The Moonlight Tavern was always quiet before dawn. No figures moved across the stone plaza. Only the cold wind blowing down from the Kammer Mountains stirred the night of Cresbell. The moon tilted westward, casting thin threads of light across the tavern's window frame. That silence shattered with a sound: *gari gari gari gari*. Eisenberg Haruna's eyes opened thirty seconds after the noise began. Golden irises gleamed in the darkness. The ornamental metalwork of the prosthetic arm attached to her left side reflected moonlight in a dull glimmer. *(…The pantry.)* She identified the direction instantly. The body's reflexes of a former platinum-rank adventurer—once among the finest on the Velde Continent—hadn't completely faded even after eight years away. Without bothering about her silver hair spilling from her shoulders, Haruna rose in her nightclothes. Down the stairs. Through the corridor. At the pantry door, the source of the sound became clear. *Gari gari. Gasha gasha. Chit chit chit chit.* *(Demon rats.)* A low-rank magical beast species living around Cresbell, alongside horned rabbits and mud wolves. Three times the size of ordinary rats, their sharp front teeth could gnaw through wood. Pantry intrusions weren't rare, but this many sounds meant— Haruna cracked the door open and peered through the gap. Red eyes glowed in the darkness. Not just one. Two, four, ten, twenty—black shadows swarmed across the vegetable boxes stacked along the wall. Carrots rolled across the floor. Onions were trampled flat. The bundle of herbs Mina had delivered just days ago was being torn apart by three rats working in tandem. Haruna quietly closed the door. The Adventurer's Guild—formally, the Lantern of Pilgrimage, Cresbell Branch—wouldn't open for another hour and a half. No extermination services existed in Cresbell. The damage was already in progress. There was only one choice. "Regel," Haruna called quietly toward the second floor. No answer. "Regel," she called again, a bit louder. Her voice echoed down the corridor. Still nothing. Instead, a drowsy breathing-like presence drifted down from upstairs. "…Regel," she tried once more, tapping lightly on the door. Silence. Haruna waited a moment. With her prosthetic hand's fingertips, she tapped a steady rhythm against the corridor wall. "Regel!" she called, her voice three times louder than usual. A *thud* sounded from above. Then a dragging noise. A dull *thunk*. Irregular footsteps descended—and Regel came sliding down the last three stairs wrapped entirely in a blanket. *Dosun.* "…uh," came a voice from within the blanket. He landed on the floor in that state, black short hair disheveled, deep brown eyes barely half-open. Burn scars on his left hand peeked from the blanket's edge. It was impossible to tell if he was awake or asleep as he slowly pushed himself upright. Haruna gestured toward the pantry door with her chin. Regel shuffled to his feet, walked to the door, and peered through the gap. Seven seconds passed without movement. He stared into the darkness where red eyes glowed, his sleepy gaze fixed and steady. The *gari gari* sound continued. Another carrot rolled. "…Rats, I see," Regel said. "Yes," Haruna replied. "Quite a lot of them," Regel observed. "Yes," Haruna confirmed. "Is there an exterminator?" Regel asked. "No," Haruna answered. "When does the Lantern open?" Regel continued. "In an hour and a half," Haruna said. Three exchanges of confirmation completed in the quiet corridor. Regel set the blanket on the floor. He patted down his bedhead hair haphazardly, untied an apron from a wall hook, and wrapped it around his waist. Without a word, he headed toward the kitchen. "Wait—" Haruna started to say. But Regel was already at the shelves. His left hand took a wok-style frying pan. His right hand grabbed a bamboo cooking spatula. The words "What exactly do you plan to do with that?" were about to leave Haruna's mouth. They didn't make it. Regel opened the pantry door, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. Haruna remained in the corridor. *Dota dota.* *Baki!* "—It went that way," Regel's voice came from inside. *Gya gya gya gya!* "No it didn't," Regel said. *Doshin batan!* "…Actually, it did," Regel admitted. *Gasha-aaaan!!* "No, wait, it didn't," Regel corrected himself. For three minutes, sounds of chaos, one-sided conversation, and Regel's occasional muttering leaked from the pantry. Haruna stood with her back against the corridor wall, arms crossed, listening quietly. The joints of her prosthetic hand creaked faintly. Her golden eyes traced the wood grain of the door. Then the sounds stopped abruptly. The door opened. Regel emerged with the frying pan tucked under his arm. His hair was even more disheveled. The apron bore mud-like stains. His expression remained peaceful, still drowsy. The pantry door hung open behind him, revealing its contents. Forty-seven demon rats lay on their backs, every single one. Regel didn't seem particularly concerned. He picked up a carrot from the floor, examined the bite marks, and measured the usable portion with his fingers. Haruna stared into the pantry for a while. At the mountain of upturned bodies. "…Three minutes," she said. "About three minutes, yes," Regel replied. "With a frying pan," Haruna said. "And a spatula," Regel added. Silence fell. The corridor's air seemed to solidify slightly. Haruna's mouth moved just barely—perhaps searching for words that wouldn't come. "…Let's clean up," Haruna said. "We should check the damage too," Regel agreed. They entered the pantry together. The quiet damage assessment of early morning began. --- The pantry's devastation was stark and countable. A third of the carrots had been gnawed. If only the outer layer was damaged, they could be washed and used. The onions were trampled, leaking moisture, but their insides would survive if the outer skin was peeled away. The real problem was the herb bundle Mina had delivered three days ago. Regel picked up each bundle one by one, bringing his nose close. The thyme was half scattered and unusable. The rosemary was trampled, its stems broken. But the night-mist grass bundle, sitting on the shelf's deepest corner, remained almost untouched. *(The rats avoided it by smell, perhaps.)