Gray's face was filled with disbelief.
"This... really made from the monsters we just killed?"
"Of course," Yeats replied with a calm smile. "I made sure to remove all the bones from the Crawling Claws. It makes eating much easier."
Gray: _
Is that really the key issue here?
The real concern was that eating undead creatures could lead to serious consequences!
While lost in thought, Gray noticed Farkas already digging into a piece of Crawling Claw that he had dipped in lemon sauce, chewing it thoughtfully.
Gray: w(Д)w
He ate it! He actually ate the undead creature!
Farkas had initially planned to test the dish himself, thinking that if something went wrong, Yeats would stop using the Crawling Claw for food. However, as he chewed, Farkas realized the texture was surprisingly delicate. The bones had been removed, leaving behind a tender, juicy bite. The lemon sauce added a zesty, refreshing touch.
"This..." Farkas was speechless for a moment, his eyes wide in surprise.
Yeats smiled at him, clearly enjoying the moment. "So, what do you think? Tastes good, right?"
Farkas, too busy chewing, gave a vigorous nod, his eyes sparkling with admiration.
"Hoot!"
The snowy owl swooped in, landing gracefully on Yeats's shoulder. Its golden eyes shone with curiosity.
Yeats turned his head and smiled at the round little owl perched on him. "You've done well in the battle earlier. Want to try some?"
The owl tilted its head, then gave a little "hoot," clearly intrigued.
After Yeats offered a piece of Crawling Claw, the owl took a cautious peck. Its eyes widened as it chewed the morsel, clearly surprised by the unique taste. For the first time in its life, the owl had tasted such a treat, and the shock was evident in its expression.
"Hoot~" The owl's eyes squinted happily as it gave an approving sound.
Yeats chuckled softly, "Gray, are you sure you don't want to try some?"
Gray, eyeing the rapidly disappearing Crawling Claw from Farkas and the owl, felt her stomach grumble. She wiped her dry lips and, with a deep sigh, muttered, "I… I can't. Every time I think about it, I picture those hands crawling onto the wagon. It's hard to eat."
"You could try closing your eyes and pretend it's chicken wings?" Yeats suggested with a grin.
"Ugh…" Gray closed her eyes, resigned, trembling slightly as she picked up a cold piece of Crawling Claw. She brought it to her lips, her body betraying her as it craved food.
Her nose told her it was a delicious dish, and her body begged for sustenance. But her brain screamed: Don't eat it. Don't eat it.
She hesitated for a second before biting down, hurriedly chewing it as if to avoid thinking about it too much.
Gray froze, her eyes opening wide.
"How is it, Miss Gray?" Farkas asked, his tone both amused and curious.
"The taste… is actually pretty good." Gray spoke quietly, her mind reeling. It was the opposite of what she'd expected—it wasn't disgusting at all.
Not only was it not repulsive, but the crisp, tender texture paired with the refreshing lemon made it even more appetizing.
Yeats raised an eyebrow and teasingly said, "Didn't you say you'd never eat monster food again?"
Gray flushed bright red. "I'll only have one piece. The rest is for you two... so basically, I didn't eat any!"
"Haha." Yeats couldn't help but laugh.
So much for not eating monster food.
Gray looked at him, embarrassed, and muttered, "By the way, weren't we supposed to have snow hare soup tonight?"
"I'm just getting started," Yeats replied with a grin. "The lemon Crawling Claw is just the appetizer."
"Shh…"
Gray suddenly raised a finger, her voice turning serious.
"You've got a little guest," she whispered, glancing up at Yeats's shoulder.
Yeats turned his head slightly and saw the snowy owl, its eyes shut and its head tucked into its feathers, resting on his shoulder.
Gray nodded in approval. "It looks like it's already dozing off."
Yeats smiled and thought to himself, "I guess if I need it to work during the day, I'll just give it some strong tea or coffee…"
"Gray, come here," Yeats called softly. "Be careful taking it off; I'm going to prepare the meal."
"Got it," Gray whispered, carefully lifting the sleepy owl off Yeats's shoulder. The owl briefly opened one eye and, seeing that it was Gray, didn't resist. She gently stroked its soft feathers and gave its round head a tender pat.
The snowy owl blinked, a soft hoot escaping as it nestled comfortably in Gray's hands, still content.
Nightfall settled in, and Radish, the loyal Roland warhorse, was happily enjoying a bowl of hot bone broth. The others gathered around, savoring a hot bowl of freshly made snow hare soup.
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Snow Hare Stew – ★2
Made from tender snow hare, simmered with simple seasoning for a rich, flavorful broth. Eating it grants a temporary increase in fire resistance (medium).
