That Man is Fierce

Loyalty that is not absolute is absolutely not loyalty.

Nero, having already become a lackey to Hogg, had self-taught the fundamental skills of bootlicking and running errands, and was currently wielding a kitchen knife to hack away at the dead cow.

As he casually sprinkled a handful of cumin, a group of heads stared at the dog-chef before them, their eyes filled with a longing for fine cuisine; the white-furred bear head was the most intense of all, with drool already dripping onto the deck.

"Hogg, is it roasted yet? I feel like it should be ready to eat!"

"Shut up. Who eats half-raw barbecue? Just squat there honestly; you'll get your share."

The cow was quite substantial, and even after Hogg and Rogal Dorn had gnawed through half of it like beasts, the remaining meat was enough for everyone present to share.

Looking at the meat skewers in their hands that emitted a peculiar fragrance, even Bruce Wayne, despite being the son of a powerful family, had never tasted anything so delicious. After all, in an agrarian society, cattle could not be slaughtered easily, and seasonings were never this abundant; the other guards had certainly never tasted such a thing.

Perhaps it was because these two animals had not harmed them, or perhaps they really were the so-called chosen of Emperor, but the crew did not panic at the appearance of Hogg and his companion, instead burying their heads into the skewers and eating ravenously.

"Mr. Dog, thank you very much for saving my life. May I ask your name? I, Bruce Wayne, am no ungrateful wretch; once I return to my homeland, there will surely be a generous reward."

"Hm? Didn't I just say? You can call me Hogg. If you want to address me as 'My Lord,'