With a loud *whoosh*, I spun around to see the crouched fox girl freeze in place, her face a mix of shock and panic.
She'd been trying to sneak toward the room's exit without me noticing.
Well, I get it. Who wouldn't want to escape when there's a creepy guy in the same room wearing nothing but an apron, a paper bag over his head, and dragging a massive butcher knife?
But now what?
The perverted fox woman probably assigned me as this fox girl's bodyguard. If I let her slip away and just stand by the window, I'd look like a useless dummy.
I need to prove my worth. I don't know what's ahead, but being proactive is better than being just another faceless butcher. Standing out is risky, but as long as I follow orders, even a weirdo like me shouldn't be disposed of suddenly.
Still, keeping the fox girl locked in the room feels wrong.
…Fine, whatever.
As she watched me with fearful eyes, I stepped in front of the door, casually grabbed the knob, and turned it.
*Creak.* The door opened.
I stepped aside, gesturing for her to go.
The fox girl hesitated, frowning at my actions, but eventually passed by me and left the room.
I followed her out.
She whipped around in shock, her eyes wide.
She walked down the hallway, trying to escape me. I kept pace.
She quickened her steps. I matched her speed.
She stopped at the staircase, and I stopped too.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked utterly lost.
…I'm her bodyguard, after all.
And so, my dutiful escort service began.
Wherever she went, I followed.
Third floor. Second floor. First floor. Entrance hall. Living room.
When she sat on the living room sofa, I stood behind her like a ghost. When she tried making tea in the kitchen, I stood behind her there too. I even grabbed a tea container from a high shelf when she jumped for it. Here you go.
After she returned to her room, I stood by the window, glaring outside. Passersby would point at me and scream, their faces frozen in Umezu Kazuo-style horror.
When someone knocked on the door, I opened it instead of her. Most visitors fainted at the sight of the monstrous figure standing before them.
When she went to the bathroom, I waited outside, standing still. Thanks to me, everyone knew when she was in there and for how long. She hated it, and after puffing out her cheeks, she chased me away with a few smacks of her butcher apron.
Fed up, she once tried running from me in the hallway, but I chased her down effortlessly. Despite my appearance, butchers are surprisingly fast. She shouldn't have stood a chance, but she was surprisingly agile.
Like a fox, she darted through narrow spaces with ease. I kept a steady distance, smashing through obstacles without hesitation.
As I thundered after her, servants screamed and scrambled out of the way.
The scene of me chasing the fox girl through the mansion looked straight out of a horror movie—a trapped girl fleeing a monster.
One stormy day, things got especially chaotic.
The weak-hearted servants fainted at the sight of me appearing suddenly with each thunderclap. By then, I'd been using my scouting skills to stalk her silently, which only added to the terror.
While waiting for her outside the shower room, a strange woman emerged instead, letting out a shriek at the sight of me. I instinctively reached out to catch her, but she had such a nice body that I almost raped her by accident.
It turned out the fox girl had swapped places with her. From a distance, the fox girl smirked at me, mocking my blunder. Damn it, she got me good.
For days, the mansion was a horror show.
Still, the fox girl never left.
She knew she was being targeted. Smart move.
This went on for three whole days.
Honestly, I barely need sleep—I can stay awake indefinitely. Occasionally, I'd stand still for an hour, zoning out, and that's enough. I don't even need to close my eyes—I don't have eyelids, anyway. During that time, my eyes take in visuals, but my mind shuts off. It's a strange feeling.
So when the fox girl slept, I stood like a tacky statue beside her bed, keeping watch.
She had nightmares for three straight nights—not metaphorically.
Poor thing. I couldn't help but feel sympathy.
On the fourth night, in the living room, the fox girl, with dark circles under her eyes, angrily confronted the perverted fox woman. I didn't need to hear to know what it was about.
Good luck, fox girl. I want to go back to my rape job too. This mission is miserable for both of us. If you succeed in convincing her, I'll be off the hook. I'm rooting for you.
My libido is reaching its limit.
That fox woman clearly doesn't understand butchers well. If she doesn't send me back to the facility or assign someone else, I'll end up raping, killing, and eating everyone in this house—you, the fox girl, and every fox-eared person here.
The fox woman raised a finger, smugly explaining something. The fox girl's eyes widened in shock, and she slumped in defeat. It didn't work. I bowed my head slightly too.
Then I lifted it.
I smelled blood.
Butchers are hypersensitive to blood. As I scanned for the source, the fox woman sensed it too. She shielded the fox girl behind her, her eyes sharpening.
I moved to the first-floor window to check outside.
The stars in the night sky sparkled brightly, and my vision blurred almost simultaneously.
Then, a powerful impact struck the back of my head and shoulders, sending me tumbling backward.
I knew what happened.
I'd been shot in the head. My forehead throbbed.
Only then did the *thud* of the gunshot reach me.
Taking down a butcher with a single headshot is incredibly hard. I know—I used to be a sniper. Their heads are abnormally tough, and snipers fear butchers.
But that's partly a misconception. The real reason is this paper bag. Butcher bags are ridiculously hard. I once figured that out by accident.
A missed shot knocked a butcher's bag off, and when I quickly fired again at close range, the butcher went down easily.
That's when I realized the paper bag was their standard-issue helmet. So, first knock off the bag, then use armor-piercing rounds to target the head at close range. That's the anti-butcher sniping technique I developed.
Knocking off the bag is insanely difficult, and you have to draw the butcher in close—a hellish one-shot gamble. But it's the only way for snipers to take them down.
My technique should've been passed down in Fox Team, so this sniper isn't from there. This attack is Tango Team's work—specialists in small infiltration operations.
Shooting the butcher bag from such a distance is amateurish. They've never seen real combat. I'd aim for the shoulder to weaken the butcher first.
Analyzing this, I played dead on the floor. The fox girl pointed at me, saying something. The fox woman shouted orders at her.
Suddenly, all the room's windows exploded.
Four dark figures leaped in, surrounding the fox woman—textbook strategy.
The attackers landed, guns raised. Just then, the fox woman's eyes glowed eerily.
Her arm swept from left to right, slicing through the air. The four attackers were shredded, blood spraying everywhere. For a moment, I saw countless blades tear into them.
Hmm. So that's the perverted fox woman's power. Impressive. She must have a magic catalyst hidden somewhere. I'd be in pain too if sliced by those wind blades.
Curious about her strength as a butcher-fearing alien, I played dead to observe. Good intel. In a one-on-one fight, I'd dominate.
Now, I know what's next. Backup squads will storm in.
Sure enough, two intruders entered from each side of the room.
The pair from the back rushed the fox woman first, drawing her attention.
She couldn't use her slicing power consecutively, so she resorted to hand-to-hand combat against the two special forces soldiers.
Wow. It's like a kung fu movie. And she's strong—taking on two trained fighters alone.
The other pair hid near the opposite entrance, waiting. They planned to either flank her or take out the fox girl.
Too bad for them, I can see everything while playing dead.
Enough goofing off. Time to get to work.