Even though the situation felt a bit ridiculous, the indigenous people treated him with surprising kindness. Once they realised he was in no condition to care for himself, they decided to lend a hand, transporting him to their nearby village so he could regain his strength before moving on. Since Sam didn’t understand a word of their language, they communicated through a series of awkward gestures.
Upon arriving at the village, Sam was t with a warm, celebratory welco. The tribespeople were incredibly hospitable, even dedicating a private tent made of woven palm leaves just for him.
Inside the tent, Sam looked at the two n who had been with him from the start.
"I know you won’t understand ... but thank you."
He bowed smoothly—a natural, graceful gesture of gratitude. Since they didn’t understand him either, they bowed back with wide smiles and retreated, pulling the curtains shut behind them.
Night had fallen. Most of the villagers were asleep, save for the guards on watch. These people were hunters by nature; they spent their days tracking prey and their nights sheltering in safety from the monsters that road the wilds.
"Sarah... I wonder what you’re doing right now," Sam muttered.
She had tossed him into the heart of this chaos while she enjoyed her comfort. He wondered what the date was, though he doubted these people even kept a calendar.
Lost in thought, he summoned his [Status Window]:
[ Status Window ]
Na: Sam Wells
Race: Ordinary Human (Male)
Age: 23
Profession: Dungeon Master / Servant (Smorgoth Duchy)
Height: 163 cm
Master(s): Clara Smorgoth (SSS ) / Sarah Smorgoth (SS )
[ Attributes ]
Strength: 15
Dexterity: 55
Adaptability: 32
Endurance: 8
Intelligence: 155
Mana: 200
Free Points: 0
[ Core Skills ]
Cooking: [Locked] (Does not et Level 1 requirents)
Etiquette: Level 1 (Beginner)
Cleaning: Level 1 (Beginner)
Tea Ceremony: [Locked] (Does not et Level 1 requirents)
Flattery/Sycophancy: Level 6 (Talented)
Creativity: Level 10 (Talented)
[ System Inventory ]
Technique Book: The Optimal Servant (Original Limited Edition)
Skill Scroll: Mana Absorption Technique for Servants
Skill Scroll: Fire Queen’s Mana Absorption Technique.
His mana began to surge. The sheer volu he now possessed could rival that of a second-year student at the Hero Academy. Sam’s thoughts drifted to Clara, wondering what she was doing now, far from the academy’s walls. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his phone, only to find the battery completely dead.
"I need to recharge this..." he muttered, deciding that the mont he set foot back in the city, a charger would be his first priority.
While Sam sat alone in his tent, focused on his Mana Absorption Technique, a very different conversation was taking place in one of the guard tents. A dozen bare-chested n sat in a circle, their voices low and guttural.
"Fentan ta baghnam... Tin labee... (Did you see that man? Is he our next al?)"
"(He looked out of place... and he’s all alone. If we strike now, the feast will be ours alone.)"
One of them stood up and opened a crude wooden cabinet, pulling out a detailed anatomical diagram of the human body.
"(Our Sovereign gave us this chart to understand human prey. Rember, the most critical point in any hunt is the neck.)"
A man nad Laszlo shouted in protest, "(You guys are insane! I heard from the Priest that the vengeful spirits of our als will haunt us forever if we don’t perform the sacred rituals during the slaughter!)"
Suddenly, an idea struck one of them.
"(How about this... we offer him a beautiful girl for an unforgettable spring night? If we kill him while he is satisfied and content, he will be ’sinful.’ His spirit won’t be able to seek vengeance, and we can enjoy our al in peace.)"
The group fell silent, contemplating the logic. It made perfect sense. Why hadn’t they thought of it before? If he died with a smile on his face, he wouldn’t return as a vengeful ghost... right?
The n all nodded in unison, their plan solidified. To ensure he wouldn’t escape, they had to act imdiately.
At dawn, the brilliant, crescent moon cast its silvery light through the gaps in the curtains, illuminating Sam. He sat there, half-bathed in light, the other half swallowed by shadow. The wind gently pushed the curtains inward, swaying before Sam’s indifferent eyes.
Suddenly, the wind died down. In its place, a silhouette moved to block the light. The figure stood motionless, a ghostly shadow floating in the moonlight. Behind the curtains, a strange girl watched him. With a delicate movent, she stepped inside, her imposing curves casting a long shadow over him.
She stood before Sam, blocking the moonlight, and snapped her fingers at him.
