The Hunt Begins
It was a bright moonlit night.
From the waxing gibbous to the full moon. Isaac dredged up his memories. The evening the priest brought news that all the children of Black Goose Village had died. He might not remember everything, but the full moon was etched clearly in his mind. He'd stared at it for a long while, listening to voices from the central courtyard.
At most five days. At least two.
Unlike other illnesses with distinct symptoms tied to stages, mana poisoning varied wildly from person to person—incubation periods, survival times, everything. Adults or children. Mana resistance levels. Overall health. Living conditions. One thing was certain: in a life-or-death situation, optimism was no help at all.
Two days. I have to wrap everything up within two days, no later.
Isaac left the road and plunged into the forest. The dense underbrush was pitch black, but light magic kept his vision clear enough. The real challenge was something else.
"Where the hell are they?"
Snow-buried ground. Frozen soil. Finding the needed herbs amid it all wasn't easy. To save even one more child, he needed time—and that meant herbs, which were no simple task.
Should've brought Hans. He regretted not having even a cat's paw to help. But Isaac shook his head. Hans's help would be nice, but with the mana rampage lockdown keeping him confined, the dutiful boy would report to the steward, who wouldn't let it slide. Persuading them would waste precious time; worse, it might tighten surveillance. This he had to do alone.
Isaac steeled himself and scoured every nook of the forest. He tripped over rocks, scraped himself on trees and thorns, but paid it no mind. Between thick rocks shrouded in mossy shade and dampness. Near clear streams safe to drink from, in sunny spots. The books described it casually, but finding them was a nightmare.
"Hoo."
His breath clouded the air. The moon had visibly dipped westward. Stubbornly sticking to the herbs' growth conditions, Isaac finally gathered enough of two kinds: white stone flower and moon halo flower.
White stone flower helped with cold symptoms—fever, cough, phlegm. Moon halo flower temporarily boosted mana resistance. Both effects were fleeting, though; they didn't cure mana poisoning. Just a stopgap to buy time.
"Ugh. This should do." Isaac stretched his aching back. At this rate, it'd hunch before his body even grew. Still, the sack brimming with herbs filled him with resolve. If they worked on the kids as the books claimed, relying on his knowledge to wipe out the winter spiders wouldn't be impossible.
Distant coyote yips and wolf howls echoed. Nighttime beasts were as dangerous as monsters. Done with his task, Isaac hurried back to the road and out of the forest. Hours later, he reached Black Goose Village, fumbling through hazy memories of the way.
"Young master?"
The Nanny peeked through the door crack. An old cloth masked her nose and mouth; only her eyes showed, wide with shock.
"You look beat."
Isaac muttered at her face—that face locked in the manor's underground vault for decades, vivid in dreams whenever he tried to forget. Unchanged. He wanted to embrace her in joy, but crushed the surging emotion. He had to suppress feelings now. Until he was sure the mana rampage wouldn't trigger. Distance from those he cherished. No room for weakness.
"What brings you here so late? Trouble at the manor? And what happened to your clothes? Where've you been rolling around?"
Her under-eyes were hollow, cheeks gaunt beneath the cloth. But the barrage of questions was pure Nanny.
"Haven't seen you at work for days. Came to check."
"You're coming in?"
She panicked as he stepped toward the hut.
"Why not?"
"The doctor's calling it pneumonia. What if it spreads?"
Isaac pulled a handkerchief from his overcoat and tied it over his mouth.
"This good enough?"
"But..."
He gently brushed off her hand and entered.
"Did the master give permission?"
"Nope."
"What were you thinking!? What if you'd run into bandits!?"
"Didn't."
"Bandits alone? What about monsters or beasts!?"
Her scolding went on, voice thick with parental worry—just like he remembered. Isaac nearly laughed but held it in.
"Enough. Take this first."
"Pardon?"
He handed over the herb-filled sack and headed to the bed nearest the fireplace without a word. Hinder lay there, Nanny's son. Bluish spots bloomed like bruises on his thin-skinned face—around the eyes, neck, forehead. Telltale signs of mana poisoning.
"Sorry. Hinder's been too sick to come to work."
She said sadly.
"Doctor?"
"Comes every three days, but no improvement."
"I see. Hinder, Hinder. Hear me?"
"...Isaac?"
Hinder cracked his eyes, face twisted in pain.
Right. Now I remember. This face. Just like his mom's. Thick brows, gentle eyes—spitting image. Even before regressing, Isaac had seen Hinder a few times. Same age, but taller by a handspan. He'd always called Isaac by name, not "young master," earning scoldings from Nanny. This time, though, she stayed silent, wiping dry eyes and gazing at her son with anguish.
"Isaac—no, young master. Don't fire my mom. It's my fault, 'cause I'm sick. Cough, cough."
"Won't fire her. She's the only one who sneaks me bread. Worry about yourself."
Isaac clasped Hinder's hand, then stood.
"Crush or grind those herbs, boil 'em. Dump the first brew—it's like poison. Cool the second and give it to the sick kids."
"This... for medicine?"
Nanny eyed the sack dubiously.
"Any hunters in the village?"
