Smashing Thieves with Death!
The Mountain King and I beat down thieves!
"My lady, I must apologize, but parting with the Mountain King is simply impossible."
"And what reason might that be, pray tell?"
I arched a brow ever so slightly to signal my displeasure, but Baron Trofimov, to my surprise, refused to cave to my mood and began counting off his reasons on his fingers, one by one.
"First. I have already signed a contract with a slaughterhouse. Breaking it would call my credibility into question."
He raised the next finger.
"Second. If you were to purchase that beast, where would you keep him? Tying him down would be no small undertaking, and you cannot keep him penned forever. And—"
"And?"
When I pressed with a touch more irritation, his voice trembled a little.
"Third. The price of that beast is... one your ladyship may find difficult to bear."
"How much, exactly?"
Baron Trofimov named his figure. Even to a layman like me, it sounded outrageously expensive.
"Eliza, does this price strike you as reasonable?"
Eliza answered with an elegant bow of her head.
"My lady, as I understand it, that sum would be enough to purchase a small ranch outright. However special that bison may be, I find it difficult to grant such value to a beast that cannot be controlled."
Baron Trofimov shrugged his shoulders.
"Nevertheless, when you tally up the losses caused by that animal, the compensation owed to the injured herdsmen, and the destroyed facilities, the figure has to reach at least that much."
I met the Mountain King's eyes. Within those black pupils, alongside fury, there glimmered a certain intelligence—as though he were recognizing me.
"Then, perhaps..."
Just how was I supposed to talk this man around? The moment I opened my mouth, a shout rang out from somewhere far away.
"Bandits! Cattle raiders have hit us!"
We all turned toward the sound. A cloud of dust was rising from the south end of the ranch, and through the confusion came the cries of frightened livestock.
"What in the world—?"
Baron Trofimov's face went white in an instant. Before long, a single herdsman came galloping toward us on horseback. He was out of breath to the point of choking, sweat beading on his forehead and flashing in the sunlight, fear written plain across his face.
"Baron! It's terrible! The southern pastures are under attack!"
"What!? How many are there?"
Baron Trofimov demanded urgently.
"More than twenty! All of them armed, and moving in an organized fashion! Our herdsmen are injured—we don't have the men to hold them off!"
"What are they stealing? Don't tell me—"
"The cows, my lord! They're driving every breeding cow on the ranch straight toward the perimeter!"
The baron's face, pale only moments before, now flushed a deep, furious red. The abrupt transformation was almost entertaining to watch.
Well, it's not my problem anyway.
No—wait a moment. Couldn't I put this to good use...?
Just then, another herdsman came running up, blood streaming down his forehead.
"Baron! One of the raiders—I've seen him before! He used to work the livestock market in Eisenfels, for the Dmitri ranch—I'm certain of it!"
"Dmitri?!"
Baron Trofimov clenched his teeth, a murderous gleam rising in his eyes.
"My lady, forgive me. An urgent matter has arisen. I must go at once and deal with this myself."
He bowed deeply to me, unable to manage another word, and hurried off with his men. A handful of workers soon followed behind, brandishing axes and clubs—but against raiders numbering more than twenty, they were hopelessly outmatched.
"Lady Eliza, oh no... does this sort of thing happen often?"
Bielka asked in a trembling voice, and Eliza shook her head.
"No. At least within the Grand Duke's direct domains, I have never heard of a cattle raid on this scale, or so well organized. However—the Grand Duke's current absence, the many workers at the Trofimov ranch injured by the Mountain King, the fences and facilities destroyed... those are all perfect conditions for a raid, aren't they?"
Shouts and the clamor of struggle drifted over from the distance at intervals. Baron Trofimov and his men were surely being pressed hard.
And then—
"MOOOOOOU—!"
The Mountain King suddenly let out a cry—a bellow that rolled across the land like thunder.
"O-oh, ohhh...?!"
"What is...?"
"MOOOOOOU—!"
It felt as though the very ground was shaking. His roar seemed to answer the cries of the cows drifting in from far away.
Bound in layer upon layer of iron chain, he began to thrash with terrible force. The thick chains bit into his muscled bulk, but the Mountain King paid them no mind and roared in fury.
"Th-that's incredible...!"
Bielka ducked her head and hunched her shoulders.
