It turned out I had slept for more than ten hours. After eagerly finishing the soup, I left one of the tavern rooms where they had put me after the fight. Mess reigned all around, like in some huge homeless den. Such were the traces of the Goblins' presence here. However, they hadn't managed to destroy everything. Erik supplied me with a new set of clothes. It included a thick green fabric shirt, gray trousers, and a worn, gray quilted jacket that belonged to one of the deceased guards. These are usually used as padding under armor. The jacket was too warm for a summer day, but I could wear it open in the middle.
The clothing situation had improved. Now another problem faced me. The fact that some of the settlement's people had survived was pleasant, but on the other hand, they knew the past owner of my body. If anything, I would have to play the memory loss card. After all, a Trolless had hit me until I lost consciousness.
Following Erik, I entered the large tavern hall where the surviving people and their rescuers were located.
— Jurgen!
A young woman with chestnut hair, whose face showed signs of beatings, rushed up to me. She embraced me, an embrace I slightly returned so as not to arouse suspicion.
Right. Well, I guess I got the name correct. While the girl was squeezing me in her arms, I caught a glimpse of the fierce, envious look of the hefty hunter Hef. He clearly had his own plans for this damsel-in-distress, rescued from the clutches of the Greenskins.
The girl finally pulled away, looking at me with a pair of tear-stained green eyes. I tried to smile at her. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but the memories of the old body's owner seemed to grow weaker in my consciousness.
— Other warm-bloods should not know our secrets, — the Slann prompted me.
Sometimes he stated the obvious, probably considering all warm-bloods incorrigibly stupid. At least I hadn't received advice to go to the toilet yet.
— Who else was saved? — I asked the girl the most logical and unsuspicious question.
— From our people, Elsa, Mark, Helga… — the girl listed a dozen names that faintly echoed in my memory. — A few other guests. And your parents… I'm sorry… — the girl sobbed, and I hugged her again, catching Hef's angry gaze.
— Everything will be fine, — I whispered.
The guy's parents are dead? Sad, but partly even convenient. This girl is clearly not his sister or close relative. I just need to be careful and communicate with the most neutral phrases possible.
— Jurgen… — she suddenly looked straight into my eyes. — You performed a real miracle…
— A miracle? — I tried to look confused.
— Yes! Escaping, bringing help, fighting those creatures… you are a hero!
— No, not really. I… Sigmar just favored me. If it weren't for his intercession, I would have died ten times over already.
Regarding miracles, I should blame everything on the gray one. Tsk, I mean on Sigmar.
Besides the surviving girl, a tearful woman in her forties also approached me. She long lamented, listing the sad fate of her relatives and friends.
— And Herman they… Those beasts… They him… — the woman broke down completely in tears, and the girl began to comfort her.
I decided to use this opportunity to follow Erik to the kitchen. He was just about to cook. The Halfling beckoned me, but the girl unexpectedly followed us.
— I want to help you, — she pleaded.
— I'm not sure a young lady should observe certain aspects of Ogre cuisine, — Eri said, smiling awkwardly.
— No! I want to. I must! — the girl firmly insisted.
I don't even know if she really wanted to chop Gobs or just escape the excessive attention of the brute Hef, who was very fond of women. The big guy watched us with a gloomy look from under his bushy eyebrows. He probably already considered me his main competitor. I might earn a knife under the ribs at this rate.
The kitchen where the Goblins had boiled the guy was brought into some semblance of order. Eri gathered everything least fouled and broken by the Goblins: dishes, food, buckets of water.
— A bit sad, — the Halfling sighed, expertly assessing the kitchen. — But I've had to cook in worse conditions. Lora, be a dear and peel the onion. Jurgen, fetch some firewood.
Lora. So that's her name. I need to remember that.
— Master Erik, — I respectfully addressed the Halfling. — Could you tell me where my cleaver and spear are? It's scary to go into the dark without a weapon.
— Cleaver, spear… — the Halfling muttered. — I'm afraid they stayed in the Trolls. Magg was picking his teeth with that burned cleaver. I need to find something for you… But Herr Pieck gathered all the weapons he could reach and locked them in one of the storerooms. He said it would be the armory now. Keep this for now.
The Halfling handed me a wide, long knife that could pass for a short sword. Not the best option for a sudden encounter with Goblins in the night, but there were no other options.
