Just for Today, a Ratman
The instinct of the wild.
To read, with perfect accuracy, the alarm bells of danger and the shape of defeat to come meant — turned the other way around — seeing with equal clarity which fights could be won.
It was a species so cowardly it could never even form a proper pack, forever bolting tail-first and scattering to the four winds at the faintest premonition of danger. Sewer rats, in every sense of the word. Yet bind such a frail species tight around a single center of gravity, and the odds of defeat and disaster would collapse to almost nothing.
I — Blood Demon Cheon Yujin — knew, in this very moment, precisely what manner of species the ratmen were.
"Squeak, squeak-squeak...!"
"Squeak-squeak!"
Mid-march. The instant the column crossed paths with a goblin band, the ratmen narrowed their eyes into vicious glares and slashed their weapons through the empty air in threat.
Whoosh, whoosh-whoosh!
Squeaking as they brandished their rusty blades, they looked for all the world like back-alley punks shaking down an elementary schooler on his way past — all the more so because their opponents were goblins, smaller even than the already small-statured ratmen. It had seemed, at the outset, a magnificent sortie brimming with charisma. Watching them scuffle with nothing more than a handful of goblin scouts made even my own chest feel petty by association.
"Kreeeeet!"
"Kek, keket!"
The small band of goblins, apparently come to scout the legion's route, fled in a flailing panic. A legion numbering in the hundreds had chased off barely ten goblins, and now the ratmen were sounding the victory call as though they'd snatched some electrifying come-from-behind triumph.
Pwoooooo — a horn even tooted away in high spirits.
Thump, thump-thump. Stamping their tiny feet audibly against the packed dirt and swaying their bodies in what had to be their traditional dance, the ratmen carried on. Just how long had they starved for a victory? Watching that gleeful dance nearly brought a tear to the corner of my eye.
A sigh slipped out all the same. After all, these were goblins that had insisted on nosing around the flanks of a marching army this size.
"Agh... these rat-brained idiots..."
Even a rat's head should have managed the obvious conclusion given a moment's thought: scouts, come to spy on us. There was no telling yet what choice the goblins would make, but I'd heard they were monsters with at least basic intelligence, which meant the scouts' findings would certainly be reported. Safety lay in chasing them down and butchering every last one right now, not in carrying on like this. But these ratmen apparently lacked the guts even to pursue, and they were so swept up in excitement that their reason had simply gone numb.
And so, I saw it clearly.
"These bastards...!"
A textbook case of... kissing up and kicking down!
Faithful to their survival instincts, they turned utterly weak before the strong — and all the rage piled up in the process came pouring out as thorough contempt heaped upon the weak. Rats to the very core; how could they be anything but the living specimen of groveling upward and trampling downward...!
What was more, now that they had a horde behind them and had grown puffed up, they might well swagger around despising every weak thing in sight — that would have been fine. The problem was that the cramped little courage they'd been born with hadn't changed in the slightest.
We had cleared the dense forest, around the point where the towering old trees thinned out, when —
Dudududu─!!!
Dust leapt up as wolves came bursting from beyond the woods. And it wasn't wolves alone — green shadows sat astride their backs. A march this grandiose had, sure enough, yanked the aggro of every monster in the vicinity.
A monster so common around Gates that a few minutes of internet streaming was enough to recognize it on sight. The warrior race: orcs. Balloon-swollen muscle, outsized weaponry, and riding wolves lolling their tongues to bare ferocious molars.
They say the weaker dog barks louder. Unlike the ratmen, who had squeaked and clamored to no purpose —
.........
Silence. Not one word. They simply urged their wolves along, holding to a gap just barely beyond arrow's reach. The instant the orc riders appeared, radiating battle-hardened menace, the ratmen's march froze solid and a heavy stillness filled the column.
"...Squeak, squeak."
In the silent standoff — gulp — the ratmen swallowed dry spit and turned to look at one another. The menace they'd aimed at the goblin scouts moments ago had vanished without a trace; now they flinched and watched each other nervously. They outnumbered the orc riders by dozens to one, easily. All they had to do was push forward with the raw violence of numbers — and they were scared stiff before the fight even began!
In the end, every ratman's gaze swung back to me, seated on the palanquin. Eyes desperate with pleading. The emotion etched into those eyes amounted to, more or less: "Waah. Do it for me."
It felt like staring into a mirror at myself from that wretched stretch right after my return — when my body had been remade into its worst possible form and I'd had no choice but to lean on my little sister Se-ah for everything...!
"H-how pathetic..."
What on earth was this unfamiliar feeling? The ratmen caused the accidents; I handled the cleanup. This was not the great Cult Master of the Blood Cult and manifest god exercising dominion with the twitch of a finger — hadn't I simply been demoted to a stand-in mom, tidying up after ratmen...? Somehow it felt as though I'd been planted at the exact opposite pole of my proper role, and I had to clutch my head in both hands.
"Tssssiiii...!"
Tap. Gritting my teeth, I climbed down from the palanquin and cut through the murmuring ratmen.
My Forged Blood Art was still nothing more than the Entry Realm, and I'd overtaxed myself striking that giant bear, so my condition was far from ideal. Riding the palanquin had let me recover my stamina while steadying the art, but I was in no state to sustain a proper battle for long.
Which was why —
"Haaaaaah."
With each breath I pulsed my heart, spreading the Forged Blood Art's power through my entire body, and drove every step down heavy with as much force as I could bear, like planting a seismic stomp. A real fight would be hard going. But thump, thump — I had more than enough left to stage the most intimidating display possible and bluff for my life...!
"Nnnnghhh......!"
Each step hurt as though my eyeballs would pop clean out of their sockets. But I crushed every moan rising up my throat with everything I had and dragged my feet onward, desperate.
