Chapter 243: Yearning for Life
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 243: Yearning for Life
To the north of Martai stood a dense coniferous forest. To the west lay flat plains and the Border Guard’s jurisdiction, to the east was the territory of the Eastern Kingdom, and to the south stretched another expansive woodland.
That southern forest was known as the "Grateful Forest."
"But why is it called the Grateful Forest?" Torres asked.
He was currently familiarizing himself with the terrain surrounding their newly settled territory. A soldier from the forestry unit—a ranger—walked beside him, answering his questions. Behind them, five members of the Border Guard followed in formation.
"Because they’re grateful," the soldier replied.
Just as Torres’s expression began to sour, wondering if the man was mocking him, the soldier quickly elaborated.
"Have you ever been to the coniferous forest up north? It’s no place for humans. Even rangers won't set foot in there. Do you know its nickname? The Cliff Forest."
Torres had heard of it. It was a notorious landmark. The northern woods of Martai were a wall of needles and frost, a natural boundary dividing the continent. It was called "Cliff" because entering those woods was considered as suicidal as leaping off a precipice.
"But here to the south, we have a forest rich with fruit and wild game. Because of that, the people who have lived here since ancient times were so thankful for its bounty that they gave it that name."
The Grateful Forest. Torres couldn't decide if the name was charmingly simple or utterly lazy. He continued his patrol, committing the landmarks to memory.
It was then that a sound shattered the peace.
Kee-heeee-ing!
A piercing shriek, barely recognizable as a horse’s neigh, tore through the air. It was a sound saturated with malice and murderous intent, sending an involuntary shiver down Torres's spine. It was the cry of a demonic beast.
"What is that?"
On the outskirts of the Grateful Forest, a horse appeared. However, it was no ordinary stallion. No normal horse possessed fangs long enough to protrude from its maw like tusks.
"Looks like a demonic beast, sir."
"Looks like?" Torres echoed.
Horses were herbivores, and it was rare for such creatures to turn into demonic beasts—though not entirely unheard of. Torres frowned, then smoothed his brow and signaled his men.
Was that lone creature the only one? Or were there more lurking in the shadows? Had it noticed them yet?
"A horse demonic beast... how strange," the former ranger muttered.
"Are there no rangers currently inside the forest?" Torres asked.
Martai had deployed ranger units into the surrounding woods to act as scouts. On a continent plagued by the constant threat of monsters and demonic beasts, regular patrols were a necessity.
"There are," the soldier replied. He had a frustrating habit of pausing and breaking up his sentences. "It’s not that monsters never appear in the Grateful Forest, but this specific area is usually rare enough for sightings that we consider it a safe zone."
The soldier swallowed hard, his throat dry. "A squad-sized unit goes in on rotating shifts."
"Even now?"
"Yes, even now."
Behind the horse demonic beast, more shapes emerged. They were human-faced dogs. Strips of torn flesh and fresh blood stained the fur around their unsettling muzzles.
"Everyone, on high alert!" Torres commanded.
His judgment was swift. What had happened to the ranger unit inside? Had they been wiped out? At the very least, he assumed they had been ambushed and rendered incapable of fighting. He decided to withdraw for now.
Had the rangers been taken down by just that small number? Or was it a massive surprise attack? Whatever the case, something was wrong.
The pack—consisting of the horse demonic beast and at least ten human-faced dogs—did not attack immediately. They simply watched.
"Do the demonic beasts around here usually just lick their chops when they see humans?" Torres asked.
"Huh?"
Torres suddenly wanted to see Zimmer’s face—the man who had assigned him this dim-witted soldier. The man never seemed to grasp anything on the first try.
"A-Ah, no. That’s not it. Nothing happened during the last patrol. We didn't find a single trace of a pack like that."
That was indeed bizarre. How could a dozen demonic beasts suddenly materialize in a pack when the rangers hadn't found so much as a footprint? And why the strange mix of species?
A few of the monsters began to creep forward. Torres didn't wait for them to make the first move; he stepped out to meet them.
"Kill them all."
Kaaaa!