I went to fulfill Eri's request. The village seemed empty and deserted. The dark outlines of the buildings instilled a kind of primal fear. In search of firewood, I rummaged through the wrecked outbuildings. To not feel so lonely, I decided to talk to my built-in hypnotoad.
— What was your name when you were alive?
— Does it matter to you, warm-blood?
— Well, yes. Names allow us, humans, to remember others better.
Apparently, such an argument had an effect.
— Loom-Pia, — the ancient toad replied. — Descendant of the second generation.
— Maxim Fedorovich Maltsev, — I introduced myself, peering into the darkness of the shed.
— The names of the lesser races are not so important to me, but I will remember yours.
The firewood was found, and it was time to carry it to the kitchen. There Eri and Lora had already chopped a whole mountain of vegetables. Future sauces were sizzling in pots and pans. It smelled of garlic, onions, and spices. These aromas made me hungry again, despite the recently eaten broth.
However, I continued to carry firewood. Returning with the third load, I heard a sharp sound, vaguely resembling a gunshot. Putting down my burden, I cautiously proceeded to where the source of the noise might be. It turned out to be the stable.
It rumbled again. I flinched, ready to run, but being closer, I distinguished the second part of the suspicious sound. Longer and more familiar. A stench reached my nostrils. However, after the "aromas" of Greenskin excrement, this smell no longer shocked me.
— Well, now it's clear why he's called Magg Gut-Gouger, — I chuckled, heading back for firewood.
The Ogre had simply gone to sleep in the stable. Closer still, one could distinguish his steady, rumbling snore and periodic gas emissions.
I returned to gathering wood, asking the Slann another important question in the process:
— Did you see that knight in the fog?
— Yes. The imposed spell transmits the images to both of us.
— Who is he? A deity? Some kind of sorcerer?
— That is not of great significance to me. He is knowledgeable about the Old Ones' Ways and desires to protect them from the influence of the forces of destruction. This will serve the Great Plan. The visions revealed to us the image of a ruined temple in the mountains. I believe I know which place is being referred to. It is an island not far from Ulthuan. We must go there.
The vision also showed a crowd of Orcs and a giant. I am completely unsure that I want to be there right now. Perhaps even fully leveled up, I won't be able to win such a battle solo. I will have to find powerful allies.
Guessing my thoughts, Loom-Pia said:
— The legions of the Temple-Cities will help us in the execution of the Great Plan. I am confident that my kinsmen will listen to us.
If they don't tear me to pieces immediately, and if I even get to them literally on the other side of this bleak world. Apparently, they live on a continent called Lustria. That place… is not very friendly to all living things, especially warm-bloods. Monsters, terrible diseases, endless jungles, and also great neighbors in the form of Dark Elves. However, these are all plans for the distant future. For now, I need to carry wood and think about survival.
I wonder, if I completely abandon this destiny? Are sanctions for such a case included in the spell cast on us? I wouldn't be surprised if they are.
For another thirty minutes, Eri, Lora, and I were, so to speak, preparing to cook. The girl worked well, but sometimes she would suddenly start crying. The Halfling tried to cheer her up somehow, and Lora would calm down a little. However, I saw a deep shadow of grief etched on her young face. The surviving girl would never be the same after the horrors she faced that ill-fated night.
— Now Lora, go and sleep, — Erik said with fatherly care. — We'll manage the rest ourselves.
— Are you sure? It's no trouble for me…
— Go, go. I'll walk you to your room.
— Thank you, Master Erik.
The girl left, accompanied by the Halfling. She was clearly grateful to him, as Eri would help her avoid the persistent company of the hunters and mercenaries. Soon the Halfling returned, baring his even teeth.
— And now, lad, we have to deal with the meat. You don't mind working with a knife or a hammer, do you?
— Not at all, — I replied.
Eri nodded with obvious satisfaction. Though now he resembled a not-so-kind father, more like a psycho dad.
"Who won't go deaf from gunshots Whose hand won't tremble Psycho dad, psycho dad, psycho daaad! He kills everyone around Kind psycho dad!"
I hummed to myself as we went down to the cellar. Moans, babbling, and chatter could be heard from afar. These sounds evoked a strange mix of emotions in me. Disgust, anger, pity, and self-disgust for feeling a shred of pity for the Greenskin creatures.
Eri lit a lantern, stopping at the door, which was propped up from the outside with a chair.
