The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 90

A female human stepped up, mid-twenties with dark hair and a golden glare. She looked like she wanted to strangle the butcher.

The master butcher ignored her and made a gesture.

The apprentices rushed to take down the carcasses and take away the pelts.

She turned the glare on Krow.

He smiled at her, unperturbed. She huffed, crossed her arms, ignoring the apprentices wiping down the tables.

Two slabs of cold meat were placed on the tables.

“The challenge, slice these pieces of Swordhorn Elk meat in Magmigant Stoneroast style!”

Krow had never been to magmigant territory, but there had been restaurants popping up some years after the Quake, as the transmigrators adapted to Zuskenar that sold magmigant-style barbecue.

Magmigants were a race that lived near or on volcanoes.

Stoneroast was traditionally cooked on top of hot lava rocks. The meat was sliced thinly, so it roasted quickly, retaining natural taste and tenderness. The obsidian tools the magmigants used meant the slices were thin enough to be translucent.

Or so the stories said.

Krow dropped his gaze to the slab of half-frozen meat before him.

It was a leg, three times larger than his head.

This was Swordhorned Elk meat?

Swordhorned Elk were monsters over Lvl 30, and rare.

Why would the butcher use the meat for a contest like this? This kind of meat would grace only the finest restaurants.

Krow’s lips twitched. Or was it an attempt at intimidation?

Did he do better than expected, master butcher?

He studied the meat. He’d eaten Swordhorned Elk meat only a few times before.

Delicious.

It was not as lean as most deer, skeins of pale fat showing through the red meat.

Even chilled, the scent of the raw meat was strong. Strangely, it wasn’t offputting.

Krow washed his gloved hands in the basin one of the apprentices offered.

He stored his skinning knife and took out the Uncommon cleaver, long as his arm.

“Are you afraid it would jump off the table and attack you?” one of the apprentices hooted.

The room laughed at him.

Krow shrugged. What could he do?

The Uncommon butcher knife had been pitted against the Bloodcrow bandit captain in the caves and lost most of its durability.

The cleaver was the sharpest knife he had besides the skinning knife.

The door to the inner part of the shop slammed open, cutting off the laughter.

Faces paled.

The person who strode through the door looked around, eyes sharp, with a presence that Krow recognized as the confidence of a master.

Two master butchers in one workshop?

It was a more prestigious place than he thought.

She eyed the contest area, the surrounding apprentices, many of who were trying to sneak away. A tick in her cheek jumped visibly, she glared at the butcher.

“Balgurai…” she grit out. “I leave you in charge for one hour…”

Oh.

This was the master of the shop.

“My dear friend, you told me to keep the kids away from you for the night.” The other master butcher, or whoever he was, waved his arms at the contest. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“What is he doing?” She narrowed her eyes at Krow.

Huh, he knew who Olanda Arellas was emulating now.

“After your…friend?”

She grunted.

“After your friend insulted my knife skills, we made a wager. If I win against the wrights of this shop, he’ll sell me all his wright skills. If I lose, I won’t bother the butchers of Rakaens until I won here.”

She eyed him, up and down, snorted. “And you’re doing it with that? This isn’t the place for swords.”

Krow brought out what had once been a pretty nice the butcher knife. “My knife lost a fight with a bandit. Unfortunately, I only have this left.”

He hefted the cleaver.

He had a suspicion…

She flicked a hand. Two knives flew and buried themselves into the two hunks of meat. “This contest only. I’ll be the judge.”

From Olanda Arellas’ expression, the knife was pretty nice.

Krow pulled his from the hunk of cold meat.

His eye twitched.

[Six of Nine Adalace’s Butcher Knife]

[Quality: C] [Legendary]

[Element: Air]

[‘I calculate the cut precise.’]

[Boosts all Butcher skills by 100% if used by any butcher rank above apprentice.]

[Defense Multiplier: 2]

[Damage Reduction: 120%]

[Weight: .5kg]

[Durability (4/4): 30,478]

Krow put it down, sighed.

His first legendary.

And it was a butcher knife.

A legendary butcher knife.

And it was the sixth of nine similar knives?

The player blacksmith who made it had to be at the peak of the blacksmith craft. And they used it to make a nine-item set of butcher knives.

Craftmaster Blacksmith, you sure have a lot of free time, don’t you?

Krow glanced at the actual owner, who was talking to Balgurai.

He’d just assume the guy was a butcher, because otherwise, what skills was he doing this contest for?

From the pained smile on the butcher’s face and the low voice of the owner, she was threatening him quite thoroughly.

He studied her. His suspicion was definitely true.

This was a player.

A player craftmaster.

She finished her conversation, stood aside, and Balgurai sighed. “So the conditions have changed. Win here, lose here, this is the end. Craftmaster Adalace herself will be the judge of your skills. Are you both ready?”

Krow hefted Six of Nine.

It was light.

That should be a good thing, but he was used to wielding a gun three times the weight.

A knife as weightless as Six of Nine would be difficult to control.

He twirled it like he was in a circus act, frowning, changing between hands until he approximated some comfort with wielding it. His Knife-handling skill and DEX helped.

His opponent needed less time to get used to her knife, and watched him with crossed arms and a lifted brow.

With a last series of twirls using his dominant hand, he nodded at the announcer.

“Begin!”

The apprentices, and some customers who’d come in, cheered as both knives flashed in the light of the lamps.

The speed of movement meant the motions of the two were difficult to see. The slabs of meat looked like they were falling apart, like the pages of a book rifled through.

Page after page curled away from the slowly diminishing slabs of meat.

“Stop.”

The single spoken word stilled the room.

Olanda Arellas froze, knife poised above her hunk of meat.

Krow, who had not spent years obeying that voice, twitched, one last thinner-than-paper-thin slice falling away from the  main slab.

They both blinked.

“That’s enough to judge.” Craftmaster Adalace nodded to Balgurai.

“Apprentices,” Balgurai grinned. “The lamps.”

Eagerly, the apprentices set up lamps on long stands, like streetlights.

Krow raised his brows. They’d done this before, apparently.

“You two,” Adalace neared their tables. “You watch as well.”

Krow put down his knife.

He and Olanda moved from behind their tables to stand near Balgurai.

She glanced to the side. “Ready?”

“Yes, master,” acknowledged the apprentices near the lamps.

The craftmaster grabbed a single slice from each table and threw them like a frisbee. The slices glided horizontally, and as they passed the lamps, a sound of wonder rose from the throng.

The slices were illuminated by the golden lamps behind them, vivid red and pink,  the color of a sunrise.

The apprentices, ready to the side of the lamps, grabbed the slices gently, quickly rolling them in butcher paper.

Krow sighed.

His slice was slightly murkier than Olanda’s, the sudden order to stop having made him lose his focus.

But the craftmaster grabbed another two slices, tossed them. This time, both slices shone equally rich quality, vivid and glistening.

And again.

Ten slices, before she stopped.

“Apprentice,” she rapped out as the apprentices caught the last slices. “The count.”

There was a pause.

Olanda Arellas sighed. “There’s no need, master. It’s my loss.”