Subjugation (1)
“Would you explain why we must do it that way?” Sir Johnson, a knight of the Dotran domain, asked.
“On the first day, we feed the Shabel Tiger horses and pigs to swell its belly. Even after eating its fill, a Shabel Tiger over three meters tall will devour both offerings,” I replied.
“Now that you mention it, I think I’ve heard something like that. When a sacred beast is cursed and loses its sanctity, it gorges itself madly to replenish its vanished divine power,” Sir Johnson said.
“Yes. Priest Hergo is correct. We feed it heavily the first day, then only half as much—a single horse—on the second. On the third day, we give it just one small pig. What do you think will happen then?”
“Ah, I see the intent. Stuff it until its belly is full, then gradually reduce the portions over the next two days to leave it starving. Then we make the hungry beast attack us.”
“Exactly. It’s too clever to fall into traps, but hunger will drive it to strike the passing procession. That’s when the hunt begins.”
The plan was to wait for the creature to attack rather than hunt it directly, since it had already devoured everything edible in the vicinity. Everyone nodded in agreement, but Priest Hergo pointed out a flaw.
“Our caravan and procession number over three hundred. If the tiger strikes while we’re stretched out in a long line through the forest, it will be difficult to respond in time.”
Three hundred people could be briefed quickly, but once spread along the road the formation would stretch more than a hundred meters. At that distance the beast could flee before anyone reacted.
“Since some of us aren’t fighters at all, we should form an elite unit of about fifty,” said the holy warrior Yoheim. Everyone agreed.
Fifty capable fighters were assembled and briefed on their roles. One detail went unspoken: whoever the Shabel Tiger attacked first would be in mortal danger. Everyone simply prayed it wouldn’t be them.
Following Palchion’s method, the Shabel Tiger spent three days devouring the horses and pigs left tied in the forest. Having eaten only a single small pig the day before, it would be ravenous today. The scent of the horses pulling the carriages and the pigs and sheep loaded inside as bait would be irresistible.
“Look. The trees are turning black. Even the leaves. Have you ever seen anything like that?”
“I’ve heard about it. The forest is cursed. The sacred beast that once protected these woods was cursed, and the curse is spreading to the trees themselves.”
It wasn’t only the trees. Even the grass had blackened, and the small birds and animals that should have filled the forest were nowhere to be seen. Because the beast had once been the forest’s guardian, the woods themselves were transforming into a monster-haunted realm.
“The mages mustn’t come out into the middle. Even if the rest of us are wiped out, as long as the mages survive we can still complete the mission. Stay out of harm’s way.”
“Look at their gear, you idiot. They’re from another continent and already equipped for an ambush. You can’t even tell they’re mages—they look like mercenaries.”
Everyone nodded at the sight of the mages in quilted armor holding kite shields.
“They might have more experience than you fools. Heh heh. Sniff—wait, what’s that smell? Something sour. Where’s it coming from? Ugh, my nose.”
The mercenaries trailing the carriages wrinkled their noses at the pungent odor and clutched their faces. Then they realized the smell was coming from me.
They muttered among themselves, but I stood tall. There was a reason I had drenched my quilted armor in vinegar. Back at the family estate I once kept a cat that kept chewing through electrical cords. I’d rubbed lemon vinegar on the wires, and the smell had stopped it completely. Animals with keen senses of smell—cats or dogs—react violently to the sharp tang of vinegar. Since the Shabel Tiger was a feline, I had soaked my clothes in the stuff.
I silently told the complaining mercenaries that this stench would save their lives, so they should be grateful.
“Krrrk—Kraaaang!”
“Th-there it is!”
“The rear!”
Whether the vinegar had worked or not, the attack came at the very end of the procession, not the middle where I stood. Screams erupted.
“Quick! Throw the oil pouches everywhere! The most important thing is to keep it from escaping!”
Holy warrior Yoheim, positioned at the rear, shouted the order and charged. True to his title, his armor glowed with a soft light that grew brighter as he faced the Shabel Tiger.
‘Huh? Is the Shabel Tiger supposed to be that black? It’s a tiger, right? Where are the stripes? Did it never have any?’
To my eyes the creature looked like a black panther—its entire body pitch-black, which only made Yoheim’s armor shine more brilliantly by contrast.
“Damn it! The black curse has fully bloomed! Lord Prokia, God of War! Grant us your steadfastness!”
