Chapter 197 - [Side story]
[Side story]
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 197
Chapter Title: Side Story - Man of Narvik (2)
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Bazkal wandered through the forest alone.
To fight in perfect condition, he even avoided the enemies he usually fought and hunted.
Whether his sincerity reached the heavens or not, soon enough he encountered a worthy opponent.
‘Looks strong.’
The new target Bazkal found was a large cat-like magic beast.
At a glance, it was on a whole different level from the common magic beasts near the estate.
With a sturdy build whose shoulders reached a grown man’s chest and tusks jutting out like a wild boar’s, long and sharp enough to snap a life in an instant.
This was more than enough to stake his life on.
‘Good, here I go.’
“Come at me, you bastard!”
Bazkal let out a hearty shout and banged his sword and shield together clang clang.
At the sound announcing his presence, the magic beast hesitated for a moment and backed away.
‘Unlike its looks, it’s a scaredy-cat!’
Most magic beasts were unconditionally hostile to humans, but there were exceptions.
The extremely small and weak ones that stood no chance against humans, or those that rarely encountered humans and were extremely wary.
That latter type would often shrink back preemptively if a human approached boldly and aggressively.
‘Can’t have that.’
“Come on!”
With those words, Bazkal immediately turned tail and ran, making them ring hollow.
After about two seconds and a few strides, Bazkal whipped his gaze around and thrust out his weapon.
As expected, the magic beast that had been faltering just moments ago was now closing in like an assassin.
‘Knew it.’
Cat-type magic beasts shared a common trait: the instinct to pounce when prey turned its back and fled.
To keep the enemy from escaping, Bazkal had deliberately baited that instinct—even averting his eyes as a bold gambit.
“Hraaah!”
Bazkal dodged the charging magic beast’s tusks with a leap and thrust his sword forward. For good measure, he raised his shield with his other hand to guard his body.
Boom—the collision sent Bazkal flying.
He’d thrown himself backward on purpose to soften the blow, but the impact was still no joke.
It came down to the fundamental gap in physical prowess between magic beasts and humans.
After tumbling backward several rolls, Bazkal pushed himself up and sucked in desperate breaths.
“Huff, huff.”
Kyaaaaah!
The moment he inhaled, lungs feeling crushed, the magic beast across from him unleashed a shriek.
By the looks of it, the beast was twisting in agony with blood pouring from its neck. The blade must have sunk deep into the flesh there.
‘Did I win? But it can’t be this easy…’
Right then, as if mocking Bazkal, a shadow surged up from between the bushes.
A shadow so enormous it dwarfed both humans and the cat-type magic beast he’d been battling.
The shadow blanketed the suffering cat magic beast from above and crashed down in an instant.
A wail of torment mixed with the crack of shattering bone, and soon the cat magic beast perished without even a final death rattle.
Then, from atop the crushed prey, the shadow fixed its gaze on Bazkal.
It wasn’t hard to guess that those eyes had locked onto its second quarry.
Grrrr.
A deep rumble, like thunder echoing from a cavern.
There stood a tiger whose shoulders matched the height of Bazkal’s head—a true behemoth worthy of the term house-sized.
No fangs or horns in sight as overt threats, but its sheer mass and explosive agility made it deadly all the same.
Bazkal swallowed hard and began backing away step by step.
‘I can’t beat this.’
His goal was to become a knight, not to die.
A magic beast like that was something only a knight could hunt. No matter how tough he was, a lone hunter like Bazkal had no business facing it.
After retreating a few steps, the tiger sensed his fear and bellowed a roar.
ROOOOARRR-!
The infrasound vibrations made Bazkal’s legs quake uncontrollably.
That wasn’t all—terror gripped him so hard his vision wavered, the world around him starting to melt like wax.
Bazkal bit the inside of his cheek until blood welled up, forcing clarity.
‘Damn it, snap out of it, Bazkal! Lose focus and you’re done for!’
The instant he steadied his rattled nerves, the tiger seemed to sense it and launched itself airborne.
Facing the hurtling shadow, Bazkal widened his eyes and rammed his sword straight into the tiger’s gaping maw.
Clack!
“Aaagh!”
He’d jammed the vertically aligned blade right in, so the tiger’s attempt to chomp him down sliced its own mouth instead, drawing a howl of pain.
