"Twelve Mushhushshu, twenty-seven Uridimmu, three Ugallu..."
"You completed so many again today? Thanks for the effort..."
At the ritual grounds, Siduri had come as usual to verify the numbers and distribute reward money. She had long grown accustomed to Samael's performance.
Meanwhile, a crowd of curious, amazed, or oddly disturbed eyes looked toward the well-known figure at the ritual grounds who monopolized an entire dissection room.
Escaping all the way from the monster-infested north to Uruk was already rather unbelievable.
What was more, he often spent entire days holed up in the dissection room, unable to tear himself away from the pleasure of carving up monsters.
Some had even seen the man alone in the room, holding a razor and smiling eerily at a pile of minced flesh.
That sight was truly hair-raising.
Thus, for a time, his colleagues all treated him with respectful distance.
But later, rumors claimed that this heroic soldier had personally witnessed his comrades being slaughtered one by one by monsters. His mind had gradually twisted, so he vented his rage and grief upon monster corpses.
Besides, when he was not dissecting monsters, he seemed perfectly normal.
Everyone could not help pitying his plight, privately sighing over it.
Yet all sorts of bloody, bizarre titles began spreading without anyone quite noticing.
"Slaughterhouse Butcher"!
"Babylonian Dismemberer"!
"Uruk Professional Executioner"!
Completely unaware that he had become a freak in everyone else's eyes, Samael amiably greeted the gathered onlookers, earning a great many stiff, fake smiles.
The approachable chief priestess pursed her lips in a smile. Without exposing those wild speculations, she naturally offered a few words of encouragement and settled his wages.
After weighing it slightly, Samael could roughly hear the clinking of over a dozen pieces of Witch's Silver within, and he could not help smiling in