Even though I can't completely rid myself of the hunger, I can at least dull its edge by consuming monster flesh regularly—each bite rich with condensed Essentia. The craving never truly fades, but I've learned to live with it.
As I wandered through the market, the familiar sights and smells tugged faintly at my memory.
I bought simple, durable training clothes—loose enough to accommodate the changes I know my body will undergo. After all, I understand how my ability works.
Ten sets of clothing cost me about sixty Lumas, along with four pairs of shoes, towels, and some daily necessities. Combined with the food I ate earlier, that's another forty gone.
I also made note of the laundries nearby—each set washed for two Lumas. I plan to focus solely on what matters: training, learning, eating, and sleeping. Everything else, I'll outsource for a fee.
My total funds have dropped another Raga. Six Ragās, one Vīnā, and nineteen Svarns remain—around twenty-one thousand one hundred Lumas in total. I could have saved a bit by fetching clothes from home, but I have no intention of stepping into the Count's estate unless absolutely necessary.
It's not hatred.
I simply feel... wrong staying there.
After everything I did—cursing the Veynes household in my resentment before the regression—and now that my father still handed me money to stand on my own... returning there would feel suffocating.
More importantly, I can't let them see how fast I grow. That alone would draw unwanted eyes.
So I'll stay away. Even if they think me ungrateful, I don't care.
If they ever find themselves in danger, I'll help if I can—that's all the repayment I owe. As for the inheritance I could fight for… it'll crumble within few decades anyway.
When I finally returned to the Guild, the same receptionist greeted me. She handed me a small bronze token and a thin handbook.
"This is your registration token," she explained, "you'll need it to access your dorm and meals at the cafeteria. Don't lose it—replacements cost twenty-five Lumas. And this—" she slid the booklet across the counter, "—is your guide to the training curriculum and schedule. Classes start tomorrow. Don't be late."
I thanked her and followed the attendant assigned to show me around. We passed through the outer training grounds, where dozens of recruits sparred under the afternoon sun, before reaching the dormitory complex. Separate buildings stood for each gender, buzzing with voices, clashing weapons, and laughter.
My assigned room had two beds and a shared cupboard. The upper half was already filled—my roommate must be out training. I placed my belongings neatly in the lower section: clothes, shoes, the handbook, leaving enough space for future necessities.
After that, the attendant guided me to the cafeteria—a long hall filled with the smell of roasted meat.
Yes, I was going to eat another meal here. It was getting dark anyway, and before sleeping I needed to fill my stomach—and more importantly, test my ability.
I walked straight to the counter. Behind it stood a woman wearing a tall chef's hat and a white uniform with a stained apron. Her frame was soft, rounded from years of tasting her own dishes, and she had that motherly kind of warmth that made you instinctively relax. Seeing me approach, she smiled brightly.
"What would you like to eat, young man?"
I glanced up at the hanging menu board above her. It was full of ordinary dishes—bread, pork, lamb, chicken, beef, even a few fruit platters. Nothing unusual.
"I heard I can eat monster meat here… if I show this."
I pulled out the bronze token the receptionist had given me and placed it on the counter.
The woman's smile faltered slightly. Her eyes darted from my face to the token, and then toward the man sitting beside her. Until now, I hadn't even noticed him.
He wore the same chef's uniform but without the apron, lounging lazily in his chair with a half-bored, half-drowsy expression. His skin was the color of roasted chestnuts, and his frame was thick and muscular—a sharp contrast to the gentle woman beside him. His mustache was so broad it nearly swallowed his mouth, and his heavy brows shadowed a pair of surprisingly sharp eyes.
The woman silently handed him my token. The man turned it over in his thick fingers, his gaze scanning me from head to toe. It wasn't exactly hostile—just measuring.
After a long second, he gave a curt nod, stood from his seat, and said in a deep, gravelly voice, "Today's monster meat menu is: Shadow-Scale Fillet, made from Murkfin Trout; Ash-Bacon, sliced from Emberhog; and Shard Crunch—Glass Locust, for the main dish."
The words alone made a few nearby trainees glance our way. The names carried weight—creatures that were rarely eaten, even among hardened adventurers.
I felt a faint thrill stir in my chest. Perfect. Those would do nicely for my first test.
All three of those were Tier-One monster ingredients—perfect for what I needed.
"Can I get one serving of each dish first?" I asked casually.
The moment those words left my mouth, the entire cafeteria exploded.
"Whoaa!"
"What did he just say?"
"He ordered all three at once?!"
"Is he insane?!"
Before I could even blink, a crowd formed around me. The scraping of chairs, the clatter of utensils—everything blurred into a rising hum of chaos. Adventurers, trainees, even a few off-duty instructors leaned over from their tables to gawk.
'What the hell is going on?' I bewildered.
'When did all these people show up?'
Snippets of voices hit me from every direction.
"This guy's got guts!"
"A newbie ordering monster meat? Is he trying to die?"
"I've never even seen that kid before. What's his deal?"
Apparently, it looks like I'd just committed some kind of unspoken taboo.
In the middle of that noise, the middle-aged woman behind the counter raised her voice—firm but full of concern. "Ah… young man, you shouldn't do this. It's not some kind of show to test your courage or impress others. Monster dishes aren't toys."
Her tone carried the weight of experience—like she'd seen someone regret it before.
Beside her, the burly chef's face had gone dark. His thick neck tensed, and veins bulged on his temple. The relaxed look from earlier was gone; now he looked like a soldier before a battle.
"I just ordered some food," I said, baffled. "I don't know what you're talking about."
But my words didn't reach the burly chef.
Grinding his teeth, the big man finally growled, "Wait at your seat. I'll bring you the Deep-Fried Murkfin with rice first."
Without waiting for my reply, he stomped toward the kitchen, each step heavy enough to shake the floor.
The room quieted a little, but dozens of curious eyes still burned into me.
I felt chill.
I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck.
"...What's with this place? I just wanted to eat."
As I stand there trying to make sense of what was happening, an arm suddenly wrapped itself around my shoulders.
"Oi, newbie," a voice drawled near my ear, low and teasing, "you sure got balls, don't ya?"
Mmm?
****