"It's all right, Bielka. If anything, this may be a fine opportunity, if you ask me."
I gazed at the Mountain King. Indeed, this was a kind of opportunity—one that would let me free him without the consent of his current owner, Baron Trofimov.
I walked slowly toward him. His fury and his strength pressed against me like a physical weight, even beyond the log fence.
Standing before the timber barrier, I took fresh note of just how solid it was. Thick, hard logs driven deep into the earth, packed tight as teeth. Nothing short of a siege ram would put a dent in it, by the look of things.
But—
"My lady Katerina!"
Eliza's warning reached me faint, like an echo from far away.
I drew a deep breath. I felt every muscle in my body tense at once.
I drew one foot back, twisted my torso, and loaded my whole weight into it. Then, channeling all my strength, I drove my fist into the log fence.
At once, with a thunderous boom, the timber barrier exploded into splinters. The thick logs snapped like matchsticks and leapt into the air, and the shockwave set the surrounding air trembling.
The confidence of Katerina within me had never been unfounded. With a single blow, the massive log fence ceased to exist.
The Mountain King reacted on instinct as well. As if answering my call, his enormous body began to thrash with renewed violence.
The chains wrapped around his bulk were anchored to great iron stakes driven deep into the ground. As he twisted his whole body against them with a furious bellow, the earth itself began to quake.
Kreeeeeeeeak—!
Soon the iron stakes were bending with a hideous groan. The Mountain King moved more wildly still.
CRUNCH!!
The ground around the stakes began to split. The Mountain King's strength had brought even the earth to its knees.
KA-CHAK!
At last, several of the stakes tore loose, roots and all, and burst up from the ground. The Mountain King was still wrapped in chains—but now those chains were anchored to nothing at all.
"Hm."
I picked up the fallen end of the chain.
The poor Baron Trofimov had paid a steep price for this Volkov-forged steel, and it was indeed quite heavy—but in Katerina's hands it handled easily enough. It had considerable length, too; with a little imagination, it could serve as a whip, a lasso, or even something resembling a chain flail.
And meanwhile—the Mountain King, newly freed, raised his head high and bellowed toward the sky as if declaring his victory. The wind caught his black mane at just that moment, and it whipped about wildly, reminding me of a scene from a certain movie where a man escapes prison by chipping through a wall with a spoon.
The Mountain King slowly turned his head toward me.
His black eyes met my red ones. Time seemed to stop.
A wordless conversation passed between us. I could tell—he remembered me. Remembered our meeting at the livestock market. Remembered the strength I had shown him there.
He did not charge. He did not attack. Instead, he gave a slight bow of his head before me.
"My thanks, good sir."
Without hesitation, I swung myself up onto his back, one hand seizing his black mane, the other gripping the chain firmly.
From atop the Mountain King's back, the world spread out beneath me in an entirely new light. Everything looked small. And I felt more powerful than I ever had in my life.
"Let's be off, Mountain King!"
Before the words had even left my mouth, the Mountain King was running—like a chariot descended upon this world. His hooves shook the earth as he tore southward, straight toward the raiders.
Behind me, I heard Bielka's startled gasp of admiration, but I was already one with the wind.
The Mountain King's hooves thundered against the earth. The impact of his massive bulk sent pebbles skipping into the air and kicked up clouds of dust.
The wind slapped at my face, and my drill curls whipped about wildly. Instinctively, I tightened my grip on his mane.
"Faster, if you please!"
Before I finished speaking, the Mountain King accelerated. I could feel his muscles surging beneath my legs.
His running form changed as well. Lowering his shoulders, horns thrust forward, he charged like a creature possessed.
How long did we run? At last a green plain opened up before me—and there, I beheld a sight I did not expect.
"...!"
People lay sprawled across the ground—herdsmen of Baron Trofimov's ranch, by the look of them. Many of them bled from head wounds, and a few had faces so swollen they were barely recognizable. The traces of the raiders' brutal club-work were written plainly on their bodies.
"Wh-who... who's that, with the bison...?"
"I've come to aid your baron! Tell me where he's gone!"
The herdsman, too dazed to recognize the Grand Duke's own daughter, had hope flare across his face for an instant—before it contorted back into pain.
"Ngh... the Baron... he went that way..."
He pointed ahead.