Chapter 80
Chapter 80
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: The Worm-Eaten Fence
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Deanin walked out of the grand hall, clutching his head.
The meeting itself had gone smoothly enough.
In the Oran highlands, there were not only highland keepers affiliated with the hunting brigade but also civilian hunters who roamed the area catching wild boars, pheasants, carbuncles, and the like.
In any case, it was no uninhabited forest.
Deanin decided to investigate whether those people had spotted Manun or if anyone had been attacked or suffered damage, in order to pinpoint Manun's location.
Once Manun's position was confirmed, he would assemble the Golden Army, herd Manun along while luring it with food it favored, and bring it back to its garden in the palace.
The Golden Army guard captain grumbled about deploying troops, but it wasn't feasible to mobilize soldiers just to capture Manun.
Thanks to tales of the giant drake guarding the royal family, the people's fondness for Manun was considerable, but if that same Manun caused major trouble, public sentiment would surely turn sour.
King Anpyeong and the other ministers also acknowledged the realistic impossibility of retrieving Manun with minimal forces.
The king granted Deanin full authority over the capture and ordered the other ministers to cooperate actively, closing the matter.
Deanin was able to leave the grand hall—before the other ministers and even before the meeting concluded—due to the royal command to capture Manun with all haste.
But as far as Deanin was concerned, there was nothing good about it.
'Lend me the Golden Army? Ha, even scraping together every last one in the palace, Manun could roll right over them and crush them all.'
The guard captain would bellow in outrage if he heard, but Deanin was a realist.
He believed in Yacheon's existence, yet he suspected the legends of Rakrak—defeating the demon king or slaying evil gods—contained exaggerations.
Moreover, Yacheon's miracles over the past century had shown distinct limitations.
'...Well, a beast is still a beast. Mountain-sized or not, show it food and it'll come scampering.'
Deanin figured capturing Manun wouldn't be an issue with sufficient time and effort.
The mountains around Oran were well-managed to keep dangerous beasts out, so prey for Manun to sate its hunger wouldn't be abundant.
Whatever the reason it climbed the peaks, it would descend again eventually.
The real problem was 'how many people would get hurt in the process.'
Manun had always shown a docile temperament thus far, but that also meant an unthinking beast could act unpredictably on a whim.
Deanin thought that if no one got hurt this time, it would truly be Yacheon's benevolence at work.
'...But that's impossible.'
A 25-meter behemoth.
People had only ever seen it dozing in the palace garden, but its nature was drake.
Even now, merchant caravans crossing between the North Coast and the peninsula occasionally suffered deaths and injuries from drake attacks.
There was good reason wild drakes were synonymous with savagery in this age.
'This might be the end of my career.'
Deanin imagined retreating to his hometown to open a school and live out his days in leisure—but only if he got lucky.
If fortune soured, exile awaited; at worst, he might lose his head as punishment for all the havoc Manun wrought.
'...Mother, it seems this is as far as your son goes.'
Pale-skinned and red-eyed, scorned as cursed, he had studied diligently to gain palace access and rise to a modest ministerial post—but limits existed.
With faint hope, Deanin headed to the garden where Manun had been confined.
He checked if someone had tampered with the fence to make it easy to breach or lured Manun into smashing it.
If it proved some plot, he could foist the blame on the culprits.
But a quick scan told him otherwise.
'...Of course not.'
No plot was worth such peril.
They might conspire to harass a lowborn like him, but engineering this to oust him from the palace was far too reckless.
Deanin gazed at the mountain path Manun had taken, then turned back toward the palace, resolving to crack the whip on his subordinates to expedite the hunt.
Or rather, he tried to.
Until a flock of cockatoos from the farming corps passed right in front of him.
Spotting a familiar face among the riders, Deanin waved frantically.
"Wa-wait! Hold up!"
The cockatoos seemed poised to ignore him and continue, but halted and wheeled back.
One of the mounted men spoke.
"Why'd you stop us, Deanin?"
"Prince Basen! Where are you headed right now?"
The man Deanin had halted was Basen Rak Oran, King Anpyeong's eldest prince.
"Can't you tell? Off to find Manun."
"Pardon?"
"Oh, right. You're the Hunting Minister, aren't you? Forgot. Word is you need the Hunting Minister's permit to enter the front mountains for a hunt. Do I need one too?"
Deanin sighed.
Basen was toying with him.
He and his hunting cronies had never once sought Deanin's approval.
Deanin had duly sent official demands for fines to their wealthy families multiple times.
The friends could shrug off the penalties, but Basen clearly hadn't enjoyed it.
This time was different, though.
"Under normal circumstances, no permission required from me. I can't very well fine Your Highness, after all. But in this matter, I'm not merely the Hunting Minister—I'm the one granted full authority by His Majesty to capture Manun."
"Oh? News to me."
"It was decided in the royal council just now."
"Figured it was still ongoing."
"His Majesty commanded utmost haste in retrieving Manun, so I stepped out early."
Basen rubbed his chin.
"Perfect timing, then, Deanin."
"How so?"
"Was just gonna go gawk at Manun with the lads. That sluggard finally stirred for a stroll—thought it'd be my chance to see it in motion."
"And?"
"Now you've got me ambitious. Let's capture the thing."
Deanin scowled.
"You're joking, right?"
"No. Dead serious. What say you, mates?"
Basen's friends guffawed in agreement.
Deanin belatedly caught the booze on their breath.
Small mercy: even sauced, Basen sat steady atop his cockatoo, mind seemingly sharp.
