As Elman recounted his sorrowful tale, the surrounding villagers were also overcome with grief.
Of the hundred or so people in the entire village, only these twenty-odd remained. All their loved ones had died under the Count's blade.
Just as the atmosphere sank into sorrow, Itamar's voice rang out, growing closer.
"Chicken soup's here!" Itamar called out, carrying a large, steaming iron pot as he walked toward the group.
Yet even after he placed the iron pot on the floor, no one approached.
This was a stark contrast to how things usually were.
"Why isn't anyone eating? We've still got a few meals in us, don't we? Didn't we agree to have a little fun before we die? Why is everyone so down now?" Itamar asked, looking at the surrounding villagers in confusion.
"Are there still chickens in this village?" Eric asked, surprised.