— They are either bruised or tied up in there, — Eri explained. — But still, be very careful. These little bastards will definitely have a hidden shiv or bite you. You saw the big basin upstairs. That's where we'll cut them up and then clean them.
— Remove the skin? — I was surprised.
— No, — Eri smirked. — Remove the contents of the intestines. Actually, Magg would eat Goblins complete with the shit, but I'm a cook after all. And I want to be a good cook even in such matters. Ready?
— Yes.
The Halfling opened the door. Erik held his meat hammer in his hands, and he hung the lantern on a hook in the wall. The spacious cellar was packed with Goblin bodies. Dead, still alive, but mutilated or almost whole and tied up. With a practiced eye, the Halfling chose the wretch closest to us in a black cloak. It scurried away quickly despite its broken legs, but the Halfling struck it across the back.
— Hey, 'oomies, we can make a deal, yeah? — the Goblin babbled as we dragged it out, holding it by the legs. — I'm the big boss's bestest buddy. Skarsnik himself noticed me! He once said, like, Ibrit Squig-Smasher is totally cool. A sharp guy. They'll give you lots of shiny things and teef for me. Well, 'oomies? Want to be rich? I'll make you… aaaaah!
We reached the kitchen. Eri threw the wretch on the floor, and then began to strip off its smelly cloak, exposing the repulsive carcass with crooked shoulders and a hanging gut to the lantern light.
— 'Oomies, 'oomies, I have a treasure. Want a gift? A-a-a-a-a!
— Allow me, Master Erik, — I asked.
The Halfling nodded and handed me the knife. Something akin to regret still stirred somewhere in the very depths of my soul. However, it was as weak and pathetic as a naked Greenskin with broken legs. One movement of the blade replaced its lamentation with wheezing. Dark green blood gushed into the basin. The image of the sacrificial bowl appeared before my eyes. Good. I'm not doing this for nothing, not for pleasure. I need to survive and become stronger.
— Absorb, — I mentally commanded.
However, nothing happened.
— Too little power in the reservoir, — Loom-Pia explained.
Damn. If we drag the Goblins out of the cellar one by one like this, kill them, and then start cooking, the sacrificial bowl will never be able to fill up enough. It gradually empties, after all, when no blood is being spilled nearby. What should I do? Did I sign up for this culinary show for nothing?
— Master Erik? — I asked. — Maybe we should bring several from the cellar at once. Then cut them up one after another.
— Why? — the Halfling asked, but a playful and malicious glint sparkled in his eyes. — Why are you suggesting such a thing to me, lad?
— Well, they killed their victims in front of their relatives. It's just… justice.
— Justice?! — Erik smirked. — Well, well. Justice. I've already done that, lad. I've done all sorts of things with them. I didn't want to suggest something like that so as not to embarrass you too much. But since you brought it up first, we can have more interesting fun. Just a warning, there will be a lot of howling and some will soil the floor.
— It's no problem, Master Erik, — I replied, again experiencing extremely mixed feelings.
On the one hand, I would genuinely be able to level up. On the other hand, I had just signed up for the role of a culinary sadist's assistant. Erik is not well. He is essentially a maniac, although he specializes in creatures quite deserving of the worst fate.
— Well, let's go then. We'll need a lot of rope and some work with a hammer. Troublesome, but fun. It helps work up an appetite.
And the fun began.
The next few hours were the most gruesome of my life, but at the same time very exciting. Each time I brought the knife down, I felt the foreign power pouring out and filling me. Adrenaline flowed through my veins again. The Slann's magic gave me fury and vigor. Each new swing of the blade became easier and easier. The smell of Goblin blood, their howling and pleas, raw meat, entrails, Erik's smile—everything mixed into a cavalcade of insane images.
— Absorb, — I commanded whenever the bowl filled by at least one division.
A wave of pleasure and excitement passed through my entire nervous system. It was a wonderful euphoria. The fatigue vanished, even the hunger disappeared. I felt the power of ancient magic nourishing my body. I watched from the sidelines in a series of short visions as the life-giving energy distributed itself among my muscles, bones, and organs.
I truly hope the Slann was right about my resistance to Chaos. Otherwise, I'm sure the Dark Gods would very quickly turn their gaze toward a human who sheds blood with such pleasure and zeal.
