An Orc.
One who would usually prefer any type of meat, even when they could eat other things. After all, if there were perfectly good flesh available, why would they bother unless they were spiritual relics?
And yet look at him, and that aide of his.
If other Orcs were to see them, they would've been suspected of being cursed. That type where they would move on their own, driven by a yearning they didn't even know they had.
And what a horrifying reality was that?!
For the Orc King, who had lived long enough to know that humans had always taken nutrient solutions for the longest time, was out here demolishing actual greens.
What did humans even know about food? He had questions. But in the face of his nostrils flaring at the fresh scent that hit him. It was hard to focus on anything but the crisp sound that echoed everywhere.
They were eating the same damn thing like the word scarcity didn't exist.
