Chapter 21: The First Letter (21)
Chapter 21: The First Letter (21)
I almost died. That was the only thought in my mind as I let out the breath I had been holding, my lungs burning.
The final move had been a pure gamble. It was a strategy I hadn't even been sure would work.
I had played dead.
Normally, "playing dead" only worked against dull predators. Against a demonic beast with razor-sharp senses, it wouldn't have been strange if the tactic backfired spectacularly.
Even if you hold your breath, your heart still beats. The unique presence of a living being isn't something that can be hidden so easily. No matter how faint the trace, a beast with senses as keen as a demonic beast's should be able to distinguish between life and death.
That was exactly why I chose to play dead.
This beast seemed to be the alpha of the forest. It was strong and clever, but it wasn't without its weaknesses.
A hunting festival is held in this forest every year. If a demonic beast of that size had existed before, it would have been dealt with during last year's festival.
When hundreds of talented individuals, welcomed anywhere on the continent, scour the entire forest in teams, where could a creature that massive possibly hide?
That meant it was less than a year old. It was far too young to be compared to the infamous, wicked demonic beasts that were known throughout the continent.
Furthermore, seeing how it arrogantly flaunted its "prey" with their guts spilling out, it seemed to have an arrogant and boastful personality.
Beings with such temperaments, whether human or beast, tended to be prone to overconfidence.
Every time I showed signs of exhaustion, the creature grew more excited. I suspected I was the first real opponent it had ever faced. Facing victory against such a foe, its irrepressible wild instincts were bound to surface.
So, I decided to take the gamble. I was a dead man anyway if things continued as they were.
If I could use that life as a stake in a gamble, it was a better deal. So, I deliberately allowed the wolf to land a blow while I coated my body in mana.
To be honest, the moment my body flew through the air from that terrifying impact, I felt a pang of regret.
The shock was that intense. The thud as I slammed into the tree and the way I slid down weren't intentional; I had simply lost consciousness for a split second.
The moment I came to, I instinctively tried to take a deep breath but managed to hold it back.
I was suffocating. I wanted to breathe right then and there. Every corner of my body, battered by what felt like a living battering ram, desperately craved oxygen.
But I endured. I didn't calm my breathing, and I did my best to cool down my heart rate, which was racing from the heat of battle.
Still, breaths leak out, and hearts beat. It was an unavoidable phenomenon, the destiny of the living.
The beast wasn't so dull that it wouldn't notice. However, I had one thing I was counting on.
The potion Emma had given me—its effect was to conceal one's presence.
A "presence" is a complex combination of various factors. Sound is one, but movement, killing intent, and countless other elements combine to form what is called a "presence."
However, the most significant factors among them are auditory stimuli, such as the sound of breathing or a heartbeat.
Not to mention the sounds made while moving the body. Emma's potion had the effect of drastically reducing those sounds of breathing and heartbeats.
That was why my heartbeat had slowed and my movements had felt sluggish when I first took the potion to ambush the wolves. It felt as if my body were floating, like I had become a ghost.
The beast likely hadn't been completely off guard. The Scent-Concealing Potion had played a major role in my killing ten of its subordinates.
But when the brain is heated by the excitement of battle and long-dormant wild instincts are awakened, such facts are easily forgotten.
No matter how smart it was, a beast was still a beast. Its memory wouldn't last that long, and it didn't have many ways to resist its instincts.
It might have been different if it were a Named-class. But this creature was merely an immature demonic beast that had yet to earn a name.
So, it was a plan worth trying. I just couldn't be sure of the outcome. It was a total gamble.
And the result of that gamble was right before my eyes.
The wolf was staring at me with a hollow, disbelieving look, coughing up gouts of blood.
While it had been inspecting my body with ecstatic eyes, mana had been slowly gathering in my sword. A stronger, sharper blade of mana.
Never in my life had I produced such a brilliant light from my sword. But today, as the battle continued, my aura had grown steadily more vivid.
That peak of power was now piercing through the wolf's neck.
Dense muscle was torn like paper. I could feel the skin ripping apart as I pushed with all my strength.
In a final act of desperation, the wolf flailed its forepaws, trying to attack me. But as I thrust the sword upward to support its weight, its paws lost their strength along with a scream.
