With too little time left to head anywhere else and a wagon too big to move at night without suspicion, the only thing left to do was to find a place to stay the night. The party decided between two inns, The Squealing Snout and The Hogwash Inn, which were horrific names for an accommodation establishment, and finally decided to go to Hogwash.

  They were greeted by an innkeeper named Harry Porker, a stocky man with a mustache that looked like it had been plucked straight from the back end of a pig.

  Why do like half the men in this world have mustaches? Is this realm accursed with a Curse of Bad Fashion Sense or something?

  “Well, if it ain’t the fine travelers of the night! Welcome to the Hogwash, where your comfort is our... priority!” Harry Porker said with a grin that was a bit too wide. His voice was as deep as a well that was, like, very deep, and carried far further than it should. At least patrons would never miss breakfast with this guy announcing.

  “Three rooms for the night,” Anders said with the same casual tone he used when giving orders to a dog.

  “Not a problem. That would be two hundred and fourty shillings,” the innkeeper said. Rob paid the money.

  As they followed Harry Porker to their rooms, Lena caught a glimpse of an old painting hanging on the wall. It depicted a large, rotund hog sitting at a table, wearing a wizard’s hat, holding a steaming sausage. The caption beneath it read: “Harry Ham and the Half-Blood Sausage.”

  Lena raised an eyebrow, squinting at the image. “Is that a family portrait or something?”

  Did you just say their family are pigs, Lena?

  Harry Porker laughed, his belly shaking like a well-cooked ham. “Ah, that’s the legend of old Harry Ham. He was famous around these parts for his unique cooking skills and a rather unusual bloodline. Some say he was part pig, part wizard. I’d be wary of any sausages from his lineage though. Bit too good for my taste. Too magical.”

  Ducaz leaned in. “A half-blood sausage, eh? Where do I find it? I bet that one packs a punch.”

  “Oh, you bet it does,” Porker grinned as he tapped his nose. “Rumor has it, Harry Ham wasn’t just famous for his sausages but for his magic. It’s said he was a natural at Sausage Spells—magically-infused sausages, if you will. Ever heard of the Sizzling Curse? He invented that one. And don’t get me started on his Muggle Meat-Magic. A grill-brewed potion, that one.” He gave a dramatic pause. “And you better believe those sausages come with a little extra... oomph.”

  “But is he really a hog?” Lena asked again.

  Porker portrayed his deep knowledge of local lore and a lack of basic comprehension as he proceeded to not answer Lena’s question, “Rumor has it the sausages were enchanted to make anyone who ate them enhanced senses. But only if you were a Half-Blood yourself. If you were pure of ham, so to speak... well, you’d just end up with really good sausage.”

  Well that’s useless. How are you supposed to be a half-blood sausage?! What’s next? Ham Potter and the Chamber of Sausages?

  [SIDEQUEST UNLOCKED—Put the Sausage Inside]

  Objective: Consume a sausage from the Chamber of Sausages.

  Reward: +50 EXP, + 5 CP, Skill: [Consume].

  Prerequisite: None.

  Temporary Knowledge: The location of the Chamber of Sausages.

  Failure: None.

  Blorbo’s mind began to whirl.

  What the heck? Why are you asking me to consume something BEFORE giving me the skill [Consume]? How do I eat?! I’m a table!

  The thought of “eating” was just too much. He was just a table. The closest he was to consuming something was when he got dropped a pot full of boiling cabbage soup on. That didn’t give him any cabbage point. Would Lena put a sausage inside him? What if—?

  What if this skill allows me to consume Cabbages?

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  That would give him a way to gain unlimited CP, thus transfer to unlimited stats, thus could make him the most powerful being on the planet as long as he eats an unlimited amount of cabbage. This might actually be the best skill yet.

  I don’t care how I’m eating that sausage. I’m eating it.

  He willed himself to accept. He was immediately pinged by a golden-colored, diamond-shaped icon that floated near the corner of his vision and stuck to that corner like a stubborn fly. When he tried to close his vision to shoo it away, it disappeared, but jumped back to its spot as soon as his vision field returned. Just like a fly would.

  He clicked on the icon, and the location of the Chamber of Sausages appeared.

  Blorbo couldn’t believe his luck. The Chamber of Sausages was right here. Right in the inn, of all places. Maybe a few feet from him, maybe in a room right adjacent to this. It would make sense. This place was called Hogwash, and hung a painting of a hog. Of course a sausage chamber would be here.

  The golden icon still clung to his vision, taunting him with the location as he was carried up the creaky stairs by Rob. His vision was in the direct line of the path leading to the sausage chamber. And he could see it—the butt of a sausage sticking out at the end of a corridor. Never had a sausage looked so tasty to him before.

  But as Rob climbed the stairs with him in tow, Blorbo started to notice something that immediately struck him as... troubling. The narrow corridor in front of the inn’s second floor was barely wide enough for a person to pass through, and the further they went, the narrower it became. The path seemed to twist like a snake, the walls closing in on him, as though the space itself was intentionally designed to reject the very idea of something as wide as a table moving through it.

  There’s no way I’m fitting through there.

  The walls pressed closer, and the ceiling loomed lower. Every step Rob took seemed to shrink the space, and Blorbo could feel the cold marble floors beneath him, mocking him for his limitations.

  But then, something caught his attention from the corner of his vision.

  Ducaz’s eyes.

  The rogue was trailing behind them, but his eyes were locked on the sausage at the end of the corridor. There was a look in his eyes, a look that only a seasoned gluttonous thief like Tabby would possess.

  Greed.

  Ducaz licked his lips, practically drooling as his gaze followed that butt. He needed to eat that butt. He was praying to the Lords to have a lick of that butt.

  Wait a minute. The quest doesn’t say who has to eat the sausage, just that it has to be eaten.