Several human-faced dogs lunged. Interestingly, the horse demonic beast retreated.
The skirmish was brief. Torres and his men cut down four of the dogs, while the horse demonic beast watched blankly before fleeing back into the depths of the forest. Judging that pursuit would be too dangerous, Torres called a halt.
Wiping his bloodied sword on the hide of a fallen beast, Torres spoke. "I need to report this."
*
Torres returned to Martai and reported the incident to the former Border Guard Captain, who now served as the territory's Castellan. The Castellan, suspecting there were more packs hidden in the woods, submitted a formal request for an extermination mission to the Border Guard.
Requesting a mission was beneficial for diplomacy. Besides, the Martai forces had their hands full. Public order within the territory was not yet fully established, and rumors were swirling that the Eastern Mercenary King was displeased with Martai’s transition to Naurilia. In fact, several soldiers from the East had already deserted under the cover of night.
"It’s probably best to just let them go," Zimmer had advised. "Even if we force them to stay, they are Easterners at heart. They would only turn their blades against us in the end."
Tough, resilient, and incredibly stubborn. That was how explorers described the Eastern nomads.
Torres shifted his focus to other matters, leaving the southern forest to the Border Guard. The Castellan of Martai and Battalion Commander Marcus of the Border Guard likely wanted the two territories to interact naturally, and this shared workload was a perfect excuse.
For the next two days, Torres worked with Zimmer to form a territorial security force. During that time, he received a report from a new ranger patrol.
"It doesn't seem like a large-scale colony has formed," the report stated.
That was a relief. But why was that first ranger squad wiped out? Did they desert as well? It seemed the most likely explanation.
*
A few days later, a detachment from the Border Guard arrived to fulfill the request. They numbered fewer than ten.
One of them was a familiar face: a golden-eyed beastman woman, formerly of the Black Sword Bandits and now a member of Encrid’s company.
"I'm counting on you," Torres told them.
The beastman nodded. The soldier with the habit of broken sentences stepped forward to act as their guide once again. Led by the beastman woman, the squad followed him toward the forest.
It was a strategic move to use Border Guard soldiers rather than mercenaries. Since demonic beasts were more active in winter, constant cooperation in clearing them out would make the two territories feel like a single command. By spring, Martai would be strong enough to hold its ground even if the Mercenary King threw a tantrum.
Torres wasn't worried. The quality of the Border Guard was high, and they wouldn't be defeated by a few human-faced dogs—especially not with that beastman woman leading the way.
*
"Look at this. Where did you learn that?" Rem asked.
"I watched others," Dunchabel answered. "I learned while working as a mercenary."
In her hometown, there had been no one to teach her. Her cursed transformation and golden eyes were more than enough to make her an outcast.
As she tied her long white hair back, her cat-like nose twitching, Rem laughed heartily and raised his massive fists.
"Begin."
That was the start of the violence. The start of the beatings. A day that began with a beating ended with a beating. At least, that was how it used to be.
Was this a memory, or was it trauma manifesting as a physical sensation? Dunchabel felt a sudden chill and rubbed her arms.
"Cold?" a soldier asked from behind.
"No," Dunchabel replied.
Cold didn't bother beastmen. Their body temperature was higher than humans, and their thick hair provided natural insulation. They were far more vulnerable to heat.
Dunchabel fell back into her thoughts as they approached the Grateful Forest. She reflected on Rem’s brutal training. Had it actually helped? She wanted to say no, but she couldn't lie to herself.
"Is this really teaching?" she had once asked him.
"Well, look at this stupid beastman," the barbarian had grinned. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Punching and kicking me."
Rem had laughed. "How have you even survived this long being so clueless?"
Then came more beatings. After two days of it, she thought she might actually die. But because she had fought so hard to survive under Encrid’s command, a new fire had been lit within her. Dunchabel yearned for life. It was the first time she realized such a burning desire existed in her soul.
What must I do to survive?
Her body began to react before her mind could process the danger. Through the endless pain, her muscles learned. She began to "steal" Rem’s movements, mimicking his flow.
