A Gamer's Guide 214 (Patreon)

“...These are the fattest rats I’ve ever seen, but I’m not sure if—”

“But they’re smaller than a dog, aren’t they?”

Fr. Moonlight’s face crumples up slightly. “Of course, but that requirement is mainly an upper limit, not…”

“Aw, come on, Father!” Goss mewls, pushing his face closer to the two of us. “Don’t you know those cost him an arm and a leg?”

I move to high-five Goss for completing the joke we agreed to do earlier, however, since I’m no longer holding onto Goss’ wing, I plummet to the ground face-first, unable to catch myself with my single arm. Before I have time to groan about my predicament, Fr. Moonlight grabs my shoulders and pulls me to my one foot. “Are you alright, son?”

Something tightens in my chest. “Y—yeah, I’m okay.”

The worried look on his face reminds me of someone I’d rather not think about right now. “Look, Kitty, these rats are sure to be a delight for the whelps, and I will gladly accept them, but only on the condition that you don’t do this again.”

“What? No more rats?” I ask incredulously, wobbling on my one leg, my one hand clutching onto Fr. Moonlight’s arms with a little more desperation than I’d like it to. “Rats are the bread and butter of any child—erm, whelp’s diet. If you’re worried about the possibility of disease, I can assure you that I produce only the finest quality rats, organic and certified non-plagued, so there’s really—”

“Didn’t it hurt?”

My jaw clamps shut. I can feel the sweat beading on my face. “I, erm, hehe…” I want to wipe at my forehead, but I only have one hand, and that hand is currently clasping a certain man’s robe. “Only a little, so…”

He pats my arm. “I will accept them, but please, don’t hurt yourself like this again.”

Even though I know that this would be a good time to celebrate, I can’t bring myself to. “...Okay,” I mumble. “I won’t.”

Still holding onto me, he turns to look at the close to forty rats I used a literal arm and leg to summon, all piled on top of a repurposed cloak, their necks severed. His frown deepens. “However, the feast will be in only a quarter of an hour, so I doubt I’ll be able to skin them in time…”

I’m not sure why they want the rats skinned, but… “If that’s a problem, I would gladly help out?”

He blinks at me in what seems to be genuine surprise. “You would?”

I almost want to shoot back a simple ‘why wouldn’t I?’ but in the end, I’m able to stifle it by merely nodding instead.

He smiles and squeezes my arm. “I will gladly accept your help, then. Goss, will you help the others in preparing the dining room?”

“Okay, Father!” Goss says chipperly, clearly excited to get to partake in a feast wherein his contribution amounts to almost twenty rats. A respectable number, if you ask me. Before he leaves, though, he gives me a little look. “You’ll be okay, right, Kitty?”

“If someone dies while we’re skinning rats, I doubt it’ll be me,” I say with a confident smile.

Convinced, Goss smiles and bounds off down the hallway we arrived through. I turn to Fr. Moonlight. Without needing to say anything, he takes my side, placing my one arm over his shoulder to help me walk. However, with me on his shoulder, he has a brief moment of internal conflict as he glances between the pile of rats, me, and the small, goblin-sized hallway ahead of us. I smile at him. “If you help me over to that pile, I’ll show you some human magic.”

Not questioning it, he brings me over, and with only a few movements, I will the entire bundle of rats into my inventory, where they belong. Fr. Moonlight whistles at the sight. “Impressive magic, indeed.”

I puff my chest out to gloat, only to realize that bragging about something that every single human challenger can do is kind of dumb. I deflate a little. Trying to keep my spirits up, I quickly add, “Not as impressive as my rat-skinning skills, I can promise you that.”

“I trust you,” Fr. Moonlight says. I pause in my tracks, shooting him an uncertain look.

…He didn’t even hesitate. Something deep inside me wants to cackle and call him foolish for trusting someone like me, to assert that even with only one arm and leg, I can still make it quick. Another part, even deeper, wants to sigh and pity him for falling for my ruse.

But I don’t do any of that. Because, above all of that, there’s a softer, gentler realization; one that brings a smile to my face. “Thank you,” I mutter at him, understanding that I’m in the presence of a truly kind person.

Although it takes a while, he’s eventually able to bring me to what is more of a workshop than a kitchen, complete with tanning racks and instruments that assist in skinning and cutting. If anyone else had led me in here—save for Moleman—I would have assumed I was about to get skinned. Instead, I look around the place with curiosity, absently wondering if he might let me use any of the tools.

