Ola's jaw nearly hit the floor.
He stared at Velin, his eyes filled with a uniquely Dwarven sort of bewilderment.
"Tame?"
Ola repeated the word. He suspected the sea breeze must have damaged his hearing.
"My Lord, could you say that again? You mean… tame that flock of Level 4 Magical Beasts?"
"To be more precise, we'll establish a cooperative relationship," Velin corrected.
Ola's great, reddish-brown beard trembled violently.
It wasn't as if he'd never had fries before.
They were, in fact, a supreme pleasure when paired with ale.
But this was hardly the time for it!
The construction site was a wreck. A dozen workers were injured, one young man's arm had nearly been torn off, and his blood stained half a cart wheel red.
And yet their lord—the trailblazer of the Grey Marsh Territory, the first man to be granted the title of Count in a century, the founder of the Pan-Gray Sea Alliance, Velin Klein—had just given his first order, and it was to… order takeout?
