? We need someone to scrub the benches and forge clean! Not whisk a feather duster around like a dainty lil' flower!"

I didn't like where this was going.

I whispered to Amalia, "Act tough. If you let him walk all over you we'll lose the job. Tell him you can scrub these 'benches' and do hard work no problem. Be confident."

That seemed to spur her on a bit.

"I can work hard! I used to train with the men all the time!"

Spurred her on, but the phrasing wasn't very ... convincing. Ugh.

I mentally complained to myself. It'll have to be good enough. I peeked out from the collar of her shirt, blending in with the dim lighting and Amalia's hair. Narrowing my body as such and moving my Core was uncomfortable as always. I splurged some Mana and used Adaptive Coating on my exposed flesh to blend in further. This matter was important and worth the expenditure.

And then, I almost wish I hadn't peeked out. This gorilla—rather, the shop proprietor was staring right in our direction with his arms crossed. I'm still having trouble getting over how big those guns are. Does this world have steroids?

"Listen up kiddo, the name's Arnie Ironhand. Mah boy Ellis here may have posted the request, but I'm the owner of this shop. Pounding and shaping metal's my trade, and if I ain't doing that then I ain't makin' money. That's why I'm looking to hire someone to help clean the place, ya dig?"

... Ya ... 'ya dig?'

"So if ya think this is gonna be some walk in the park, just wipe a few things off and collect yer pay, then I've got bad news for ya. If you want this job, I'm going to work those skinny lil' noodles ya call arms into deadly cleaning instruments! I can't stand a dirty forge, and it's overdue for a scrubbin'."

"I-I understand! I'll do my best, Sir!" Amalia squeaked.

Arnie cracked his knuckles, producing a loud pop!

"I ain't askin' ya to 'do your best'," the man mocked, "I'm askin' ya if yer ready to get down 'n dirty! You up for this, kiddo? If you want paid, I'm askin' ya if you're ready to sweat and grind those bones!"

I felt a shudder go through Amalia.

"Well, kid? You think you've got what it takes to work for ol' Arnie here?! I'll reforge you from the ground up! ... Or are ya gonna chicken out?"

I looked up at the meaty colossus. For some reason, in the very pit of what I now considered my stomach, there was a familiar feeling that began to surface. Perhaps, just maybe, I began missing the thought of those juicy, delectable Horned Rabbits.

I wonder if they have medicine for regret in this world. ...