Chapter 40
Chapter 40
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 40
Chapter Title: Night of Raw Flesh (1)
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Shadows flickered faintly beyond the blizzard.
Frost wolves bared their fangs, their bodies blending into the white expanse of the snowfield.
[Grrr...]
The monsters, driven mad by the scent of blood, staked their lives on the hunt tonight to fill their starving bellies.
Meanwhile.
"You bastards! Come at me!"
"We can't die after coming this far!"
"Do you have any idea how many close calls we've survived?!"
In the heart of the snowfield, where the blizzard raged fiercely, the prisoners gripped their spears and shields, bracing for battle.
The endless white of the snowfield swallowed their vision entirely.
The wolves vanished and reappeared amid the snowfield's ferocious winds.
Fangs draped like the hems of a ghost's robes.
One prisoner sprayed blood from the nape of his neck at their tips.
But.
Thwack!
The prisoners' spear tips pierced the wolf's flank as well.
Snap—
Tough hide tore, and the ribs beneath cracked.
The wolf retreated, bleeding, and the prisoners filled the gap left by their fallen comrade.
[Grrr!]
The frost wolves charged all at once.
The first wolf slammed into a prisoner's shield.
The shield shuddered from the impact, and the prisoner absorbed it with his entire body.
He resolutely thrust at the wolf's throat.
The spear tip pierced the wolf's flesh, and blood scattered across the snow.
Red frost stained the pristine snowfield.
"Revenge, you fucker!"
"You think you're the only one with teeth? I've got a spear!"
"Uwaaaah! Come on! Get in here! I said come on!"
The prisoners and wolves clashed savagely.
Claws and fangs hammered the shields as fiercely as the blizzard.
The prisoners gripped their spears desperately, holding their ground.
Their breaths were ragged, their faces frozen like ice.
The prisoners clustered around a central point, forming a defensive line, and continued battling the frost wolves.
Eventually.
[Grrrrr...]
The frost wolves slowly backed away.
The prisoners shouted in ecstasy.
"We did it! We won!"
"They're retreating!"
"Haha—scared now? Then run with your tails between your legs, you mutts!"
Having driven off that terrifying pack of frost wolves, they were thoroughly exhilarated.
Right then.
"Everyone, lower your weapons and fall back."
Federback, who had been standing idly by until now, stepped forward.
Several of the surviving prisoners, still riding the high of battle, bristled.
"What? You've been sitting back this whole time, and now what? These spear and shield cost me good money! You gonna take them back now? Why? Scared we'll all stick together now that we're awakened and... rebel...?"
One man raised his voice but couldn't finish his sentence.
Crack!
A massive hand burst from the blizzard, seized his head, and crushed it.
"Ugh!?"
"W-what the hell?"
"What is that...!?"
Only then did the prisoners recoil in horror.
The frost wolves, which had charged ferociously moments ago, hadn't retreated out of fear of the prisoners' resistance.
[Kekekekeke...]
They had been wary of that massive shadow now sneering from beyond the blizzard.
Fizzle—fizzle—fizzle—fizzle—
The torches illuminating the wagon went out one after another.
A razor-sharp gale blew strong enough to extinguish even the flames clinging to thick whale blubber.
Whoooosh—
Riding that wind, a colossal monster revealed itself.
"Hm. That's a Yate, huh."
Federback narrowed his eyes.
Yate (གཡའ་དྲེད).
A high-rank monster that the natives at the mountain base called the "Slaughterer of Snowy Nights."
Its form was roughly carved from all the terror, brutality, and despair of the snowfield, shaped like a human.
Its stature towered like a massive steeple, its body covered in endless coarse white fur.
Its forehead bulged unnaturally, its eye sockets sunken deep and dark.
The skin around its eyes was bruised purple, like the face of the dead.
[Gagagagak—]
The Yate curled its lips and laughed.
Its maw gaped open like the gates of hell.
Long, sharp fangs were densely packed, with old blood and flesh from victims rotting between them.
Federback stepped forward.
'Human blood is the best bait for drawing these things out, as expected.'
Yate had long been a scourge, with endless complaints from the territory's outskirts in the Northern Region.
Once trade routes opened, it would cause endless trouble for merchants.
Catching it on the way was like nipping future headaches in the bud—a win all around.
Moreover, the inner core inside a Yate's body was excellent nourishment for any practitioner.
'Much bigger than a normal Yate. If it absorbed some of the Demon King's resurrection energy, it might evolve to at least 5th Circle.'
