—Great master of meat-bug catching, finest food connoisseur among kobolds, most outstanding spirit-fur herder in the world, incomparably wise Lord Ruger, I look forward to the day we meet again. That day will come, won't it?—He made me write this. To do so, I learned the Cavern World common tongue. He is the wisest human I have ever seen. He draws me to him like light. I keep our promise and wait here for his arrival. Following his instructions, I write down these words whose meaning I do not understand.
Mahama's muffled voice, his mouth sealed with hide.
The two-headed Demon’s endless chatter.
The distant slaughter—the chorus of simultaneous screams and cries of pain as countless beings died.
And the faint breeze brushing over the crest of the dirt slope, raising dust and the whisper of windblown sand.
The incomplete writing blurred even further beneath the breeze's caress.
Ruger could only stare blankly.
Everything was so bizarre, so far beyond expectation.
What was this? A joke the Succubus lord was playing on him? Or greetings from a thousand years ago?
What did "great master of meat-bug catching" mean? It was something he had joked about when he had filled his stomach in the kobold cave. He still remembered the beast-fang staff slung over his shoulder—the stick he had loved most.
He had only used that nickname-like self-mockery twice during that period, boasting about his hunting ability to put Aisijin at ease.
Even Big Silly Hum did not know that title.
Great master of meat-bug catching!
A title that only a child might come up with while playing gave Ruger an immense shock. Anyone who knew of it had to have been someone very close to him—at the very least, someone who knew him or Aisijin would have had the slightest