Isaac nodded and continued. The herbs proved effective. Trusting him, Nanny brewed them diligently and fed her son. Hinder's cough eased temporarily, fever dropped, and the blue spots faded somewhat. Satisfied, Isaac followed the village hunter she'd introduced to the abandoned mine.
No sleep all night, yet no fatigue. Still work to do.
"This is the mine."
Early dawn. Isaac had followed Black Goose's hunter deep into the woods. Even in the cold, weeds choked the well-trodden path. Amid dense conifers lay a clearing. Around the dark mine entrance: shattered carts, rusted picks and shovels strewn about.
"Thanks. I'll handle it from here."
"Watch out. Wolves around here. Folks go missing sometimes."
"Appreciate the advice."
The hunter pocketed a denarion from Isaac and vanished back the way they'd come.
This mine starts with a limestone cave. Isaac recalled the book. He dug snow with a trowel from his overcoat, scraped soil, tasted the grayish clumps. Faint saltiness.
"Ptooey."
Limestone soil, as expected. High chance the abandoned mine was a limestone cave. Rain or snow dissolved the rock, cracks formed, groundwater carved tunnels. That sustained life inside, an ecosystem letting winter spiders thrive to adulthood.
Time to prep for entry.
Isaac prowled the area. One ingredient left for spider extermination. Multiple circulation paths let him mimic a 2nd class fireball, but limits existed—overactive circuits could shatter his vessels. Unknown spider numbers meant no reckless magic. Reduce their ranks first, save spells for necessities. Prep was key.
Winter spiders favored limestone caves for nests. Ironically, deadly plants grew nearby: frost belladonna. "Frost beauty" in the common tongue—from tales of lethal allure hiding poison. Its berries, diluted for paralysis or anesthesia in humans, were fatal to spiders in two doses.
Cold, dry limestone soil. Perfect spot.
No direct feeding, of course—their instincts recoiled. But one way existed. Undetectable to their senses.
Just like the book said.
Noon by the time he'd scoured limestone patches. Isaac found the frost belladonna bed, stuffing blue berries into his emptied sack, adding dry leaves and twigs. Only when full did he notice numb fingers.
Should've grabbed gloves. Blisters dotted his hands.
And this jingles too much when moving. He tightened the rune stone pouch at his waist. Tied the sack, soaked his snow-melting handkerchief in water, kept it damp in his overcoat. Ready.
He entered the mine cautiously. Light magic secured vision, but the neglected shaft had hazards: creaking wooden supports threatening collapse, collapsed tunnels at forks.
Dying here'd be a dog's death.
Isaac hurried. Soon, a vertical shaft. Whoosh—hot wind rose from the abyss.
"Damn."
A pulley for ore, but dubious for his weight—no operator anyway. He tossed the sack down. Seconds later, thud, then fluttering bats and cave birds.
Insane. Clutching ancient rope ladders, Isaac descended step by step. Wind or shaking legs—ladders swayed wildly.
"Hoo."
Bottom at last, he rested. Main tunnel from here. Narrow entrance opened to a wide gallery. Stale air. Sack in hand, light-guided, deeper he went.
This must be it.
Mummified corpses littered the area—drained of fluids, skins intact. Frogs, fish, kingfishers, dippers, bats. Smaller bugs devoured the remains. Deeper, more bleached bones—skulls, femurs, clavicles, fibulas. Missing villagers, per the hunter.
Would've been easier not knowing... Too many anatomy books from "fixing" himself. Ruins of Goethe Manor flashed, piled with corpses.
Focus.
Isaac shook it off. Clatter—that moment, alien sounds echoed.
Clatter—many legs scurrying.
Hairs stood on end. Heart pounded with tension, thrill. Whoosh—light orb on his hand became licking flames. Another fireball, phased to orbit him defensively.
Winter spiders' fur, oil-coated for warmth, ignited on sparks. Fire terrified them.
Chirrr—alerted, a white spider emerged, waist-high.
That's the sound from the book. Even now, Isaac marveled, comparing to illustrations.
Chirrr—pack alarm from colony life. Threatening chelicerae clashes. Book-accurate, but felt viscerally new.
No time to gawk.
Already five—no, six. More coming. Eight, ten, twelve...
Spiders approached from all sides, wary of the orbiting fireball but poised to strike.
Underground humidity, thin air. Prey tension anytime. Sweat soaked his back. Wanted to shed the fur cloak—no leisure. Urge to ignite and flee, but he endured.
A bit farther in.
Monsters had animal-plus intelligence; some near-human speech. No clean sweep meant they'd learn, adapt.
"Hoo, hoo."
Steadying ragged breaths, Isaac strode amid spiders larger than most men. Instinct told him: arrived. Vast cavern dwarfing tunnels. Twenty adult spiders reared toward him. Chelicerae clacks chilled—threat to inject venom, slurp liquefied flesh and blood.
More than expected.
Tsking at their numbers, Isaac noted the low ceiling for the space. Jagged stalactites? No—mine workings.
"..."
Glancing up, he froze. Ceiling thick with egg sacs, another spider wrapping more in webs.
"Ha. Hit the jackpot."
He chuckled dryly. No wonder Goethe struggled years later, even with allies—endless hordes. Time to nip it.
Isaac dropped the sack, retied the damp handkerchief over mouth and nose.
Whoosh—sack blazed, belching smoke.
The hunt begins.