From behind the counter, soft footsteps stirred the quiet air, followed by the creak of a door hinge.
A woman appeared, stepping into the narrow beam of light that slipped through the shop’s small front window.
Her appearance was striking at first glance, her long blonde hair tied into a neat bun that glead faintly when caught by the sunlight.
A few strands had escaped the bun to brush against her temples, framing her beautiful face.
Her face carried the sort of weariness that didn’t dull beauty; it deepened it.
There were faint shadows under her dark brown eyes, the look of soone who had been awake since dawn, yet those eyes remained alert and intelligent, their tiredness offset by quiet composure.
A brown apron hung from her neck, tied close about her waist.
It bore smudges of drying blood and streaks of pale dust where her hands had wiped across it, but sohow even that failed to dull her beauty.
The apron on her couldn’t fully hide the insane curves on her body, especially her huge breasts, which Damien judged to be even slightly bigger than that of Claire.
They stood proudly on her chest, fully covered by the apron and high neck dress, but still very impossible to ignore.
Her waist tapered delicately before widening into wide, curvy hips that strained against the edges of her apron.
Even the loosiest of gowns could never hide an extrely sexy figure like that, which scread attention no matter what she did.
She paused behind the counter and drew in a breath, her huge breasts lifting subtly beneath the heavy apron.
Her face was a bit sweaty, and if one observed closely, they would notice beads of sweat rolling down her cheeks.
Damien’s gaze held on her, his attention caught by her stunning appearance.
He tried hard to keep his gaze on her face, but they just kept drifting down to the two huge mountains on her chest.
His perverted mind kept imagining getting waterboarded by those huge tits, which were the biggest he had ever seen until now.
’She’s a MILF. A completely packaged MILF.’ he thought.
For a mont, he simply watched her, saying nothing.
Then, out of habit, the thought crossed his mind.
’Inspect.’
A faint shimr of blue spread across his vision, crisp and imdiate, and lines of text appeared before him.
[Na: Sophie]
[Class: Butcher]
[Health: 100/100]
[Mana: 90/90]
[Age: 39]
[Description: A married woman who has been working as a butcher for over ten years. She also has a son.]
Damien’s eyes flicked across the information once, then again, catching on the last line.
’A son, huh...’
His gaze returned to her. She was older than he had expected, yet the years had done little to dull her presence.
Besides, he didn’t care about her age or whether she had a son or daughter.
All that kept ringing in his mind was that another hot MILF was standing in front of him.
He learnt of this place from his mories of this world from the eroge, but hadn’t expected to et such a person.
Sophie wiped her palms across her apron, leaving faint streaks against the brown fabric, and lifted her gaze toward him.
"So," she said, her tone calm but edged with curiosity. "Are you here to buy at?"
The question was simple enough, yet the sound of her voice carried a low, natural resonance that filled the small space.
Damien blinked, realizing he’d been standing silent for longer than was polite.
His eyes narrowed slightly as the thought struck him. He hadn’t taken out the rabbit at yet.
A brief flush of embarrassnt flickered through him—how could he forget, after checking his inventory only minutes ago?
"Ah—sorry, just give one minute," he said quickly, his voice steady but a little awkward.
Before Sophie could even respond, he turned on his heel and dashed away from the shop.
Sophie’s brows twitched. Her soft lips tightened into a small frown, and for a mont, her tired eyes glimred with faint annoyance.
’Did he just co here to... waste my ti?’ she thought, exhaling softly. The warm air brushed against the loose strands of blonde hair that had fallen from her bun.
She sighed under her breath, muttering, "I should’ve just stayed inside instead of wasting my ti out here."
Her voice was low, the kind one might not notice unless they were standing very close.
As she turned around to return to her work, the faint sound of footsteps echoed from behind.
She glanced back, and there he was again—Damien—moving toward her with quick, purposeful strides.
A large black bag swung in his hand, its weight visible from the way his wrist flexed beneath it.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed slightly. Her chest rose and fell with a faint sigh, and she turned back toward him, brushing her gloved hand against her apron.
"So, what do you want?" she asked, her tone noticeably colder than before.
She wasn’t exactly angry—just uninterested now, expecting little.
From experience, she could already guess what would happen next. Another villager, probably trying to sell scraps or worthless bits of at.
Still, she didn’t send him away.
"Co in," she muttered, motioning him toward the open space behind her counter.
Damien stepped inside the shop.
The faint tallic scent of blood mixed with sothing clean—polished wood, maybe.
Sophie moved towards a table tucked neatly at the edge of the shop, pointing towards it. "Put it there," she said.
Damien nodded and walked toward it. The table looked solid and well-used, but there wasn’t a single stain on it.
Around it hung rows of sharp knives and cutlasses, their edges gleaming faintly beneath the light. It was a butcher’s workspace—but clean, almost unnervingly so.
He glanced around the shop again. It wasn’t what he expected from a small village butcher’s place.
There were no piles of discarded bones or scraps of at lying around. Instead, everything was organized, almost ticulous.
The actual at seed to be kept elsewhere—perhaps in a separate section, behind a closed wooden door at the back.
Sophie turned to face him, leaning slightly against the counter.
Her tone was lazy this ti, like soone who had already decided she wouldn’t be impressed.
"So," she said, brushing a faint drop of sweat from her temple, "what kind of at do you want to sell?"
Damien didn’t answer imdiately. Instead, he lifted the black bag and turned it over on the table.
With a solid thump, three large rabbit ats fell out, hitting the table with a low thud.
Sophie’s eyes widened, and a soft gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it.
Her gaze flickered between the at and Damien’s calm expression, surprise cutting through her earlier disinterest like a blade.
Her mind raced. Fanged rabbits weren’t normal ga—they were small, yes, but vicious.
Their speed, combined with those razor-sharp fangs, made them an utter nuisance for most hunters.
They moved in sudden bursts, darting unpredictably, often tearing through traps and lunging at exposed throats before anyone could react.
Even experienced hunters avoided going after them alone; they were usually hunted in groups, or not at all.
And yet, here stood this boy—calm, unruffled, casually presenting three of the beasts as if it were nothing.
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