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Gray, holding her bowl of soup, sighed happily. "If I could drink this snow hare soup every day, I wouldn't even need to eat monster meat."
Yeats, taking a sip from his own bowl, replied calmly, "Eating wild game every day isn't going to be feasible, especially at the current level of development in Frostmourne Ridge."
"Is it really as dangerous as they say?" Gray asked, her brow furrowing. "If it's so bad, wouldn't the locals have fled by now?"
Yeats sighed deeply. "Actually, the population in Frostmourne Ridge is questionable. We'll see when we get there."
Gray looked at him, her thoughts shifting.
A lord so poor... that's a first for me.
She glanced at Yeats, her eyes filled with sympathy as she spoke thoughtfully. "Now I think I understand why you have such an attachment to monster cuisine."
Yeats blinked. "What are you imagining now?"
The snowy owl, after its nap, drank more of the rich soup, its eyes narrowing in contentment.
The owl blinked sleepily as the evening continued.
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As Yeats reflected on the day's events, he suggested, "Tomorrow, before we leave, let's explore this area a bit."
"Why, master?" Farkas asked.
"The owner of this slaughterhouse has gone missing, and it's suspicious. We might find something useful."
"Understood."
Yeats recalled from his game knowledge that the necromancer who had once run this slaughterhouse was killed by a wild first-ring monster—and that necromancer's legacy was something Yeats had his eye on.
Whether it was a wand, a scroll, or even coins, it could all prove invaluable for his current plans.
"The game's legacy is close by. Let's see if we can find something useful for the development of Frostmourne Ridge," Yeats thought quietly to himself.
The night was growing deeper, and the snowy owl, now fully awake, sat by Yeats, watching him as he read.
"Hey, can you watch over us tonight?" Yeats asked the owl.
The owl, its eyes wide, nodded silently and took its post. It was as if the night had become its domain.
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In the dead of night, Yeats was sleeping peacefully in the carriage.
Meanwhile, Gray sat outside under a makeshift tent, keeping watch. Yawns came one after another as she struggled to stay awake.
She glanced up at the snowy owl perched on a tree branch. Its sharp golden eyes were wide open, alert as ever, and Gray couldn't help but smile.
"I envy you," she muttered. "Still so full of energy at this hour."
The owl tilted its head, 'Hoo?'
"Maybe Yeats was right," Gray mused aloud. "You're a real night owl, huh?"
As she spoke, she stifled another yawn.
"You're probably seeing things much further than I am. If anything happens, be sure to let me know ahead of time, alright? I'll just... close my eyes for a bit..."
Gray drifted in and out of sleep, the quiet night wrapping around her like a blanket. Then, suddenly, she heard a sharp, piercing screech from the snowy owl.
Hoo!
Instantly, Gray shot up, wide-eyed and alert. "What happened?!" she cried.
The owl flapped its wings and took off into the night sky, heading toward the woods.
Gray stared in the direction the owl had pointed. Her eyes widened.
Thick smoke was rising into the sky, and bright, dazzling flames flickered in the distance.
"Fire!" she shouted, springing into action. "Hey, everyone, wake up! The fire's coming this way!"
Yeats, startled by the sudden alarm, quickly threw on his robe and jumped out of the carriage.
Looking in the distance, Yeats could see the fire spreading. He quickly made a decision.
"Pack up! We're moving out immediately!"
The wagon raced out of the forest, the fire growing larger with each passing second. Birds scattered in the chaos, their frantic flight adding to the unsettling atmosphere of the night.
Ahead, a vast open plain lay before them, the source of the fire now becoming clear.
In the darkness of the night, a massive beast—an enormous, fiery antelope—was engaged in a violent hunt.
The creature, covered in flames from head to toe, launched three blazing fireballs from its mouth. They struck a massive vine monster, which had been lying in wait, pretending to be part of the environment. The fireballs ignited the creature, turning it into a living inferno. The antelope then lunged forward, sinking its teeth into the monster's burning body.
The vine creature continued to struggle as it split into several smaller vine monsters. But the flames from the antelope's body spread quickly, igniting them as well, and soon the entire area was ablaze.
Gray gasped, her voice tinged with awe. "That's a first-ring monster—the Firestorm Antelope!"
Yeats nodded, a grim expression on his face.
It was a familiar sight, one many players in the early stages of the game would recognize—a field boss. The Firestorm Antelope's hide could be used to create powerful flame-imbued equipment, and as a food ingredient, it was nothing short of a delicacy.
"Get the wagon closer!" Yeats commanded, his tone firm and decisive.
"Tonight, we join the hunt!"