The Bear Elder's Single Step
The peak of a mountain so high that clouds drifted right before your eyes, even without craning your neck. The ridge that had looked sharply jagged from below turned out to be surprisingly flat once you reached the top. Towering mountains intertwined and overlapped, forming a vast, gentle expanse despite the altitude. The world's highest plain: the Kalend Plateau.
Standing at the western edge of the plateau and peering down, I could see the beastkin tribe's campsite at the mountain's base—the one we were set to climb today. They were bustling about, prepping the rabbits we'd hunted yesterday.
Crossing the plain, I headed to the eastern edge. Below the plateau stretched lush grasslands, beyond which golden fields unfurled. Wheat fields bowed low, awaiting harvest. Human farmlands. Farther still, human buildings came into view. At the village center, ringed by tall, massive walls, stood a pristine white castle towering even higher, displaying its grandeur.
The western shield guarding the radiant human empire. The Arzenhardt Border March.
"Hoo..."
Only one bear beastkin stood on this plateau, with its commanding view: Murugan of the Ancient Footsteps. The tribe's bear elder.
The beastkin tribe would settle here on this plateau. Which meant it was only proper to pay respects to their near neighbors, the border lord.
People awaited Murugan below the mountain. He couldn't dawdle. He needed to head toward that distant territory as soon as possible.
Yet Murugan simply stood at the plateau's edge.
Come to think of it, dawn had only just broken. How had he already made it up here?
—Woooong.
The space around Murugan began to ripple. The air trembled like water, the very fabric of reality twisting slowly.
"One step."
Murugan lifted his foot toward the distant castle. Just before it touched the ground, his form stretched and distorted.
And in the next instant, Murugan—who had been on the plateau moments ago—stood atop a watchtower on the walls encircling the white castle.
A single step he'd once needed to take but never could. That one step piled up day after day into tens of thousands, woven together into a single bound after years of fermentation. The principle he'd forged from his path: Ancient Footsteps.
No matter the distance to his destination, he could reach it in one step.
The guards spotted the giant who appeared without warning and screamed.
"Sh-it, an intruder!"
The guards swarmed in an instant, surrounding the intruder. Swords pointed at him in unison. Well-trained movements.
"Sorry to bother you so early in the morning. I meant to step straight to his office, but I ended up stopping here. He's clearly grown stronger."
Even encircled, he remained calm. Ignoring the blades aimed at him, the intruder spouted nonsense. That nonchalance only heightened the soldiers' tension.
The intruder said,
"Deliver this to your lord: his old friend Murugan has come to visit."
...
The border lord's office was as massive as the castle itself, yet surprisingly spartan inside. A desk for work, a sofa for guests. That was it.
Yet the space didn't feel empty, thanks to the man seated there—his sheer presence filled it.
Two men faced each other in the office. One was Murugan. The other was the empire's border lord, Ludwig Arzenhardt.
"It's been a while, Murugan. Still kicking, eh."
The border lord spoke first. Polite tone, but light—like old acquaintances.
"Indeed it has, Ludwig. You've changed quite a bit."
"Ha! You think I've never wondered why you lot stay the same?"
One beastkin, one human. Two friends reuniting after twenty years.
After catching up briefly on each other's well-being, Murugan got to the point.
"Sorry for the commotion, Ludwig. I've come with a request."
"A request?"
The border lord's eyebrow twitched faintly.
"Doesn't sound like you. And that impatience—you're not alone, are you."
"...You're right. Survivors from beyond the mountains have gathered."
Murugan's voice lowered.
"Wandering in search of a home, we've ended up here."
The border lord glanced out the window. Beyond the walls loomed the vast, endless Limbus Mountains.
The empire's map ended there—the border with barbarism, where trouble could spill down anytime.
"Exiles? You know our situation—"
"I do."
Murugan nodded.
"We're not asking to enter the empire. We just... want to settle in the mountains."
They wanted to nest on the nearest plateau overlooking his territory. Understanding dawned, and the border lord's expression hardened.
"You're saying you'll set up right there, staring down at us? If I look away, my territory's done for."
"..."
From the plateau, the border march was in plain view. Criminals and barbarian outcasts hiding in the mountains had targeted the territory before.
Ludwig wanted to bulldoze the mountains if he could, but handling the endless range was impossible. Constant vigilance was the best they could do.
"I swear on my trace name it won't happen. We—"
"Whatever. Go ahead."
"...Pardon?"
Permission granted so cleanly it was bewildering. All the appeals dredging up their ancient bond? Unnecessary.
The border lord rose from his desk and sat on the facing sofa.
"What's wrong? Having second thoughts?"
Murugan shook his head hastily.
"N-no, of course not. Th-thank you, old friend."
"No big deal."
No big deal? This was tantamount to letting them overlook his lands freely. He'd even voiced concerns about the territory getting wrecked—and dismissed them.
"...May I ask why? I didn't expect it to be this easy."
"Simple reason, simple approval."
"Simple reason?"
The border lord stood and approached Murugan.
"Western barbarians. How about an alliance instead of this neighborly stagnation?"
...
What's the most annoying part of eating? For me, it's the dishes. More than the whole cooking process, that simple post-meal cleanup feels like a chore. Hunting's the same. Dressing the kill afterward is way harder than the hunt itself. And unlike dishes, butchering's complicated and time-consuming.
Why am I thinking this? Just look ahead.
—Slice. Slice.
—Scrub. Thud.
Hundreds of rabbit carcasses piled like a mountain. Tribe members gathered, butchering them one by one. Couldn't just roast 'em whole, after all. Had to process each properly.
"Done with the guts!"
"Good work. Heads next."
Rabbit processing steps:
1. Slit the belly, remove innards.
2. Separate legs and head.
3. Skin the body.
4. Repeat hundreds of times.
The severed rabbit heads piled up, giving off a sinister vibe. Well, that's just me—everyone else looked unfazed. Even the kids ignored the rolling heads as they built fires for roasting.
Savage barbarians. Guess I should pray for the rabbits' souls.
Closing my eyes in silent tribute, Frost Fang approached with a tub of gutted bodies.
"Here, Ursa. Quit slacking and skin these. I'll show you how."
She grabbed a skinned torso, jammed her thumb into the cut end, and yanked. The pelt peeled off in one clean pull.
"Whoa, cool."
Might look brutal, but it was so crisp—like watching a pro demo. Couldn't help but admire it.
"Give it a try. Grab it right at first, and the rest is easy."
Following her guidance, I skinned one. My short arms meant two pulls, but it came off clean.
"Good handiwork. Or is it your strength?"
"Both! Wasn't even hard."
"Cheeky brat."
Bonk!
"Ow! Blood on my head!"
I'd been shaking like a wet dog when Frost Fang knuckle-rapped me. Worried about fur or blood, but my hands were filthy too—couldn't do a thing.
"Wipe it! Wipe it!"
"Sheesh, quit fussing. Hold still."
She pulled a cloth from her bosom and cleaned my head.
"There. Finish the rest."
"Eoge~"
I skinned the remaining ones. Got the knack after a few—done quick.
Heading to the fire with the meat, I spotted the bear elder descending the mountain. Wonder where he'd gone this morning. Scouting the path? He was back fast—no issues, then.
"...Why's his face like that?"
Returning with hands clasped behind his back, the bear elder strode with majestic pride. Not his usual melancholic blankness—lips curved in smug satisfaction. Found wild ginseng up there? If so, snag some later.
"Whoa, look at that grin. Makes me wanna punch it."
The deer elder muttered passing by. I nodded quietly.