Priest Hergo’s wide-area blessing spread outward. Magical light descended on everyone within range and sank into their bodies. It seemed to be a blessing that strengthened weapons; strangely, the light felt similar to my own buffs.
[Krrrk—Kraaaang!]
The three-meter beast moved like a streak of black lightning. The carriage carrying the pigs and sheep exploded with a thunderous crash. Even Yoheim, who had stepped in its path, was hurled backward by a single swipe of its forepaw.
“Kuhk!”
The holy warrior’s armor, which had glowed so brightly against the tiger’s black hide, suddenly dimmed. One blow had shattered it.
‘This thing is stronger than expected. The plan was for the holy warrior to hold it while the knights attacked, but one hit? Blocking it at all might be impossible.’
A chill ran down my spine at the thought of total annihilation, yet I still had a job to do. I rushed toward the fallen Yoheim to apply a buff and saw that his left arm was missing.
“Shit…”
The arm had been torn off along with the armor. I stared blankly at the wound, the same stunned feeling I’d had watching the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan. Blood gushed in thick pulses—too visceral to feel like a game anymore.
When Yoheim twitched and began to regain consciousness, I snapped out of it and cast healing and activation buffs on him. The bleeding from the stump slowed, and fresh flesh began to sprout as though he had undergone emergency surgery.
‘This damn game is way too realistic. The ratings board would never let something like this through.’
Thanks to the healing buff the bleeding stopped. I scanned the battlefield. The strongest fighter among us was down, so the situation looked grim—yet the others were still following the plan. Mercenaries were throwing oil-soaked hides and raising walls of flame on all sides. Everything else, however, was unraveling.
Sir Johnson had taken Yoheim’s place at the front and was barely holding on. The mercenaries tasked with grabbing the tiger’s ankles to stop it from fleeing the flames were being shredded by its claws; blood and body parts flew in every direction. Palchion and Sir Doyle struck from the rear whenever they could, but their attacks barely registered. Without proper damage dealers, defeat seemed inevitable.
Sensing the same despair, several mercenaries began inching backward.
‘We misjudged the target from the start. How are we supposed to catch something that moves like that?’
The beast’s crouched body was easily three meters tall. Despite its size it possessed a feline’s agility, and its claws—longer than thirty centimeters—could tear through shields. No one knew how to approach it. Anyone without mana who tried to block it was ripped apart in a single strike.
‘How did Palchion ever hunt one of these before?’
I remembered he’d had two mages with him. That had to be the key.
‘They probably didn’t just use fire magic to pin it down.’
“By the might of Prokia, Lord of the Battlefield, grant us the courage to crush our foes!”
“Foul blood, begone before Prokia’s valor! Let the spirit of struggle dwell within us!”
Priest Hergo chanted ceaselessly, light pouring from the long ornament on his head. His blessings seemed focused on raising morale, keeping the fighters from freezing under the tiger’s fear aura.
‘That’s it. After creating the flames, the mages must have done something else to restrict its movement. Is there anything I can do in their place?’
While racking my brain I recalled Priest Hergo’s earlier words: “the black curse has fully bloomed.” Whatever the curse was, the fact that the forest itself was turning black pointed to dark power. Light magic was the classic counter to darkness, and healing or purification spells might work as well.
“Priest Hergo! Don’t you have any light, healing, or purification magic?”
I crawled toward him, dodging the beast’s gaze. Sweat streamed down his face as he answered.
“I understand why you’re asking, but because it was once a sacred beast, light, healing, and purification magic have no effect on it.”
The usual cliché didn’t apply.
“Though we call it a curse, it’s a punishment, not ordinary dark magic. By the way, do you truly have no offensive spells at all?”
Hergo finally asked the question he had been too polite to voice until now.
“No. I really don’t!”
I answered, then cast activation and healing buffs on the two knights and Palchion. Their movements visibly improved. An idea struck me: what if I used the buffs in reverse?
Normal buffs added positive effects. If I could apply a negative version instead, it might function as offensive magic—draining an enemy’s health like a curse.
‘But how?’
I had no reverse-buff skill, and because of the class restrictions on mages I didn’t even know whether such magic existed. Without a method, the thought was useless.
‘At this rate we’ll have to run just to survive. What do we do?’
While debating whether to flee, I glanced around and spotted the mercenaries who had set the oil fires through the shimmering heat haze.
‘Ah. That’s right. We still have that.’