Monster Tamer is the Worst Class

The room was colder than usual. It was large, vaulted, with dark stone walls studded with candles melted down to their stubs, their flames flickering in yellowish circles. The tiled floor, stained with dry mud and something darker—blood or old wine—carried the heavy smell of poorly burned fireplace smoke.

Hagan was seated on the makeshift throne—a high wooden armchair reinforced with rusty ironwork—chin resting on his fist, eyes downcast. The thick leather coat, dyed dark red, creaked with each tense breath.

Beside him, in a lazy flight, the fairy hovered, bluish light pulsing at a slow rhythm. She seemed carefree, twirling in the air like a bright fly.

Hagan inhaled sharply, his clenched teeth grinding.

"Damn..."

The fairy stopped, hovering in the air, her wings vibrating like fine crystal.

"Wow. Poet’s language today, boss?"

Hagan didn’t respond. His free hand tapped the arm of the throne in a nervous rhythm.

The fairy tilted her tiny head.

"Still brooding over the guy you sent and who didn’t return?"

Hagan raised his eyes. They burned like embers shoved into wet coal.

"’Didn’t return’ is a nice way to put it. He was torn to pieces."