Chapter 116
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: Thunderbolt
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In the process of withdrawing from enemy territory, he lobbed a fireball into each building that caught his eye.
A deafening explosion rocked the air, flames spreading wildly. As the deliberate arsons continued one after another, the beasts tore through their camp searching for the intruder, but...
'...Enemies approaching from the front.'
Woojin's ears were sharper than those of the beasts.
Whenever he sensed enemies closing in, he immediately detoured or hid to avoid combat. When necessary, he assassinated them on the fly and escaped.
Damage was mounting, yet not even a shadow of the intruder could be found. It was like being haunted by ghosts. This plunged the beasts into even greater chaos.
Leaving the pandemonium behind, Woojin scaled the palisade and slipped out of enemy territory.
"You've all worked hard. Time for a break."
Good job.
Standing midway up the mountain slope, Woojin spoke as if offering blessings. Arwen voiced her concern in response.
"Shouldn't we flee farther away? They might send pursuers."
"They won't have the luxury."
With all the mischief he'd sown everywhere, they were probably frantic just dealing with the damage by now.
Woojin nodded toward a massive tree.
"Let's climb up there and watch the show."
"...You think?"
They all climbed the tree together.
The two of them settled on a thick branch, along with the squirrel. From this high vantage, they had an even better view of the surroundings.
Buildings burning beautifully.
Woojin unpacked his bundle and handed a bull core to Arwen and Coco each.
"Here, midnight snack."
"Perfect. I could use this."
Arwen and Coco were exhausted from repeated skill use. Consuming cores like this greatly aided their stamina recovery.
Munching on cores instead of popcorn, they watched the enemy camp descend into utter mayhem.
"The chaos isn't dying down at all."
"Probably because Probat's dead."
A bipedal sheep—Probat.
Sheep held higher status than other beasts and possessed formidable power as nobles. The one Woojin had assassinated was likely the overseer of this sector.
Arwen asked curiously.
"Was Probat strong?"
"No idea. He was just sprawled asleep in bed, so I snapped his neck... But now I'm curious too, hearing all this."
He'd killed the sheep and extracted its core, but hadn't gauged its actual prowess.
"The higher the status, the stronger they are, right?"
"Yeah. The Probat you killed was probably a baron or viscount level... Did you find anything like a status badge?"
"Didn't check."
No time for that.
Woojin had only scanned the interior briefly before escaping. He couldn't leisurely shop around in the heart of enemy territory.
"...Gotta inspect more thoroughly next time."
As he muttered that, Arwen paused mid-chew and glanced over, flustered.
"You planning to pull the same stunt again?"
"Thinking of doing it a few more times. Any issues?"
"Isn't it dangerous?"
Repeating the same tactic could let them read the pattern and turn the tables.
Woojin brushed it off casually.
"Even if they know, they can't stop it."
Words bordering on prophecy. Proving it wouldn't be hard.
Sleep by day, raid the enemy camp by night and set fires. He repeated this for six days straight, yet the enemy failed to mount a proper defense.
As usual, spectating the chaos from afar, Woojin suddenly muttered to himself.
"Back home, we had a saying: 'three strikes and you're out.'"
"What's that mean?"
Upon reflection, explaining it would be tricky. It was too alien for people here.
Woojin glossed over it.
"Just something you say in situations like this."
"I see."
Arwen pressed on.
"Any reason you're hitting the same spot over and over? Feels a bit inefficient..."
She phrased it cautiously, gauging his mood, as if it might offend.
She was right, actually.
Repeated sabotage in the same area was inefficient. No more buildings left to burn, and enemy defenses were tightening by the day.
'The beasts are bloodthirsty to kill us now.'
Forces once scattered along the defensive line were now converging here.
Troops had nearly tripled since his first arson. Patrols had thickened too, making stealth infiltration harder than before.
"With forces concentrated here, other areas must be thinned out... Why not switch spots and hit where they're weak?"
Arwen suggested.
Perfectly reasonable, but Woojin had an announcement of his own.
"Today's the last night of fireworks."
"Oh... really?"
Arwen murmured softly, her tone tinged with regret.
'Talk about a late bloomer thief getting bold—she's gotten hooked on the arson fun at some point.'
But prolonging the pranks would waste time. Woojin had already achieved his goal.
"You'll see something spectacular tomorrow."
"What're you planning?"
"Spoiling it would ruin the fun."
As always, they'd see it with their own eyes.