Bazkal screamed right back. He’d thwarted the killing bite, but getting pinned under a tonnage of magic beast was plenty to crack his ribs.
“Get off me, you bastard!”
Bazkal thrashed his legs in desperation, kicking at the tiger’s belly.
By sheer luck, one frantic strike landed dead-on—in the one spot any man knew to guard.
ROOOAR!
The tiger erupted in an agonized yowl beyond description and vaulted backward.
Bazkal seized the opening, painfully twisting around to flee.
‘Run now or I’m dead for sure!’
One clash had made it crystal clear: even half a dozen Bazkals couldn’t take this thing.
No room now to game cat instincts. Bazkal just pumped his legs for all they were worth.
It wasn’t long before a guttural roar thundered from behind, the predator charging anew.
“Shit!”
Naturally, the tiger’s sprint outpaced Bazkal by miles. Even at full health—not like now, ribs screaming—he’d never outrun it.
Bazkal spun to present his sword again, and the massive tiger faltered slightly, hunkering low.
Blood still trickled from its mouth, making it wary, convinced that shiny edge could bite deep into it too.
‘If only it knew it was mistaken…’
Bazkal’s sword was forged from ground magic beast bone—solid work, sure, but hardly the tool to cleave through such a colossal beast’s bone and muscle to its heart.
Might work on thin-skinned vitals like before, but even if the tiger stood stock-still, lopping off its head would be a tall order.
Unless he used its own charge against it.
GRRRR!
Patience spent, the tiger lunged once more.
This time, not a high leap but a low rush, dipping that enormous frame to surge upward from below.
An atypical assault for a brute that size—Bazkal had no quick answer.
“Wha…”
No chance to counter with his sword—his body slammed into the magic beast’s and soared skyward.
He wasn’t alone in the flight. He’d ditched his shield midair, grabbing a fistful of fur with the freed hand.
Airborne for what felt too long, Bazkal glanced down.
Far below stretched a cliff well over a hundred meters.
‘Shit.’
Too fixated on him, the magic beast had barreled into Bazkal and overshot straight off the edge.
Bazkal clenched his jaw, hurled his sword aside too, and clamped both hands onto the beast. Every ounce of strength poured in, the alternative instant death.
Man and magic beast entwined, they plummeted down the sheer hundred-plus-meter drop.
“Aaahhhh-!”
ROOOOAR-!
* * *
Hours later, Bazkal opened his eyes.
He felt better than expected. No—his body even buzzed with a strange vigor.
Ribs throbbed, but they wouldn’t hinder movement much, and his frame felt unusually light.
A glance aside revealed the tiger’s corpse—the one that had smashed into him.
Bad luck had impaled it straight through on a jagged outcrop of rock.
Bazkal had clung to it, rebounding to safety.
‘Talk about dumb luck.’
No cliff? Couldn’t hold on mid-flight? Wasn’t positioned above its fall?
His survival was nothing short of a miracle stacked on coincidences.
Sure, he’d lost sword and shield in the escape, but who cared—he was alive.
Alive meant he could scrounge new gear anytime.
‘So where the hell am I?’
About to head back, he scanned his surroundings and finally clocked something off.
“Ah…”
Night had fallen, dark as pitch. No moon meant torches were a must just to see ahead.
Yet Bazkal’s eyes pierced the gloom clearly. Dim and hazy sans light, true—but sharper than any normal sight.
“No way?”
Vitality off the charts. Night vision like a predator’s.
Bazkal peered down at himself. No outward change, but something writhed with power inside.
He approached the tiger and yanked at its hide with all his might.
The thick pelt held for a beat, then began ripping apart.
“Ha, haha!”
Tearing magic beast skin barehanded? Humanly impossible.
Bazkal threw his head back at the moonless black sky and cackled like a madman.
“Ahahahaha! Finally, finally!”
Memories of his grueling trials flooded back, hot tears spilling unbidden.
In the autumn of his twenty-third year, Bazkal had finally become a knight.
* * *
Bazkal couldn’t stop laughing for a solid ten minutes. Joy overflowed too fiercely.
The moment the laughter died, he registered a faint chirping from somewhere.
No warning of approach—he sprang up, chills racing down his spine.
No matter how feeble the peep, it could belong to a horrifically potent magic beast.