As he leads me to the center of the room, furnished with a large workbench made of… obsidian, I think. Either way, he motions for me to join him at his side, which I do. He nods at the workbench. Understanding his signs, I summon the rat horde. The sight of it makes him sigh, which is understandable. While I’m still thinking about the most effective ways to skin rats, Fr. Moonlight wanders over to a small closet, from whence he pulls a pair of leather aprons and a pair of matching obsidian knives. “Here you are,” he mutters warmly as he stands on his tippy-toes to thread the loop of the leather apron over my head. “We’re a bit tight on time, but that’s no reason to ignore safety.”

He almost hands me a pair of leather gloves alongside the knife, but by then, I’ve finally been able to pull myself out of my mild reverie to refuse, saying, “Ah, uh, no thank you, I’ve got my own,” and presenting my hands. He takes the hint well, but I can see the slight disappointment in his eyes.

We position ourselves on opposite sides of the workbench and grab a rat each. I start skinning it without really having to pay attention, my wandering mind eventually falling on Fr. Moonlight. I watch him feebly try to skin the tail. It might not be my place to tell an actual adult like him, but… I hold up the tail. “Here,” I say, grabbing his attention, “you don’t have to skin the tail, it’s got too little meat on it. Just cut here, and here, and the tail comes off easily. And then with the smaller legs, there’s this trick I found…” As I talk, I feel a RED heat come to my ears. He isn’t saying anything and I’m blabbering about skinning rats of all things. This guy has a whole-ass tannery! The last thing he needs is some human runt to strut in and try to tell him how to do his job. I must sound like such an arrogant prick right now—

“Like this?” he asks, his knife deftly severing the tendon I mentioned.

I blink at him. “Y—yeah,” I say. “Like that.”

We keep skinning rats. Sometimes, I tell him a little trick, and he thanks me, and implements it without fighting it in the least. After a few times, I started waiting for the other shoe to drop. At some point he’d have to hit back, right? Tell me that I was horrible at this and that it was unhygienic to use my bare hands and whatnot. But he never did. Eventually, I got desperate enough to try to strike up a conversation. “So, um… What are you using these skins for, anyways? The dragons don’t wear it, and…” I look down at the finely crafted apron he put on me. “And why do you have two of these? Is there some other goblin living here or something?”

“No, there’s only me,” Fr. Moonlight says casually as he slits the skin across a plump rat’s back. “Goblins are brought here occasionally, but they aren’t exactly guests. And among formers, there’s only myself.”

“Former?” I ask, pulling the skin off a rat in a single piece, tossing the rat into the rat pile and the skin into the skin pile.

His wings rustle slightly and he looks up at me in innocent amusement. “A former dragon, that is.”

“...You used to be a dragon?” Bullshit.

“Long ago, at least,” Fr. Moonlight says. “But I got better. After the last dragon priest retired, I took his place. Since then, we’ve had two new formers, though both are still on their maiden journeys as of over ten years back. Whether they choose to return here and join me as dragon priests is up to them. In the meantime, I can only hope that one of the current dragons that live here might get better, too.”

I can’t tell if he’s happy or sad. All I can do is look down at my apron again, overcome with the feeling that this is like a mother sitting day in and day out, sewing baby clothes for a child that may never arrive, the little caps and tiny socks building up in one big pile of unsaid tragedy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I mumble.

“Thank you,” he says softly. He carefully places his latest rat in the pile, putting the skin in the skin pile with equal care. “As for the leather, tanning and such… It’s mostly a way for me to keep things running. Once a month or so, I bring down the pelts and whatever I’ve sewn to a nearby town and sell them to a merchant whose family has been doing business with our parish for generations. I save the money for things needing repairs, as well as funds for any new formers.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” I ask, beginning on a new rat. “I mean… Everyone else here is a dragon. Assuming they are anything like I’ve heard, your presence here is nothing short of a miracle.”

He chuckles warmly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be. She… The Goddess of Dragons saved my life. To be able to repay Her by helping Her unfortunate children is the greatest joy I could ever imagine.” If he hadn’t said it with such reverence, I’d almost want to jeer at him. But there isn’t any hidden bitterness to his words. He isn’t pretending or willfully deluding himself into thinking that everything’s okay. He’s like Moleman, in that way. This is what he truly feels, and as such, I can’t find any reason to laugh at him. In fact, such a strong belief makes him nothing less than admirable.

Nodding, I toss my latest rat into the pile, moving to grab another one only to find the rat pile emptied. What in the—

“Done already?” Fr. Moonlight remarks happily, turning to me with a big smile. “You must be the fastest rat-skinner I’ve ever seen!”

“Thank you,” I say, at first out of habit, but then with actual weight. “Thank you.”

“So,” he says, looking at the pile of skinned rats. “Are you ready for a glorious feast?”

I can feel myself drool.

Oh boy am I.