Blood poured down. The wolf's damp breath gradually faded. That sensation of life flickering out—it had been unpleasant at first, but not anymore.
I gritted my teeth and gasped out, "Did Emma... huff... did Emma fall silently like this too? Wheeze..."
The wolf couldn't answer. Its entire throat had been impaled. It was obvious, but I found the silence unbearably disgusting.
Creeeak. I twisted the blade embedded in its neck, and the sound of grinding bone echoed. A deeper groan escaped the wolf's mouth.
The image of Emma, with her gentle smile, flashed before my eyes. And her father, who had wailed in the temple, unable to even offer a prayer.
A darker killing intent clouded my eyes.
"So... huff... did you think I was dead too? Gasp... Well?"
The wolf's body began to go limp. It was over. It was on the verge of death.
Only then did I pull out the sword that had been piercing its neck and supporting its weight.
Blood sprayed out like a torrential downpour. The sound of liquid hitting the dirt echoed—splash. As I staggered aside, the wolf's body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud.
The groaning wolf's eyes, their focus fading, were fixed on me.
It looked like a plea, or perhaps like it had given up on everything.
A surge of suppressed rage welled up in my chest.
I wanted to rip its belly open while it was still alive and spill its guts. I wanted to return even a fraction of the pain Emma must have felt.
I actually intended to do it. My hand holding the sword trembled. Just as I was about to slice open that soft underbelly and spill its contents onto the ground...
The corpses of the people the demonic beast had disemboweled caught my eye.
That was what a demonic beast did. Beings that toyed with life like a game and enjoyed inflicting pain.
And I was not a demonic beast; I was a human. I was the second son of a rural viscount and a third-year student at the Empire's prestigious Academy, Ian Percus.
In the end, I hesitated, my foot stopping just before I could kick the wolf over to expose its belly. Instead, I steadied my breathing and gripped the hilt of my sword with both hands.
Mana gathered. A silver aura—the color that symbolized my mental imagery.
"The owner of those clothes... huff... the ones you spat out..."
I didn't know if the creature could hear me. Its groans were becoming faint. I only felt as if its gaze flickered slightly.
It might have been my imagination, but I spoke one last time before bringing the sword down.
"That person... gasp... is the one who killed you. Make sure... you remember that."
I hoped that would be the only vengeance I could offer Emma.
Then, with a thwack, blood sprayed again.
Perhaps because fatigue had accumulated in my muscles, the blade stopped halfway through the wolf's neck. But that was enough.
Enough to grant rest to that stubborn, dying life.
The moment I confirmed the wolf's final breath had faded and the light of life had completely vanished from its eyes...
My body collapsed as if it were crumbling.
I had reached my limit.
*
Professor Derek had been sprinting like a madman from the moment he heard the news from Seria.
If there were trees in his way, he simply swung his sword. Every time he did, the trees in front of him exploded as if hit by a bomb.
He was a veteran swordsman. As soon as he saw Seria's condition, he could deduce the general situation.
He didn't know the exact cause, but Seria had an ankle injury. Demonic beasts had attacked Ian and Seria, and Ian had sent her away to request reinforcements while he stayed to protect her.
They couldn't be low-ranking demonic beasts. If they were, Seria wouldn't have run so desperately.
And if they were just mediocre beasts, they wouldn't have asked for help. Ian and Seria would have tried to handle it themselves.
That left only one answer.
Ian's life was in danger. As soon as that thought crossed his mind, Derek began to run at full speed.
Derek knew all too well how dangerous demonic beasts were. He had spent decades wandering the continent, hunting countless monsters. Despite that, he never let his guard down when facing one.
Ian was Derek's student.
Of course, all his students at the Academy were precious, but Ian had particularly caught Derek's eye lately.
At first, he had overwhelmed Seria with a footwork technique even Derek couldn't identify, and then the following week, he had returned with his killing intent significantly dampened.
Just when Derek thought Ian's skills had regressed to their old level, the boy had somehow taken Derek's advice to heart and managed to secure a draw. He even showed the magnanimity to show mercy to a junior who was in no position to resist.
He had even heard rumors lately that Ian was hanging around with that "rude" Seria. Seeing them paired up today, it seemed the rumors were true.
It was an excellent attitude. Seria seemed to follow him strangely well, and she was unusually submissive in front of Ian. Derek had been inwardly pleased, wondering if spring had finally come for "Yurdina's Rude Brat."