"Shintish... Lazaya tanan bama... (Delicious... You look like a savoury al.)"
Sam looked up at her and smiled, repeating the phrase he had morised from the guards, thinking it was a standard "Welco" or "Good evening."
The girl froze. She couldn’t believe her ears. Was this stranger speaking her language? They said he didn’t understand them, yet here he was, mimicking her dialect with chilling precision, wearing a ridiculous, unsettling grin.
From her perspective, this stranger had just looked her in the eye and said: "(You call delicious? You’re the one who’s going to be eaten tonight... You won’t survive.)"
To Sam, her shocked tone and intense gaze felt like a polite, perhaps slightly shy, response to his "friendly greeting." He had no idea he was in a massive predicant; he was just stringing together sentences he didn’t understand, accidentally threatening to eat his "assassin" before she could eat him!
"Lala... Londonta. (Feet do not know where they are headed.)"
Sam uttered the words he had picked up from the two n earlier. What he didn’t realise was that these words were a profound proverb among them. It ant that feet lack eyes to see their path—a grim saying they used specifically when a prey had been successfully lured into a trap.
The girl gasped, her blood running cold. Was it true? Was she the one destined for the slaughter? Was this entire situation a setup? Her mind raced, consud by a sudden, paralyzing fear. She began glancing frantically around the darkened tent, terrified that an ambush was about to be launched against her at any second.
She was terrified, especially after noticing the lingering shadows of the n lurking outside the tent. The hunters were waiting for Sam to let his guard down so they could strike.
Attempting to lighten the mood and show his goodwill, Sam leaned in with a warm, gentle smile and uttered another phrase he’d overheard:
"Huksa ni dmila... (Life does not give two chances to decide between life and death.)"
It was another proverb—a grim reminder about decisiveness and how a single mistake determines whether you live or die.
The girl didn’t wait to hear more. She had to decide now, and she chose to run for her life. She bolted out of the tent, trembling. Knowing every secret path in the village she’d lived in her whole life, she disappeared into the night.
Sam, fearing he had offended her or done sothing wrong, decided to follow. He burst out of the tent right under the watchful eyes of the guards. They stared in shock as they saw him chasing after the woman they had sent to "satisfy" him.
"Shintata! (Traitor!)" the guards hissed, assuming she had betrayed the plan.
The guards gave chase, but Sam—completely oblivious to them—infused his legs with mana, accelerating with supernatural speed to catch up before she got away. The pursuit escalated: the girl fleeing from Sam, Sam chasing the girl, and the guards lunging after Sam.
"Wait! You won’t understand like this... Dammit! Jolaaaaa! (FOOOOOD!)"
Hearing him scream "FOOD" at the top of his lungs made the girl wail in pure agony, her screams echoing through the night. Sam still couldn’t fathom why she was reacting this way.
Doors flew open throughout the village. The residents, awakened by the chaos, saw a foreign stranger chasing a terrified girl while screaming about "eating." To them, he wasn’t a guest anymore—he was a perverted foreign monster.
And so, the Great Chase began, involving every soul in the village.
Sam was terrified, but the girl was even more so. She was convinced the entire village had turned on her and wanted to devour her. Why else would they all burst out of their hos with sharpened staves, daggers, and torches, hot on her heels?
"(I don’t want to die...!)" she wailed inwardly.
Sam’s stamina was beginning to flag. He gasped for air, shouting through his exhaustion, "Stop... Bitch!"
He was desperate to catch her, but she was unnervingly fast and agile.
"(Witch? No... I’m not a witch! NOOOO!)"
In their dialect, the word "Bitch"—which Sam had spat out in frustration—sounded exactly like their word for "Witch."
Now, the villagers finally "understood" why this stranger was chasing her. To them, witches were the ultimate delicacy—the rarest, most delicious human at imaginable. They couldn’t believe their luck; it was as if the gods had dropped a premium al right into their laps.
The villagers doubled their speed, their excitent reaching a fever pitch.
"BITCH! BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!"
"BITCH! BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!"
"BITCH! BITCH! BITCH! BITCH!"
they chanted in a frenzied rhythm.
The joyous, guttural roars and the sight of the tribesn salivating as they chased her felt demonic to Sam. He looked at them and felt a surge of righteous indignation. He finally understood.
These villagers were absolute scoundrels.
He convinced himself that they wanted to exploit the girl for heinous, depraved purposes, and that she had co to his tent to beg for protection. Poor, innocent soul, he thought, his heart swelling with a hero complex.
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