'First Prince Basen. His hunting prowess is decent, at least.'
Blind opposition wouldn't sway him.
'No telling Manun's speed, but that bulk won't outpace cockatoos. Worst case, these fools serve as its meal.'
Deanin also guessed Basen's motive.
Crown prince or not, whispers of his unkingly ways abounded—far from just one or two, including Deanin himself.
Thus, Basen sought to lend aid here, cloaked as hunter's bravado.
"Very well, Prince Basen. I was already planning to rally hunters to locate Manun."
"Hey, not locate—capture."
"By all means indulge your bravado, but should you find Manun, alert the nearest highland keeper before attempting anything."
Basen eyed Deanin with uncharacteristic gravity.
Then his face eased.
"Yeah, yeah. Got it. Will do."
"Return unscathed, I pray."
Basen smirked and spurred his hunters toward Manun's trail.
'Good. Now, back to—'
That thought died as Deanin sensed someone behind him.
Startled by the soundless approach, he turned to find the figure crouched, fixated on the splintered wooden bars Manun had wrecked—ignoring Deanin entirely.
A welcome face; Deanin smiled instinctively but schooled his features and cleared his throat.
"Prince Kyle, to what do I owe the visit?"
At Deanin's voice, King Anpyeong's third prince—Kyle Rak Oran—looked up.
"Ah, Deanin. Came to inspect since Manun vanished."
Deanin struggled to muster a smile.
A prince, yes—but a mere boy of thirteen.
Clumsy with physical pursuits too; unlike his elder brother, he couldn't ride a cockatoo.
His wits, however, were prodigious.
Deanin himself pondered ways the lad might claim the throne.
"Here for Manun, then. But it's already fled deep into the mountains—highland keepers and hunters are in pursuit."
"And my eldest brother too?"
"Pardon?"
"Saw him riding off on cockatoo from afar."
"Er, well... I hold little hope."
Kyle nodded.
"They say big brother's a fine hunter, but capturing Manun? Unlikely."
"Indeed."
"Not even the full Golden Army could force it, should Manun resist."
The stark realism mirrored Deanin's own, but stung all the same—for he bore the burden.
To escape harsh reality, Deanin asked Kyle,
"That aside, what has you so engrossed?"
"These wooden bars—they're odd."
"In what way?"
"Breaking so cleanly? Improbable."
He was right.
Deanin had suspected foul play at first glance.
Closer inspection disproved it.
"I wondered if someone had deliberately weakened them, but no—bugs ate through."
"Bugs?"
"Yes. See there... right. Precisely. Gnawed clean. And truth be told, even absent the damage, Manun could've smashed them easily. No great significance."
Kyle shook his head firmly.
"No."
"No?"
"Bugs did it, yes—but it's not insignificant."
"Why think that?"
Kyle pointed to the stone pillar anchoring the bars.
"These bars abut stone pillars. Without the bug damage, Manun shattering the wood would've toppled the pillars too. Golden Army could've then prodded it back into the garden with spears before long. But the weakened spots snapped silently under pressure—no clamor. Delayed discovery."
Compelling logic; Deanin nearly conceded.
But he was a realist.
"Ah, granted, Prince—but targeting just these spots with bugs? Implausible. Honey bait perhaps, but the damage spans too wide for a day or two. Sustained effort would've been spotted ages ago."
Kyle absorbed this, then rose, thumping his numb thigh.
"Deanin, know what Yacheon was once called?"
"Eh?"
The abrupt invocation of the divine left him baffled.
Deanin wasn't devout; Yacheon's ancient epithet eluded him.
"Not one for old tales, eh? The Blue Insect God."
"Insect... God?"
"Yes. Ancient texts brim with insect-tied miracles—that's why. Oh, and before: Rakrak dubbed it the Nameless Beetle God."
Deanin reeled.
"Then... you mean Yacheon orchestrated this?"
"Yes."
"Could be coincidence—the bars just happened to draw bugs."
"True. Mere hypothesis. But verifiable."
"How?"
Kyle replied curtly, as if obvious.
"Inspect the rest of the bars for damage. If present, coincidence. But odds seem slim to me. Looks herb-coated too..."
Easy enough to test.
Deanin skipped the hunting brigade, dashing the garden's perimeter to check every bar.
One lap later, panting before Kyle—body aflame, heart racing—not mere exertion.
'...None!'
Bent double, Deanin gasped,
"Huff... huff... Prince, assuming Yacheon... whew... did this—what reason do you reckon?"
"Who knows."
Kyle eyed the garden, the shattered bars, the trail of toppled trees from Manun's tail sweeps.
"Front mountains Manun entered hold little of note, thankfully. Keepers and hunters aplenty, but its size will crash through woods—they can scatter in time. Manun's goal isn't there, at least. But..."
"But?"
"Someone might pursue by divine will. Could that be the target?"
Deanin's spine chilled.
'...Wait.'
Few would chase that drake on godly impulse.
Yet per Kyle, one such fool had stood before them moments ago.
'Idiot!'
If Yacheon truly existed and wished prosperity, it favored the third prince for succession over the first.
Deanin shared that preference.
But Manun's fallout fell on him.
He sighed—even divine design, now known, demanded self-preservation.
Basen must be recalled posthaste.
En route to the brigade, Deanin wheeled back to Kyle.
"Prince, speak of this to no one. Understood?"
"Of course. But grant me a favor."
"Pardon?"
"It'll aid the Hunting Minister too."
Kyle's request was utterly absurd.