Four hours ago.

Atlas’ ‘temporary’ office tent.

“Your Highness,” called Butler Rohm as he entered Atlas’ tent.

Atlas let out a sigh before putting down the inked quill in his hand and raising his head to look at the emotionless creep, “Why are you here again? Didn’t I just send you away?”

“You sent me away at noon, your highness,” Butler Rohm corrected him. “It’s nighttime now.”

“Jesus Chr–” Atlas hurriedly caught himself, “It’s nighttime already?”

“It is.” Butler Rohm nodded his head. He seemed to have heard the prince say something else at the start but couldn’t catch it in time. He would’ve questioned the boy about it given any other time, however, he had come bearing duty.

“A messenger has arrived. He’s waiting to meet you, your highness,” informed Butler Rohm.

“From the Baron?” asked Atlas.

“From the Baron,” confirmed the butler, before going away to bring the messenger.

“And he didn’t even wait for me to permiss,” Atlas mumbled to himself while putting away the writing tools scattered on the table. “I swear. That as*hole is growing audacious by the hour.”

“We’re entering, your highness,” Butler Rohm quickly returned and announced his presence. The flap to the tent opened once again and entered two adults; Butler Rohm and…

‘Oh, hey, it’s one of the scout guys from Scout Team #2.’ Atlas was sure that he could recall this person’s name if he tried to. However, he wasn’t going to make an effort. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Milord!” The man exclaimed and bowed. Atlas simply nodded his head in reply before asking, “How’s the situation in the mines?”

“It’s… dire, milord,” replied the scout. He then began reporting to the prince. Of course, Butler Rohm was also present in the tent.

Atlas quietly listened to the man's long-winded report that was jam-packed with emotion but had little information.

His hands remained on the table, clasped, tightening and loosening as the narrative required them to be. His face was the same, switching between righteous anger and sincere pity as and when required. It was a splendid performance.

The man narrated for almost ten minutes before finally coming to a stop. Butler Rhom stood against the tent’s wall, expressionless and unfeeling as ever. Even after hearing about the deaths of the valiant miners, he remained unmoved.

Atlas, on the other hand, had his eyes closed and hands covering his face. His upper body leaned slightly into the table, while his shoulders trembled and quivered. Looking from the outside, he seemed to be hiding his face and crying quietly. At least, that’s how he looked to the butler and the scout.

In reality, however, the little prince was massaging his facial muscles. ‘Phew. Managing all those expressions and micro-expressions sure is tiring.’ The trembles and quivers of his shoulder were the results of him discreetly moving his palms during the massage.

Peeking at the depressed-looking, mourning scout from the little gap between his fingers, Atlas remarked, ‘This guy sure can speak nonsense, huh? The number of superfluous words and unnecessary/unneeded info that he added in that ten-minute report of his was simply mind-boggling. Hell, his talent for bullsh*t might rival my own.’ That last line was obviously an exaggeration.

‘Let’s see, removing all the unnecessary stuff, his report can be boiled down into three whole points.’

‘First. Twenty-five (25) miners banded together and fought the wolves. Seven survived, and eighteen (18) died. The survivors have varying degrees of injuries each more severe than the last. It would be difficult for them to survive.’

‘Second. The pack of wolves that attacked the miners numbered thirty-four (34). All of them are now dead. There was a mutated variant amongst the wolves, whatever that means, which is believed to have led the attacks. Baron Helm personally took care of that one. Mutated wolf? Now that sounds interesting. I sure hope its corpse is relatively intact. I would love to sneak a peek at it.’

‘Third. Sixty-five miners are now trapped inside the mines whose entrance has collapsed. Was the collapse intentional or accidental? It is unknown, however, my money’s on the former. Baron Helm is now staying back with the rest of the rescue party, attempting to dig them out. It is unknown how long this effort will take them.’

This was the actual information contained in the scout guy’s report.

‘Let's start off the top. Eighteen deaths. That’s waa~aay over my initial estimation.’ From the second he heard about the wolf attack, Atlas wasn’t expecting the event to be casualty-free. Hearing the actual number of casualties now, he inhaled sharply. ‘What a pity. What a pity.’ He shook his head.

“For my first order. Butler Rohm,” Atlas called.

“Yes, your highness?” asked the man.