“What…”
The source was a tiny tiger magic beast perched at the dead one’s paws.
Barely bigger than a man’s forearm—newly hatched.
“Smelled the blood?”
With all that blood reek, no other beasts had shown, so this tiger must’ve ruled as the forest’s apex predator.
Likely, the cub couldn’t resist its sire’s potent scent wafting through the air, braving the perils of a predator-packed wood.
Still active at night? Probably just a young thing, not yet nocturnal.
“Sorry about killing your dad… assuming it’s the dad?”
Magic beasts ran the gamut—hermaphrodites weren’t rare—so certainty eluded him.
Just those two floppy orbs dangling below pegged it male, most like.
Bazkal stared down at the chirping cub by its sire’s feet for a long beat, then scooped it up and stuffed it into his belt pouch—tossing out the jerky and waterskin that’d occupied the spot.
‘Grow to its old man’s size, and it’ll make one hell of a mount…’
Not all young beasts could be tamed young, but the try wouldn’t cost much.
Worst case, uncontrollable and he put it down? Still, he’d given the doomed cub extra days.
“Fight was square—no hard feelings. I’ll raise you, so haul me around when you’re big. Deal?”
Taking the chirps as assent, Bazkal pondered his sword’s whereabouts.
Glanced up at the cliff and sighed.
Moments later, he smashed nearby stones into a crude stone axe and set to skinning the tiger.
Half-ripping it free with his freshly awakened knightly superhuman strength.
“Damn, peels like hell!”
* * *
“Aigoo, sleepy as hell.”
“Young buck sleeps nights—why so beat?”
“New wife keeping him up, eh?”
“Didn’t catch that.”
Early morning in Narvik’s hunter quarter, veteran hunters kicked off the day with ribald banter laced with jokes.
The diligent sort who hit the wilds early to snag kills clash-free.
“Hope last night’s traps nabbed something.”
“Nothing too tough, though. Know my traps snapped three times already?”
“Yours are flimsy. Beef up with stronger sinew.”
“Front the coin?”
Right as they chatted while exiting the cleared zone, a figure appeared before them.
A mystery man draped in dripping bloody hide, edges frayed to tatters.
The pelt was so vast it coiled around him several times over, ballooning his frame to obesity.
“Eek!”
“Wh-what?”
“You… Bazkal, right?”
“Sure is.”
The man swathed in giant tiger hide—Bazkal—flashed a toothy grin as he brushed past the hunters toward the residential district.
Onlookers gasped in fright or stared in awe.
One look at the hide’s owner told all: the tiger’s colossal, savage majesty.
Word spread fast—a hunter had become a knight.
And that hunter-turned-knight had slain a giant tiger barehanded.
Thus dawned the legend of the Steel Tiger, Bazkal.
* * *
“…That’s how it went.”
“Wow, Dad’s the best!”
Bazkal reined in his puffed-up shoulders and wrapped up the brag in as casual a tone as he could muster.
What father wouldn’t beam under his son and daughter’s adoring stares?
That was when his daughter Piera piped up, head cocked oddly.
“So Dad killed Yeppi’s dad?”
“Huh?”
“Skinned him too?”
Yeppi was the name of the tiger Bazkal had hauled back—and later ridden as his mount.
He’d never picked anything so cutesy; his daughter coined it later, upon learning it lacked one.
Now ancient and dozing days away, but the kids adored the beast.
His wife Gisharan did too.
“Well, yeah, sorta… but it came at me first, and… y’know, a man’s fight…”
Bazkal hemmed and hawed excuses—the clash was inevitable, yadda yadda—before trailing off slyly.
Curious, his son Rosan followed up.
“But Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“What happened to Yeppi Dad’s hide?”
“Oh, that…”
Bazkal’s face fell.
Couldn’t admit he’d tried hawking it, got chewed out for the ragged mess—“Who’d wear that junk?”—chucked it fuming in a corner, forgot, and let it rot.
“Burned it proper and sent it to the skies. Yeppi Dad’s probably watching Yeppi from up there now.”
The kids nodded sagely. Bazkal sighed inwardly—man, spinning old yarns for them was no picnic.
Still, this slice of peace wasn’t half bad.
Living boldly as his mother’s dying words urged, he gazed at the heavens and squared his shoulders.