The Entry Realm of the Forged Blood Art fell short of emitting qi beyond the body. But strained to the limit, it could manage a bare trace of qi-work — nothing destructive, merely a visible discharge of raw energy. Befitting an art that forges blood, that power was rooted in blood itself.
Kuuuuuuu─
In practical terms, it was a release of blood qi with no use and no effect whatsoever. But fused with this cloak the ratmen had forced onto me, it gave birth to a singular appearance: a monster in black cloak and helm, closing the distance while a blood-red aura scattered across its whole body...!
"Keeng, keng."
"Grrrrr..."
Just as the ratmen had, the wolves — beasts, first and foremost — reacted before their riders, faltering back with wary eyes. Confronted with that peerlessly ominous aura and my lofty, unhurried stride, the orc riders, too, began to break out in cold sweat.
"...Kruk, kek."
For a brief span the standoff held, each side glaring the other down. Then the orc rider at the very front wiped the sweat trickling down his face and made a hand signal. The wolves shuffled backward, withdrawing step by jittery step.
Dududududu! At last they wheeled their mounts and began retreating beyond the forest.
"Squeak, squeak-squeak!"
"Squeak-squeak squeak-squeak squeak-squeak-squeak!"
From the rear came the ecstatic roar of ratmen cheering and applauding. Orcs were a warrior race, yes — but for all their blunt simplicity, I'd heard they were far from mindless monsters. Their choice to send out nothing but wolf-mounted cavalry meant their purpose, as with the goblins, had surely been reconnaissance. A ratman legion had risen up without the slightest omen, so any species with sense would put confirmation before attack — or so I'd reasoned. So I had tried bluster first, and thank the heavens it had gotten through.
Relieved, I turned to head back to the ratmen. Then —
"Hold on."
Come to think of it... why was I going back?
I happened to be clear of their encirclement at this very moment. If I simply walked away now, wouldn't everyone get their happy ending? The ratmen had enjoyed a brief, beautiful dream, and I could pretend the trouble I'd stirred up on a whim had never happened. Besides — in this situation, if I explained that I'd been spotted by hunters and then kidnapped by ratmen, and that was how all of this came to pass... would anyone actually believe me...?
"......Hm."
Right. Time to fly. The instant I was about to put the Gentleman's Gait to full use and slip away from this spot —
what I had overlooked was this: an intelligent species would indeed prioritize scouting over attacking. But the species capable of fluidly rewriting its plans into an ambush the moment a leader drifted from the herd —
was humanity.
KWAAAAAAH!
With the sound of the atmosphere itself tearing open, masses of mana in dozens of varieties came pouring down, each one steeped in unmistakable killing intent.
".........!!!"
Perfect ambush timing, aimed at the exact instant my guard fell. I had been so absorbed in my performance that my sense for detecting presence had blurred; I never sensed the ambush at all. The storm of mana broke over me before I could take so much as a proper step or raise a guard.
With a deep vmmm, the mana circuits woven into the hoodie hidden beneath my cloak lit up.
Ting! Ta-da-da-daeng!
Spell or physical strike, there were far too many kinds to even tell apart — the mana masses ricocheted away like toy arrows.
"Damn it, that's impossible...!"
"A mere Ratman, with both a mana barrier and a physical barrier? That's no ordinary Named!"
"And that sinister aura... There's no doubt he can use Aura, too."
"I have to... report to the main force, right now!"
The hunters shed their stealth and revealed themselves, every one of them pouring out words in stunned disbelief — but the most stunned person present was me.
Cheon Se-ah, you absolute lunatic. I had joked that the thing was capitalism's answer to body-protecting qi, but this was genuinely the strength of body-protecting qi. Just how much had she poured into this single garment...?
"He's separated from the legion. This is our chance. We deal him damage here however we can, and give the main force its opening."
Watching the hunters move to press a second assault, I dropped into the Fierce Tiger Fist stance to respond before I could stop myself — but no, you fool. This was no time to be taking a counterattack posture...!
The hunters already treated me as some "Named" this or that — a monster, plain and simple. If the misunderstanding inflated any further, I would be subjugated as the genuine ratman chieftain. If I threw off the mask right now, surrendered, explained the circumstances, and borrowed Se-ah's strength, there might still be room to patch this up...!
The moment I moved to remove the mask —
a hot flare of pain shot through the crown of my head. What now — some attack, a curse? Why was the spot where that lump-raising brute Kang Mu-jin had clobbered me suddenly aching...?
"──H-huh? That stance... no. No way."
A voice that stirred a strange déjà vu. Crimson light kindled behind my mask as I picked out its owner, hidden from view behind the other hunters until this moment. A coat bearing the crest of a resplendently shining shield. Gauntlets that looked several times larger than the hands within them. A high ponytail swaying in the wind.
A hunter of the Aegis Guild — Namgung Ye-rin.
.........
She had seen the opening form of the Fierce Tiger Fist head-on. And above all, she was the only person alive who had watched the Blood Demon's overwhelming majesty with her own two eyes and learned for certain that I was a Returnee. In other words — of all people on this earth — the one human who knew my true power and my true identity.
And in this situation — ratmen swarming at my back, dressed and behaving, to any observer, exactly like a ratman — if I tore off the mask and revealed myself here and now...
"Not the Blood Demon... but the Blood Mouse?"
Running the Forged Blood Art, I blasted the red aura sheathing my body out even fiercer, scraped my throat raw, and spoke in a rasping voice that sounded as if it had been hauled up from the deepest pit of hell.
"──Squeak, squeak-squeak......!!!"
Just for today — just for today alone — I decided I would not be the Blood Demon.
I would be a Ratman.