* Regel confirmed the night-mist grass and returned it to the shelf. As he sorted through the damaged goods, setting aside what could be used, he sniffed, checked, and made instant decisions. The herb restocking could be handled at the morning market. Today's supply of onions and carrots would suffice. Three eggs were trampled and broken—that was the only pure loss. "About sixty percent is usable," Regel said. Haruna, organizing boxes with her left arm alone, glanced sideways at him. The damage assessment had taken less than three minutes. No explanations. No laments. Just confirmation and instant judgment. Haruna watched the certainty of his movements quietly. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly—something wordless, something unspoken, lingered in that gaze. "We'll restock at the morning market. Operations can proceed normally," Regel said. "…Understood," Haruna replied. Dawn light filtered through the pantry's small window in thin threads. --- Word spread in less than half a day. An old man approached Regel at the morning market while he was buying herbs. "You're the cook from the Moonlight Tavern, aren't you?" "…Well, yes," Regel said. "I heard—forty-seven rats with a frying pan." "I didn't count them one by one, so the exact number—" Regel began. "Amazing!!" The old man shouted. The farmer at the next stall turned around. That farmer told another farmer, who told someone else. The stone plaza was bustling with the weekly morning market, and information spread with terrifying speed. The news that "the cook from the Moonlight Tavern exterminated forty-seven rats with cooking utensils" reached from Cresbell's eastern edge to its western edge before Regel returned to the tavern. Meanwhile, at the Lantern of Pilgrimage, Cresbell Branch: Bedner Korz sat at the counter, processing the morning's paperwork. His black hair with red mesh reflected the morning light, sharp gray eyes tracking the document's text. A silver piercing glinted at his left ear. A magical wristwatch device was fastened to his wrist—capable of displaying both the time and the number of remaining documents, a tool Korz had purchased with his own money. A resident came to the counter. "Um, I'd like to register the cook from the Moonlight Tavern as an adventurer." Korz looked up from his papers. "…Why?" he asked. "He defeated forty-seven rats with a frying pan! It'd be a waste to leave someone like that out of the system." "Noted. I'll consider it," Korz said. The resident left. Korz pulled out a single form—a subjugation report template. "Weapon used:" His pen stopped. Korz thought for a moment, then wrote: "Frying pan (wok-style)." Next line: "Auxiliary equipment:" He paused again. "Spatula (bamboo)." The next resident came to the counter. "Could you have the cook from the Moonlight Tavern handle the rats in our warehouse?" "Please register the cook from the Moonlight Tavern!" "We need him registered!" Three residents lined up at the counter. Korz handled them one by one. After dealing with fourteen requests, he stared at the line "Weapon used: Frying pan (wok-style)" for three full minutes. "…There's no precedent," Korz muttered. The young clerk sitting next to him looked up from his papers. "No precedent indeed." "Shut up, I know," Korz replied instantly. He began flipping through the document stack. The Lantern of Pilgrimage's administrative regulations, implementation rules, supplementary notices—over a hundred pages of materials. Nowhere was there any classification for using cooking utensils in magical beast subjugation. Thirty minutes later. Korz wrote on the form: "Weapon used: Cooking utensil (provisional classification, weapon-equivalent)." And: "Damage: Forty-seven demon rats subjugated, three eggs broken." He stamped it. Picked up the document. Looked at it briefly. Shoved it into the deepest drawer. "I absolutely don't want to send this to headquarters," Korz muttered to no one in particular. His wristwatch device quietly informed him that the number of remaining documents had increased by one. --- When the lunch service ended—after the last customer disappeared into the stone plaza, the pot steam settled, and afternoon quiet returned to the Moonlight Tavern—the door opened. Korz entered, a stack of documents tucked under his arm. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Instead of his usual documents, he placed a single sheet on the table. Regel was polishing a pot in the kitchen. Removing the lunch burn was part of his daily routine. Haruna was at the counter, ledger open, running her pen with her left hand alone. The sound of it moved in steady rhythm. Regel glanced sideways at the paper while continuing to polish. An adventurer re-registration application form—the proxy application template used by the Lantern of Pilgrimage, Cresbell Branch. Korz's seal was already stamped. "Fourteen requests came in from residents," Korz said. His voice was matter-of-fact. Neither emotional nor pushy. Simply stating facts. "You'd re-register at copper rank. But you'd gain the right to accept requests," Korz continued. Regel didn't stop polishing the pot. "I decline," Regel said. "I'll handle the paperwork," Korz said. "I decline," Regel repeated. A pause settled between them. Korz looked at Regel. Regel kept his gaze on the pot, continuing to polish the interior with the cloth. Korz chose his words carefully before continuing. "The expulsion notice—I can't invalidate it administratively. It's an official document from headquarters," Korz said. Regel's hands stopped for just a moment. "But the Cresbell Branch's adventurer re