“You are to immediately set out to the emergency camp set up by the rescue party. You will then try your fullest to save the lives of the seven men on death’s edge. Understood?”

“Understood, your highness,” The butler complied with the prince’s wishes.

“Great. You can relieve Baron Helm of his duty there and send him back here,” Atlas added. Butler Rohm stiffened at that addition. He then discreetly raised his head and shot a vengeful glare aimed at the prince.

Atlas, of course, acted like he felt nothing.

‘Now, the matter of the wolf corpses. What should I do with them? Throwing them away would be a waste. Burn them in a community pit as a recompense for the dead? That is also a shameful waste. What should I do…’ As Atlas searched his head for a solution, inspiration struck him. ‘That’s it! I can do that!’

“For my second order; all wolf corpses are to be stripped of their fur and meat, and their bones to be separated. The fur shall be used to make garments to award the families of those valiant warriors that have passed. The bones are to be buried with their slayers, as a trophy of their achievements. As for their meats...,” Atlas paused, his eyes gazing piercingly at the scout before him. “The meat is to be used as rations.”

“Milord!” The scout exclaimed, horrified. “Bu-But!” He stammered, unable to put his thoughts and emotions into words.

To eat the beasts that had killed their men? What kind of sick madness was this?

“You’re asking me how can we eat the beasts that have murdered our people, are you not?” Atlas didn’t even have to read the other man in order to guess his thoughts.

The scout frantically nodded his head.

Atlas turned to face Butler Rohm and asked, “Tell me, Butler Rohm. Have you heard of the ‘Beast Eating Festival’ of the Morrans?” [Morrans are the people of Morros, a neighbor of the Constantine Kingdom.]

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the opportunity to learn about it, your highness,” Butler Rohm honestly replied. Inwardly, he was confused at the prince’s sudden shift in topic and wondered how this was relevant to their discussion.

“I see,” Atlas lowered his head in a thoughtful ponder. He coughed lightly before lifting his head and saying, “Allow me to explain then.”

“The Beast Eating Festival is an annual celebration within the country of Morros. It is a very important festival that is celebrated every year without fail and is held at the beginning of the months of Tema.”

Much like his previous world, this world’s calendar was also split into twelve months. However, unlike in his previous world, each month did not have its own respective name but was instead paired with the subsequent month and is collectively named after one of the six Central Gods. (Agni, Voda, Ilma, Erd, Aotrom, and Tema)

The months of Tema, for example, refer to two months at the end of each calendar cycle. (November and December, in other words) [AN: The order of the Gods is not synonymous with the order of the months.]

As for why it’s named as such… Well, according to the Shadow Monarch with whom Atlas had shared a conversation at the beginning of his transmigration journey, it had something to do with the world’s creation and the birth of the Gods. However, the Shadow Monarch himself wasn’t well versed on this topic since the study of history and popular myths wasn’t exactly a hobby of his

The calendar, however, was general knowledge amongst the world’s populace.

“As the name suggests, during this festival, the Morran warriors venture into the Brooding Dark Forest that borders their domain and hunt the foul beasts and monsters that plague its lands. They gather these creatures, dead or alive, bring them back to their cities and towns, offer a prayer to the Gods that grace the heavens, and then proceed to eat the creatures in their name!” Atlas narrated with gravitas.

“Why do you think they eat those foul beasts and vile monsters that kill their friends and families, their brothers and sisters, their fathers and mothers daily? Wouldn’t it be more correct to spit on their corpses or burn them at a stake?” Atlas paused for a moment, his face prompting for an answer. However, he immediately assumed a stony look and declared, “Wrong! For you see, according to the Morrans, there is no greater insult to their enemies –the beasts and monsters– than to consume their [enemy's] flesh and enrich their [Morrans] own warriors!”

“To consume their flesh is considered a form of justice, an avengement, a righteous retribution against the wicked and the foul! It is the ultimate insult that any man could bestow upon a beast!” Atlas bellowed. He then quietened, spending a moment to catch his breath.

Looking into the eyes of the breathless scout, Atlas asked, “Tell me, do you not want those beasts to suffer the ultimate punishment? Do you not want them to pay, even in death, for what they have done to our men? Do you not!?”

“I do!” The scout exclaimed with righteous injustice. His eyes were aflame with the fires of justice.

“Then let it be known! WE SHALL EAT THAT MEAT!!”