When a leader dies, someone else must fill the void.
"...Nothing here pleases me."
The ram muttered to himself from his chair. His name was Leonard—a noble Probat, recently elevated to viscount.
The ram was thoroughly displeased with the situation.
He wasn't thrilled about being posted to the outskirts, and he'd just learned his predecessor had been assassinated.
This left the pig steward fawning desperately, watching his every move.
"Baa—put some effort into that brushing! It's not about slathering on more oil!"
"Y-yes, milord."
The pig carefully groomed Leonard's wool into neat curls. Glossy white curls—Probat pride.
The pig cursed inwardly.
'Damn it... No matter how much I brush, it looks the same.'
The wool was so thick and curly that it sprang back instantly. Utterly pointless.
But he had no choice but to obey. Probat were the only race that could hear the king's voice.
Crunch, grind—
Suddenly, the ram worked his jaw like he was chewing cud. A chilling sound that sent shivers down the spine.
'I'm done for.'
The quick-witted pig sensed danger. He had to appease the noble somehow.
"Um, Viscount?"
"...What."
"If it's not too presumptuous, may I serve some red wine? Snort—a friend sent a fine bottle two days ago."
Leonard nodded silently. The pig called to the servant at the door.
"Snort, fetch wine from the cellar."
"Right away."
The chicken servant hurried out.
Soon, bustling sounds echoed. The door opened, and the servant set down a large wooden tub.
Then, someone bound with rope was dragged in—a young boy. Gagged and terrified, the boy scanned the room wildly.
Leonard inquired.
"What vintage is this wine?"
"Snort, nine years aged human, as of this year."
"Nicely matured."
The ram murmured approvingly. The pig steward signaled the boy.
"Open the bottle."
"Yes."
The chicken drew a dagger. Other servants pinned the boy down.
"Mmph! Mmmph—!"
The boy thrashed, realizing his fate. Futile struggle.
Squish!
The blade plunged deep into his throat. Blood poured endlessly, filling the tub as the human was slaughtered.
The pig steward held a fine glass to the boy's neck, then presented the fresh red wine to their noble.
Leonard sipped the blood. Impressed, he pursed his lips.
"...Excellent. Where'd you get this?"
"From Farm Four. Snort, they fed him plenty of wild plums."
"That explains the clean finish."
The ram smiled contentedly. The pig steward finally relaxed.
"Snort, we'll prepare the meat properly for tonight's dinner."
"Looking forward to a proper meal for once."
As Leonard sipped, he suddenly remembered something.
"By the way, reinforcements arrive smoothly?"
"Yes. They arrived at dawn yesterday and pitched tents. I ordered strict defenses to keep enemies at bay."
To counter the nightly raids, he'd requested aid, pulling in forces from nearby.
Four hundred chicken beasts.
Two hundred bull beasts.
Six hundred reinforcements had arrived at dawn. Combined with local warriors, total forces numbered nine hundred.
With so many eyes wide open on watch, no one could target Leonard's neck, no matter their skill.
"Proof: last night's raid did minimal damage."
"True enough."
Watchtowers around the palisade had collapsed, several tents burned—but recoverable losses.
'Supplies stable too, so we can hold without issue.'
Leonard concluded it was safe and drank deeply, pleased.
...Rumble.
"What was that sound just now?"
"Pardon? Sound?"
The pig steward echoed. Leonard glanced around. The other servants blinked in confusion.
The ram tilted his head.
'Misheard?'
He'd caught a strange noise, but maybe imagination. As he dismissed it—
Crack!
Thunder roared.
A chill ran down his spine. Leonard rose and stepped outside.
The guards on watch stared skyward, entranced. The ram joined them, craning his neck.
Storm clouds blanketed the sky. Black vortices swirled silently like a tempest.
Crackle, crackle—
Lightning flickered here and there, flashing briefly before vanishing into the clouds. Bolts danced in and out, booming thunder repeatedly.
Each time, the lightning seemed to grow stronger—thicker, darker.
Red lightning.
Seeing it, Leonard realized.
'...Luring our forces together.'
The raids over days past. To counter, he'd gathered troops from surrounding areas into one spot.
The enemy had planned this from the start.
'To wipe us out at once.'
Crack!
Thunder boomed again.
The world flushed crimson. The terrified ram muttered madly.
"R-run... away..."
His order never reached his subordinates.
Kraaaaaack!!
The thunderbolt devoured everything.