"Damn it, that bastard in charge of buying the kids even dared to skim money off this?!"
By nightfall, only six children had made it out, two of them with broken limbs who had crawled out on sheer willpower. The bald man Bill was furious. They had been promised carefully selected, high‑quality stock—and this was it?
The only explanation was that the funds had been embezzled by the logistics officer in charge of purchasing the children. Of course, embezzlement in the current rotten empire was nothing unusual. High officials and nobles enjoyed the "respect" squeezed out of lesser officials.
In this empire where corruption was the rule, you could not get ahead on ability alone. You needed money to pay your superiors.
Likewise, if you wanted a good life, the clearest road was to squeeze money out of commoners—skimming off public funds, taking bribes on every "official" matter.
And it was precisely because of this that the empire had become a dying beast. Rebellions were breaking out everywhere, with discontented elements fanning the flames in hopes of toppling it.
In this situation, the intelligence agency planned to form an assassination unit to suppress unrest and kill the ambitious traitors hiding in the shadows.
Yet even the process of selecting children for this unit was tainted by internal corruption. How could Bill, who was in charge of it, not be enraged?
"At this rate, those bastards will sell the rope they're going to be hanged with to the empire's enemies."
"Sir Bill, someone already did. Not just the rope—they sold weapons and armor too. Remember that guy who was caught selling army supplies recently? We hung him in Carter City's square."
His adjutant reminded him. Bill's face froze, then he glared at the man before snapping:
"Bring me the communicator. I'm going to make logistics cut off the head of whoever dared pocket funds from the intelligence agency."
The adjutant quickly produced the device. Bill dialed. Out on the forest's edge, the imperial officer who answered blanched and went straight to a tent.
Inside, the young officer who had beheaded the boy earlier was thrusting into a girl whose eyes were completely empty. Seeing his superior enter, he even invited him to join.
A shot cracked. A bullet hole appeared in his forehead.
"Raid his house. Anyone who dares skim from the intelligence agency deserves to die."
The imperial officer growled, then casually shot the girl under the corpse as well.
What really happened did not matter. What mattered was that the child drop had gone badly.
Someone had to step up and take the fall for Sir Bill's anger.
It could not be the commanding officer. And he could not bear to sacrifice one of his own close men.
Fortunately, a fellow from a fallen noble house had just joined up. The man was good at currying favor and very deferential—but there was no helping it.
The officer could only hope that the ruined noble's family still had enough scraps to be looted to help soothe Sir Bill's temper.
…
"So, these six kids—do you want them?"
Back at the forest's center, after venting his rage and calming down, Bill turned to Gozzi.
"You didn't bring me on as instructor so I could train trash, did you?"
Gozzi shot back. He had already looked at the children who'd made it out. The two maimed ones aside, the remaining four did not seem especially suited to assassination. Better than ordinary folk, sure, but he was here to train elites.
"Then we'll have to wait for the next batch to be brought in."
"How long?"
"Ten days at least. Maybe half a month."
"And we're just going to sit around in this forest until then?"
"The woods are worse at night. If we're heading back, we should wait and take flight‑capable danger beasts tomorrow."
"Fine."
Gozzi looked sour, but there was nothing he could do.
"Hey, you lot, spread that mixed danger beast blood around the perimeter. I don't want to wake up at night to a danger beast raiding our camp."
All around the clearing, soldiers splashed a cocktail of different danger beast blood. The mixed scent was enough to make even highly intelligent danger beasts wary and keep them from coming near.
To them, such a smell meant only one thing: in this area, there might be one—or several—top omnivorous predators.
…
For example: in the southwest of Gifnora Seatre Forest, an energy blast had cleared a patch of land near a river. There, a pile of danger beast carcasses lay stacked up as "ingredients," and the thick, complex smell of their blood was enough to keep most nocturnal danger beasts from getting close.
Of course, there were always a few dumb or bold ones who came for a bite—and ended up joining the pile.
"Cut the meat down into chunks. It'll cook faster."
Broly had gathered more than seventy kids. Once they reached the improvised safe spot he had created, they quickly set to work processing the meat.