...The problem was that Yate were classified as high-rank monsters, requiring at least five 3rd Circle knights to take one down.
And this Yate was about 1.5 times larger than average.
Likely the leader of the Yate in this area.
Knowing this, the prisoners' faces turned whiter than the snowfield.
"W-we're done for."
"Federback, even that bastard ends here."
"We gotta run now! Quick, break these chains..."
Unable to escape their iron chains and manacles, the prisoners could only stamp their feet anxiously.
...But.
'I've crushed countless of these on Meurso Mountain during the Great Demonic War. 2nd Circle mana is more than enough.'
Federback strode out casually, as if swatting a slightly large fly.
Shing—
The sword left its sheath and shot toward its target.
...Thud!
Federback's extended blade severed one segment of the Yate's finger.
[Kraaak!?]
The Yate hastily withdrew its hand and thrashed wildly.
Whoosh—
The Yate launched its first attack.
A massive fist hurtled forward.
Like a battering ram charging to smash castle gates.
But Federback dodged the fist with a sidestep and buried his blade into the side of the Yate's knuckles.
Slaaaash!
As the fist passed, the sword automatically sliced through hide and flesh up to the elbow.
The Yate had wounded itself further with its own power.
[Kraaaak!?]
The Yate roared and fell back.
But by then, Federback was already pressed against the Yate's leg.
Stab! Stab!
Federback's low thrust scraped along the ground.
It severed both Achilles tendons in succession.
Thud—boom!
The Yate collapsed flat on the snowfield.
It quickly planted its hands to lift its upper body and whipped its head side to side, searching for Federback.
"All that thick fur hides you blind."
Federback was already atop the Yate's back, gripping the tough fur at its nape tightly.
"Annoying. Just die already."
The white blade swept horizontally across the Yate's throat.
Splurt—boom!
A blood fountain erupted from the immense pressure, painting a red streak across the snowfield.
[Grulk!? Grulk!? Grulk!?]
The Yate frantically clasped its hands over the gash in its throat.
Federback nodded, stepping on the back of its head.
"Right. You think you can hold it shut. Everyone does when half their neck's cut."
The white blade rose high into the sky.
Federback spoke in his characteristic emotionless tone.
"If it were me, I wouldn't clutch my throat—I'd grab the enemy behind me."
The blade fell like a white lightning bolt.
Split—
The Yate's skull cleaved deeply vertically, meeting the horizontal throat wound to form a cross.
...Thud!
The Yate's body sprawled across the snowfield.
Federback descended to the ground as if it were nothing.
"...Maybe because the Demon King hasn't awakened yet. Even the monsters feel oddly softened by peace. No real wildness left."
Words that would have stunned the dead Yate if it could hear—but it was already gone.
All the prisoners who had witnessed the scene could do was stare in stunned silence.
Federback brushed the frozen blood shards from his white Mari Carlac.
"What are you staring at?"
"T-that... it..."
The prisoners all averted their eyes.
They couldn't meet Federback's eyes glowing red through the blizzard.
The pretty young noble before them felt far more terrifying than the frost wolves or the grotesque Yate.
Meanwhile, Federback stroked his chin.
"We'll camp here tonight."
"Pardon?"
Sancho, mixed in with the prisoner group, exclaimed in shock.
"No, Young Master. This is the middle of a blizzard-swept snowfield! How are we supposed to spend the night here?"
"Figure it out. Pile up snow for walls or dig a pit."
"W-we're fine, but... won't you be cold, Young Master?"
The other prisoners nodded at Sancho's excuse.
But Federback remained utterly nonchalant.
"I have a warm sleeping bag."
"Pardon? But no sleeping bag's warm enough in this blizzard..."
The moment Sancho tilted his head.
Riiip—
Federback suddenly swung his sword, slicing open the Yate's belly.
Steam—steam—steam—
Hot entrails from the gaping abdomen billowed white vapor.
Federback unhesitatingly pried open the belly flap and slid inside.
"Want to sleep warm?"
"......"
"Come on in."
Federback sliced through the Yate's guts with his sword, shoving them aside.
Among them, half-digested corpses that looked like natives glimmered through the translucent stomach lining.
"Urk! Bluuuugh!"
Sancho and the prisoners retched.
Even those who prided themselves on strong stomachs covered their mouths and looked away.
Federback nodded.
"Suit yourselves."
The Yate's belly flap closed.
...Snap!
The warm, bloody stench vanished into the cold blizzard.
The snowfield's night deepened in its raw, primal state.