Our gruesome mystery abruptly ended when Herr Pieck, accompanied by two of his cronies, burst into the kitchen. The soldier of fortune pointed his drawn saber at the Halfling, forcing Erik, smeared in Goblin blood, to retreat to the wall.
— Herr Pieck, — the Halfling muttered with a guilty smile. — Did something happen?
— Shut your gap-toothed mouth, dwarf. You're a heretic. You're surely a Sorcerer! My lads and I are tired of listening to the squealing. And also… — Pieck threw something on the floor. — There! Bastard!
It was some kind of amulet with a strange pattern. The image seemed familiar to me. I tried to move to the wall and hid my knife hand behind my back. Every part of my body was ready for a fight.
The fury gave me strength. Erik had done a lot of good for me, and taking his side seemed like the right thing to do. But, on the other hand, I didn't want to fight with humans.
— You've got it all wrong, Herr Pieck. This is…
— This is a verdict! Come on, lads. Time to hang this little Sorcerer.
The situation seemed critical, but at that moment, a heavy stomping sound came from the backyard. Magg's huge, sleepy face poked out of the darkness. The Ogre looked at the men with obvious surprise and dissatisfaction.
— What do you want with my cook and friend? — he asked loudly. — Do you skinny ones want to be on the menu too?
Pieck clearly didn't want to quarrel with the Ogre. He stepped back a little, lowering his sword, but the accusing bravado still sounded in his voice.
— Your friend has a heretical symbol. He offers sacrifices! Look! There!
Pieck wanted to kick the amulet on the floor, but the Ogre roared with rage. The man staggered back, and the Halfling picked up the symbol and showed everyone.
— Look, friends. This is not a symbol of Chaos. See? It's teeth, not the cursed star. Quiet, quiet, Magg. There's been a misunderstanding.
The Halfling bravely stood in the way of the Ogre, who was already preparing to smash the doorway and probably tear Pieck's head off.
— It's the Maw! — Magg boomed. — The Great Maw!
— That's what the Ogres' God is called, — one of Pieck's cronies explained. — My buddy told me.
Doubt was legible on Pieck's face. He sneered contemptuously:
— A Halfling worships the Ogre God?
— Yes, mein Herrs, — Erik smiled. — My race's Goddess is Esmeralda. She patronizes the home hearth, but my home was ruined by Goblins. Esmeralda grants family happiness, but mine is forever destroyed. She strictly forbids using kitchen utensils for anything other than cooking. I broke that taboo when I slaughtered those Greenskins while they slept, having filled their bellies with my family. So who should I worship? I worship the Maw. I ask it for hunger, so I can eat as many of these wretches as possible, — the Halfling pointed to the gutted Goblin bodies. — The Tileans say: revenge is a dish best served cold. I disagree. I prefer revenge piping hot! So the meat melts in your mouth and the crust crunches…
Bloodthirsty madness was legible in the Halfling's eyes, and Magg's stomach loudly rumbled.
— All this talk… — the Ogre grumbled. — I'm hungry again now.
— We are just cooking! — Erik assured him. — Herr Pieck is no longer angry with us, is he?
With obvious reluctance to back down, the mercenary still left, casting angry glances at Erik. The situation was heating up. Even though we had recently fought shoulder to shoulder, deep contradictions now lay between us.
The work on the kitchen raged until morning. Having finished with the Goblins, we proceeded to cook them. The Halfling mainly did this, and I got the role of wood, water, and slop carrier. Fetch and carry, sit in the corner and don't interfere. I wasn't strongly opposed to such a role.
In the end, the grand breakfast was ready. For the next thirty minutes, we carried the food to the stable, where the Ogre had set up an improvised table from a overturned cart without wheels.
Eri, with the subservience of a luxury restaurant waiter, began to list the impressive menu to him.
— Cave Squigs, stuffed with Goblins. Shaman fondue with a little funk! Leader, fried with onions and the ears of his henchmen. Snotling stew with potatoes. Goblin-mushroom fricassee with a garnish of Cathayan rice. Goblins boiled in a horse bone broth. Greenskin cutlets with a touch of pepper. And as a light appetizer—raw Goblins, still slightly alive. What would you like?
Magg's eyes bulged. Pure Ogre happiness shone in them. Drool ran down the big guy's beard from his mouth. For a second, the Ogre froze as if mesmerized.
— What would you like? — Eri politely repeated.
— Everything! — Magg finally thundered in reply. — Everything, and more of it!