To think such an incident would happen now.
He had been careless. Even if it was just a forest, he should have considered the possibility of high-ranking demonic beasts appearing, especially with the hunting festival approaching.
Derek only hoped that Ian was still alive. He didn't care if the boy was severely injured or in a coma. He would find any way possible to save him.
Derek was an adult, and he wasn't cowardly enough to evade responsibility. He was prepared for the necessary expenses.
But no matter what you do, you cannot bring back the dead. If that happened, he wouldn't be able to face his dead student, nor would he be able to hold his head high before the boy's family and friends.
Before long, the thick scent of blood reached Derek's nose. His anxiety grew.
He desperately prayed that this pungent smell of blood didn't belong to Ian. The moment he stepped into a clearing...
Derek came to a dead stop.
It was a bloodbath. The corpses of giant wolves were strewn about the area. At a glance, it wasn't just one or two. He counted ten.
It was a number beyond imagination. It was a number that the Ian he knew shouldn't have been able to handle.
Then why were there only the corpses of demonic beasts in this clearing?
Derek walked as if possessed, kneeling to inspect the wolf carcasses closely. He didn't care that his trousers were stained with blood. He was a former demonic beast hunter, after all.
Most of the causes of death were ambushes. They had suffered fatal blows without even being able to resist. Even so, there must have been some degree of physical struggle.
In the midst of it all, he must have gritted his teeth to suppress his screams, hiding his body to wait for the next prey.
Such a scene naturally formed in the mind of the veteran hunter, Derek. He felt a chill run down his spine.
It wasn't because he felt pity for the desperate struggle. Rather, it was because the judgments made were so incredibly precise.
It's impossible to face a crowd alone. Therefore, one must hide and carry out ambushes by any means necessary. Scream in the process? One might want to, but the moment you do, the risk of losing your life increases exponentially.
In that sense, Ian was right. But was that truly something an Academy student with little real combat experience could do?
A memory of Ian from another day resurfaced. Those golden eyes that had looked particularly tired that day.
They were the eyes of a seasoned killer. It was while Derek was lost in thought like that...
A small figure burst into the clearing, panting for breath. It was a girl with black hair tied back and a cute, energetic face.
Celine Haster. She had followed Derek.
Her eyes frantically scanned the surroundings. Her movements felt almost desperate, as if her anxiety had reached its peak while following him.
After searching the area several times, Celine spotted Derek and cried out in an agonized voice.
"Professor! Wh-where is Ian... huff... where is Ian?"
"He is not here."
At Derek's dazed voice and blunt words, Celine's expression turned grim. It was around that time that the other students, who had been trying to keep up with Derek, began to arrive one by one.
Unlike Celine, whose eyes were wild with concern for Ian, the other students hesitated as they entered the clearing, likely feeling the same shock Derek had.
It was a gruesome sight. Some wolves had been killed instantly by fatal blows, but others lay dead with brains and blood oozing from their heads, as if they had been hacked repeatedly with an axe. One wolf was even seen dead with its nose buried in the dirt.
Only Celine was in a hurry. Just as she bit her lip and was about to run off in an unknown direction...
"Follow me."
Derek spoke and slowly began to walk. The students exchanged puzzled glances at the strange certainty in his voice.
Celine looked in the direction Derek was walking, and unable to bear the suspense, she dashed ahead of him.
However, it didn't take long before she and Derek met again.
In a clearing not far away, Celine stood frozen.
Derek, who arrived next, and the students who followed after him...
All of them stood there as if turned to stone, watching the scene.
There, a black-haired man with golden eyes was sitting down.
He was leaning his back against a wolf of such immense size that just looking at it felt overwhelming.
The ground was heavily soaked in blood. No sign of life could be seen in the wolf, whose eyes were closed. It was clearly a corpse.
Does that mean he hunted it?
It was inevitable that everyone's gaze turned toward the man.
He seemed to be savoring the fluffiness of the thick fur, burying himself deep into it.
After gasping for breath as if he might collapse at any moment, he turned his exhausted gaze toward everyone.
His hand rose weakly. It seemed to be his way of greeting them.
"......You're far too late, Professor Derek."
There was a faint trace of resentment in those words.