Some collected branches, some built fires, some cut up meat, some foraged for wild greens. A few even picked mushrooms.
The logistics officer responsible for buying this batch of children had not embezzled. These kids, thrown in here for a forced assassin pre‑selection, each had some skill.
"Big Brother Broly, your meat."
A boy named Naha Shu finished roasting a skewer of lizard meat. Though his stomach was growling, he did not eat it himself. Instead, he brought the spit to Broly and offered it up.
During his time as a street orphan, Naha Shu had sometimes banded together with other children for survival. Those groups were no different from wolf packs: the leader always took the first bite of meat to prove his right to lead.
He had not understood this at first, but a brutal beating had taught him.
Broly had never claimed to be their boss, but the rescued children had all naturally made the powerful boy who could casually kill danger beasts the backbone of their impromptu pack.
"You're a good person."
Surprised by the unsolicited food, Broly did not refuse it. He handed over a "good person card" and took the skewer without ceremony.
Once Naha Shu set the example, the others seemed to gain some awareness. They lined up, each bringing what they had cooked.
"This is giant buck meat."
"This is double‑headed snake tail."
"This is my wild‑green swamp crab soup."
"This is a mud‑baked bear paw I tried to make."
"These are mushrooms I picked. They're so colorful—they must be tasty."
…
One of the items was a problem.
"Idiot, those are poisonous. Don't hand Big Bro weird stuff!"
A girl named Pony flung the mushroom skewer away.
"My mushrooms!"
The girl watched her prize arc into the river, her face saying clearly: If Big Bro won't eat them, I'd have eaten them myself.
Her resistance to poison was notably high, likely because she had spent her childhood nibbling on random fungi and somehow hadn't died.
"You're all good people!"
Broly had not expected so many decent folk in this world. One after another came offering him food.
Most of it was meat from beasts he had hunted—but once someone else had cooked it, it no longer belonged to him.
He had promised those who helped carry his spoils that he would share the food, so by right it was theirs. Yet they were choosing to give their portions to him.
Broly was moved. Even though only Akame and Kurome were recognized by the Crystal Palace as conquerable wives, he now wanted to treat this whole crowd that kept feeding him as his "external‑slot wives" in this world.
"Where I'm from, handing over the first bite of food is how you swear loyalty to a big brother. After that, he covers you. Anyone who hasn't sworn to another boss can't fight us for scraps behind the restaurants."
"Oh… so that's why I always lost when I tried to grab leftovers in the city."
One kid who'd always wandered alone showed sudden enlightenment.
"What about you, Losan? Did you have a big brother before?"
"Of course. Otherwise, how would I be this well‑fed?"
The boy who'd brought up the big‑brother rule lifted his shirt, revealing a still‑scrawny belly.
Compared to the other children, he was practically chubby.
"So where's your old big brother now?"
"Dead."
"Eh?"
"We were messing around in the city once and my boss bumped into a passing noble. The noble's guard whipped him to death.
"After he died, we couldn't win fights over scraps anymore, so I sold myself to the slavers. I wanted at least a full stomach, but ended up being brought here as food for danger beasts."
The little "fatty" spoke with a bitter face. He did have great physical strength—the mud‑baked bear paw he had given Broly had come from the animal that he, as main carrier, had lugged here after Broly killed it.
"But now I've got a new big brother. One look at Big Bro Broly and you can tell he's strong. He kills danger beasts like it's nothing.
"I bet even those nobles in the city couldn't kill him easily. If I stick with him, I'll never go hungry again."
Losan stared at Broly by the fire with shining eyes, clearly ready to follow this "good big brother" for life. The kids around him joined in, declaring that they too would follow the boss who could feed them.
Chewing their meat, the children swapped stories with their peers, sharing tales of their hard lives. As they came to understand one another, their recognition of the "big brother" they had just pledged to soared.
Part of it was gratitude for being saved. Part of it was the simple fact that he had given them real meat.
They had offered food to Broly—but Broly had fed them as well.
__________
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