System of the Beast Slayer [litrpg Adventure]
Copyright© 2025 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 4
That night, after Roy begged and pleaded, Old Mole and Susan finally agreed to let him apprentice with the butcher.
The couple, who had known the boy since he was born, were well aware of how much he’d changed in a single day. Ever since he woke, his manners and bearing were different: the quiet, shy child had become talkative, lively, more open.
But the worry and care woven through Roy’s words and expressions were genuine; that could not be faked. So the two simple parents took no offense, only heartfelt relief. They felt their child had survived something terrible and grown up all at once.
The next morning, many villagers in Kagen were surprised to see the burly, blunt butcher Grok with a thin apprentice at his side.
“Old Mole’s boy got hit by a horse, sure, but gone mad? With that soft temperament of his, how could he be here slaughtering livestock?” someone scoffed.
“What do you country folk know? After almost getting run down, a change is only natural. Still, I bet little Roy won’t last a week, butchering isn’t for everyone. And it pays well—why would Grok give him a break?”
No matter how the villagers gossiped, Roy threw himself into the work. After a day on the job he found the reality differed from his imagination.
When large animals like cows and sheep were brought in, Grok would first feed them a yellow powder to dull their nerves and spare them violent struggles at death.
The butcher said the village herbalist had given him those anesthetics.
After the animals were killed came the hardest part: breaking the carcass down. To cut meat properly, to separate bone from flesh without ruining the grain of the muscle, you had to know the anatomy of cows, sheep and pigs intimately.
Grok could not draw diagrams for Roy to memorize; his schooling would be by example, a cut shown and then another, with the boy following the motion.
Roy watched Grok calmly skin a cow, remove its innards, and slice through bone and muscle. The air was thick with the metallic reek of blood and the steam of hot, red flesh.
He doubled over, retching. The first cut hadn’t been too bad; the later butchering was the true test.
“Eh,” the butcher teased, “you didn’t flinch when I killed the cow yesterday, now you scared? This trade is filthy and exhausting, and I don’t say that for nothing. If it weren’t so, more people in the village would do it besides ignorant little Roy. I won’t give my work away cheap to outsiders. Let’s see if you’ve the grit and patience to take over my stall.”
Roy rallied from his dry heaves, head swimming and knees weak. Grok gave him no more rest.
“Bring the knife here, hold it like this, cut along here.”
“I told you to go up, where are you slicing?”
“You eaten enough or what?”
At the slightest hesitation, a torrent of curses met him.
He sighed inwardly: being a butcher’s apprentice meant not only enduring the yard’s grime and blood and the rough insults but also swinging a knife until his arm ached. His Constitution was under five; less than a typical adult’s, he tired faster.
The physical and mental strain made him feel faint.
“What did I expect? I brought this on myself, choosing to be a butcher’s apprentice.”
Even as he complained inside, Roy performed the tasks meticulously; he could judge priorities.
More important, every beast he helped kill meant one more chance to snatch the final, fatal blow—and collect XP.
“Under this roof, I get training, XP, and meat to eat. Perfect ... who am I to complain?” he muttered.
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