Before he knew it, dusk had fallen outside.
Ruger ate dinner somewhat awkwardly, while glancing from the corner of his eye at the falling object on the horizon. He wondered whether anyone over there was having dinner too—a final meal that might be shared with the world. He wondered what kind of food they had there, what kinds of cooking methods they used.
When the first spoonful of soup entered his mouth, Ruger's brow twitched slightly, then he continued eating.
During his earliest days here, he would occasionally wander through the city with Mahama in search of an edible dinner. From the grilled meat rings he tasted first in this meal, to the minced redfish sauce, to this soup stewed with nameless little black balls, several of the other dishes looked familiar as well. Mahama had probably gone to three different shops to bring back all this food.
Such a troublesome undertaking was clearly deliberate. Ruger knew that both he and Mahama were the sort who disliked trouble and did not excessively pursue certain things in life.
Ruger could already imagine that the driving force behind Big Guy doing this was that stubborn, tangled streak of his.
Though he was not a picky person, tasty food still made people happy.
Ruger ate in large mouthfuls.
He felt that he had basically recovered; his limbs were growing more and more nimble.
"Sir Mahama, when do you plan to advance to Wizard?"
Ruger looked at the last meat ring on the plate and casually spoke as he raised his fork.
Sure enough, the question made Mahama pause. Big Guy, holding his utensils, revealed a contemplative expression.
"An old Wizard once told me that excessively pursuing the limit is not a good choice." Ruger smiled as he moved the meat ring onto his