The Bear Hunt, Part I
If there was any saving grace, it was that the bears on the Floating Island were on the smaller side. They were roughly the size of a half-grown cub, with slight variations from one individual to the next. The bear inhabiting the territory Chester was currently targeting was only slightly larger than an average cub.
However, that was strictly in terms of height. Unlike actual cubs, these bears possessed the fully developed proportions of mature adults. Even if they stood at the same shoulder height as a cub, their dense muscle, thick layers of fat, and coarse fur gave them more than double the volume at a glance.
Most importantly, though the beast might be less than half Chester's size, its raw strength would easily double his own. Such was the power of the wild. Even the young Ant could outrun him. Compared to humans, wild beasts possessed overwhelmingly superior physical capabilities. Even a knight, arguably the strongest among humanity, would have to risk their life in a head-on clash with a wild predator.
Of course, there were plenty of ways to kill it. With traps, even a bear could be brought down. But Chester had no intention of relying on such methods. This hunt was an act of leadership as the head of their small group, responsible for Monia and Ant. At the same time, it was a personal trial Chester, as a man, had imposed upon himself.
No traps. Instead, he would pour every ounce of his current strength into slaying the beast. In life, there came moments when one simply had to do something foolish. This was one of those moments.
I want to grow stronger. Not just in terms of survival skills, but as a person. He wanted to become a great, dependable figure—just like his father had been.
"..." Chester searched for signs of the bear on the forest floor. He spotted some droppings. They were still warm and moist, meaning they had been left recently. Using this as a starting point, tracking the beast wouldn't take long.
Chester chewed on a piece of smoked meat as he walked through the forest. Just as he had wrapped various parts of his body in hide for armor, a strip of Ant-wolf pelt was bound around his head. With a machete swinging loosely in his hand as he strolled through the woods, clad in rugged leather, he looked more like a bandit than a hunter.
Yet, despite his relaxed, bandit-like exterior, Chester's entire body was wound tight with tension. Can I really pull this off? Anxiety whispered in his mind. But I have to. He resolved to do this—both for his own growth and to prevent their small group from being slowly consumed and destroyed by fear.
Swallowing the meat, Chester ran his tongue over his dry, tense lips. His strategy was simple. He would use the catchpole to restrain the beast, keeping it at a safe distance while delivering one-sided attacks. He would slash with his machete, and if he had to let go of the pole and back away, he would pelt it with his sling and bow before deploying a Chili Powder Bomb. While the blinded beast thrashed in agony, he would reclaim the catchpole and re-establish his distance.
It was a solid plan. The shaft of the catchpole was fashioned from the hardest wood Chester had found on the island. There was no chance of it snapping. As for the rope, a well-crafted cord was incredibly tough and resilient—far stronger than most would imagine. Even a thrashing bear from the Floating Island wouldn't be able to snap it easily.
Chester held the catchpole in one hand, spinning it and gripping it tightly to familiarize himself with its weight and balance. Crafting it had taken an immense amount of time. Stripping the roots and branches was far beyond the capabilities of his claw knife, forcing him to meticulously shave the wood down with his machete. Performing such delicate work with a heavy, crude blade had been an exhausting, unfamiliar task.
...This is where I had to run yesterday. Chester passed the spot where he had encountered the bear the previous day, continuing his trek deeper into the Bear Territory. It wasn't long before he spotted the beast's back in the distance.
That day, the bear decided it was finally time to feast on a delectable treat it had been watching grow for a long time. Emerging from its cave, the bear licked its chops in anticipation as it ambled through its territory. As it walked, it paused to scratch an itch on its shoulder, rubbing vigorously against a tree trunk. Later, finding a particularly appealing tree, it reared up on its hind legs, stretched its forepaws as high as they could reach, and raked its claws deep into the bark to leave its mark.
The claw marks, left at the absolute limit of the bear's reach, were roughly at the chest level of a tall human male. Pleased with the height of its mark, the bear continued its stroll in high spirits. It relieved itself, toyed with a rabbit it happened to catch, and then devoured the shredded remains as a quick appetizer before the main course.