"Now we’re finally speaking the same language," Rem had said. "Steal and learn on your own. If you don't want to die, that's the only way."
The look in the barbarian’s eyes had been enough to make anyone lose their nerve. Dunchabel was no exception. Rem was a man who seemed both excited and annoyed by the very act of combat.
It took her a week to unlearn her sloppy mercenary habits, and another week to master the new movements she had stolen from him.
"I have a question," Dunchabel had said during a rare break. "You seem to teach the company commander quite kindly. Why is it different for me?"
She hadn't realized that was a trigger. It was a genuine question born of curiosity.
"Fuuuuuck!" Rem roared, raising his axe. Dunchabel barely had time to draw her scimitar.
Clang!
"That man!" Rem shouted as they clashed. He moved with terrifying speed, yet his voice was perfectly steady. "No matter how simply I explain it! No matter how many times I demonstrate it! He doesn't get any better!"
He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "And you’re complaining? If you’re so unhappy, why don't you go roll around in the dirt every day like the Captain does?"
It had been a total misunderstanding. She wasn't complaining; she was curious. But the barbarian didn't care for explanations. He only cared for the fight.
The voice of the guide snapped Dunchabel back to the present.
"We’re here. This is the Grateful Forest. Now, the reason it’s called that is—"
Dunchabel stepped forward, ignoring the man. Her left eyebrow twitched. Her beastman instincts were screaming.
"Didn't you say there were only about ten horse demonic beasts and human-faced dogs?" she asked.
"Huh? Yes, that’s what the report said." The guide tilted his head, confused by her tone.
"Everyone, prepare for battle," Dunchabel commanded.
Her golden eyes pierced the treeline. Her vision could cut through the gloom, an intuitive power born of her heritage and honed on the battlefield. She sensed a massive presence.
Among the races, giants had the strength, elves had the sensitivity, and Froks had their unique talents. Beastmen, however, possessed the ultimate physical constitution.
"You idiot, you aren't even using half of what your body can do," Rem’s voice echoed in her head.
She had spent years mimicking human mercenaries, thinking their way was the only way. She was wrong.
"Don't put limits on your body when you fight," Rem had told her. "Don't rely on fixed stances. Trust your instincts. Fight like a wild beast."
Moving with that primal freedom while maintaining absolute control—that was the path to true strength. Since Rem had pushed her, Dunchabel felt her skills had improved by leaps and bounds.
It was time to put them to the test.
Grrrrr.
A single horse and a small pack? Not even close.
Dunchabel saw them creeping through the shadows. There were at least twenty horse demonic beasts, and the human-faced dogs were too numerous to count. Deep within the forest, dozens upon dozens of glowing red eyes flickered like embers.
"You. Go call for reinforcements. Now," Dunchabel told the guide.
"Huh?"
Thwack!
Dunchabel didn't hesitate. She smacked the back of the soldier’s head with a heavy hand.
"Urgh!" The man stumbled, clutching his head in bewilderment.
"Run if you don't want to die!" she barked.
She realized she was starting to sound exactly like Rem, but there was no time to dwell on it. The guide turned and bolted back toward Martai. The other soldiers drew their weapons, their faces pale as they realized this "simple request" had turned into a slaughterhouse.
"Damn it, how did the report get it so wrong?" one muttered.
Dunchabel cracked her neck. If this was the extent of the enemy... she could handle it. She felt a surge of confidence she had never known before.
"Do you want to live? Then fight back."
Rem’s voice was a ghost in her mind. She hated to admit it, but those brutal sparring sessions had ignited something in her. A yearning for life that burned hotter than any instinct.
Shring.
Dunchabel drew her scimitar.
"Do not step in front of me," she warned the soldiers. "And stay out of my way."
With a sharp thud, the beastman lunged. Dirt and gravel sprayed as she vanished into a blur, leaving only afterimages behind.
Two horse demonic beasts reacted instantly.
Neighhh!
They charged with terrifying speed, aiming to trample her underfoot. Dunchabel and the monsters met like intersecting lines, crossing paths in a flash of steel and shadow.