In contrast, the villagers’ faces had turned as white as chalk. Basically, these two seemed to have come to the village to spread the benefits of monster meat consumption. In fact, the villagers had the sneaking suspicion they would be forced to eat monster meat whether they chose to or not, but—worse still—they didn’t have any other food anyway, so they had no choice but to eat it of their own volition.
“Um, excuse me,” one of the villagers said, summoning the courage to speak. “We can’t defeat monsters ourselves, so it will be difficult for us to get their meat…”
This was their only means of resistance. In a roundabout way, they were implying, “Unlike you battle-hungry meatheads, we’re ordinary people.”
“No problem!” Ogma replied. “My subordinates are hunting monsters for you as we speak. A huge amount of meat should be arriving here shortly.” Just like that, he shattered that particular villager’s resistance.
“But still, you all may be hunting monsters now, but what are we supposed to do after you leave?” the villager asked, continuing his last-ditch effort to protest. His expression plainly stated that he would have done anything to avoid eating that vile stuff.
“That’ll be no problem either! Eating monsters will make you stronger! Just like me!” Ogma flexed both arms, showing off his biceps. His strength was something that any man would admire, and any woman would be captivated by. “If you eat monsters, you’ll be able to defeat them easily. After all, their meat is a perfect food, bestowed upon us by God!”
“That’s right,” Maria said, emphasizing the merits of monster meat as if to rub salt in the wound. “And don’t forget, you can get a large amount of meat from a single monster, so it’s good value. Your food shortage will be over before you know it.”
The pair’s enthusiasm eventually proved infectious, and the villagers started to wonder if maybe trying a bit of monster meat couldn’t hurt—a feeling reinforced by their desperately empty stomachs.
And that was when a group of Farunian warriors arrived, carrying a large quantity of monster meat with them. Most of the haul came from Morats, monsters that were like mice, only bigger. Morats were at the same level as Killer Rabbits in terms of strength, and their meat was not very poisonous.
Ogma and the others started a fire right away. With practiced movements, they skinned the monsters, drained their blood, then skewered their meat on the ends of pointed sticks before meticulously roasting them over the fire. If it had been ordinary meat, a savory smell would have begun to waft through the air, but the monster meat gave off an unpleasant beastly stench.
After making sure the meat was cooked, Ogma sprinkled some seasoning on it, then turned to a young, healthy-looking villager and held it out to him, saying, “Eat up.” As number one in the Hundred, Ogma was quite intimidating, and it was impossible for the villager to refuse. He did as he was told and took the meat, then met Ogma’s gaze. The man’s deep blue eyes plainly said, “Eat it, or I’ll kill you.”
Steeling himself, the young man decisively bit into the meat. It was awful—but, perhaps because it was cooked, or maybe because the spices were masking its flavor, it was just barely not inedible.
“How is it? Can you eat it?” Ogma peered at the young man.
The villager barely managed to swallow. “Yes, somehow,” he said. Spurred on by Ogma’s coercion and the greatest spice in the world—hunger—he had accomplished an impressive feat.
“Did you see that!” Ogma called out to the villagers. “We’ve just proven that monster meat is safe to eat! There’s plenty here, so have as much as you want. But not too much. Because then you’ll die.” It was hard to tell if he was recommending monster meat or issuing a warning about it.
“Don’t worry, I’ll heal you if necessary,” Maria said. It was unclear if she was being reassuring or further exacerbating the villagers’ unease.
The villagers exchanged looks. It was written all over their faces that, no matter how hungry they may have been, they would rather not have eaten any monster meat, so as to preserve their dignity as human beings. But then, when they scanned their surroundings in search of an escape, they discovered something: without even realizing it, they had been encircled by the same muscular Farunian warriors who had brought the meat. Now, the men were staring at the villagers, patting their unsheathed blades.
Beginning with the mayor, the villagers’ shoulders drooped, and they silently formed a line in front of the cooked monster meat, resembling nothing so much as a row of livestock proceeding to the slaughterhouse.