Life had been wonderful lately. Surviving on the Floating Island usually meant wrestling with erratic weather and shifting temperatures, but this brief window before the arrival of the white season was incredibly bountiful. Food was plentiful, and the local wildlife was highly active, filling the entire island with vibrant energy. Of course, this surge of activity meant that every creature was desperately competing to survive, preparing for the harsh season that would inevitably follow this blissful period.
But for the bear, sitting comfortably at the top of the food chain with virtually no natural predators, this was a time of pure leisure and enjoyment. Fruits hung heavy from the branches, small prey scurried everywhere, and larger beasts frequently wandered by. Best of all, flowers bloomed in magnificent abundance. Flowers that couldn't withstand the scorching heat, flowers that withered in the bitter cold, flowers that thrived in warmth, and flowers that braved the frost—all of them bloomed together during this transitional season. Though the blossoms that bloomed out of their ideal seasons were small and carried only a faint scent, they bloomed nonetheless.
And where there were flowers, certain creatures became exceptionally busy: insects. Among them, the bear's absolute favorite was the bee. Unable to remain active during the oppressive heat of summer, they began to work with furious intensity the moment the weather cooled. Consequently, once this pleasant breeze persisted for a while, their massive hives would overflow with rich, sweet honey.
Wiggling its rear in excitement at the thought of honey, the bear trotted toward a spot it had kept an eye on. Finding the hive overflowing with golden nectar just as expected, it charged forward with glee. Terrified by the sudden appearance of the apex predator, the bees swarmed out in a frenzy, plunging their stingers into the intruder. However, their most formidable weapon was rendered utterly useless against the bear's dense fur, thick hide, and heavy layer of fat.
— Bzzzzzzzz!
— Bzzzzzzzzzz!!!
When faced with a powerful predator like a hornet, bees would sacrifice their lives to swarm the intruder, vibrating their bodies to generate enough heat to cook the predator alive. But against a massive beast like a bear, such tactics were futile. Annoyed by the clinging insects, the bear simply rolled on the ground, easily shaking them off or crushing them beneath its weight.
Keeping a wary eye only on the bees buzzing near its face, the bear took a massive bite out of the hive, bees and all. Bees, larvae, honey, and wax—it crammed everything into its mouth, chewing and swallowing greedily. A heavenly sweetness exploded across its palate.
Wearing a goofy, blissful grin, the bear smashed the rest of the hive with its paws, scooping up the fragments and devouring them like a starving man who had just stumbled upon a feast. It ate so ravenously that it accidentally bit its own paw, but such a minor detail hardly mattered. Having cleared out the shattered hive, the bear shoved its snout into the hollow tree trunk where the colony had nested, searching for more.
It licked up the honey dripping onto the ground and wedged its head deeper inside. When the remaining honeycomb proved too deep to reach, the bear pulled its head out and shoved a paw in, thrashing it around. The clawing motion shattered the inner hive, and the sticky honey caused the broken pieces to cling to its paw as it pulled it back out. The bear happily licked its paw clean. Even the queen bee, nestled deep within the ruined comb, was ruthlessly crushed between the bear's sharp fangs. The golden empire the bees had spent months building was reduced to a mere afternoon snack.
Just as the thoroughly satisfied bear turned to leave, a sharp, whistling sound cut through the air.
— Whirrr!
— Whirrr! Whirrr! Whirrr!
— ...?
The bear turned its head toward the source of the noise. And then—
— Thwack!
The moment the whistling stopped, a flying stone struck the bear squarely in the head.
— ROOOAR!!
It was a staggering impact, unlike anything the bear had ever experienced in its life. It had fallen from trees before while climbing for fun. It had been attacked by other beasts, its hide torn open, bleeding as flesh was ripped away. It had even fought other bears to the death over territory. But this was entirely different from any pain or shock it had ever known. It wasn't a claw slicing through hide, nor a fang piercing flesh. It was a heavy, blunt force that reverberated deep within its skull.
— Grrr! Groooar!
Yet, as powerful as the blow was, it was far from lethal. Shaking off the disorientation, the bear locked its eyes on the audacious "prey" that had dared to strike it and charged. The moment Chester saw the beast lunging toward him, he tossed his sling into his basket and gripped the catchpole with both hands.
"Alright," he muttered, bracing himself. "Let's do this."