The scene was that of a small open space in the middle of a dense forest. The air was clean and refreshing, carrying the subtle earthy fragrance of the woods. Sunbeams pierced through the thick canopy above, casting dancing golden patches of light on the cool ground. The chirping of birds and buzzing of insects filled the otherwise quiet forest with a sense of liveliness and energy.

In the center of this clearing sat a youth, around fifteen or sixteen years of age, perched on a large rock. His appearance was rather ordinary: short black hair with the smokiness of coal, slightly dry yet otherwise normal-looking skin, a tanned tone that still bordered on pale. His deep brown eyes were striking—so dark they nearly appeared black. As for his height, he was a little shorter than average for someone his age.

The boy, silent and alone, was staring intently at an upside-down bucket placed in front of him. On top of the bucket, a battle was underway—one fierce enough to rival gladiators in an arena.

On one side stood a dark brown rhino beetle, roughly fist-sized, with a large, powerful horn jutting from its head and a smaller spur protruding from the front of its carapace. It bobbed its horn up and down like a rhino preparing to charge. Opposing it was a slightly smaller but equally impressive specimen—a stag beetle. Its reddish-brown body gleamed under the sunlight, and instead of horns, it possessed a pair of powerful, curved mandibles positioned on either side of its wide head. These mandibles clicked sharply, a crisp sound that hinted at their incredible biting force.

The two beetles were separated by a mere three-thumb distance, both balancing on their hind and middle legs while waving their front limbs in the air, attempting to look larger and more intimidating. It was a common strategy in the animal kingdom—posturing to avoid an actual fight.

But when it became clear that neither opponent would back down, they abandoned the theatrics and got straight to the point. Both beetles charged forward, and their mandibles and horns locked with a loud clack. They grappled fiercely, but the rhino beetle quickly gained the upper hand. Its superior footing allowed it to wedge its horn beneath the stag beetle’s body, lifting and pushing it toward the bucket’s edge.

However, the stag beetle refused to go down so easily. Just as it neared the edge, it latched its hind legs onto the rim of the bucket. Digging in, it resisted the rhino beetle’s push and began lowering its head, spreading its massive mandibles wide. With a swift snap, the curved tips of its mandibles hooked beneath the rhino beetle’s underside. The stag beetle tightened its grip, using its other limbs to hold onto parts of the rhino beetle’s body.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The fight turned into a battle of attrition. The rhino beetle pushed with all its might, but the stag beetle’s firm hold kept it from being toppled. Seconds ticked by, and the rhino beetle’s movements began to weaken. Its heavy exertion had drained its stamina. Sensing this, the stag beetle seized its opportunity.

It anchored its feet, tightened its grip, and with a mighty effort, began to lift its opponent into the air. The rhino beetle flailed its legs in desperation, but its exhaustion left it powerless to resist. In one final move, the stag beetle carried its opponent closer to the bucket’s edge, hoisted it higher, and tossed it over the side.

Victory belonged to the stag beetle.

For a moment, silence followed. Then, the youth erupted into laughter and cheers.

“Hahaha! Well done, my champion!” he exclaimed, his voice proud and comical. “Even at the end of your age, facing a bigger, younger opponent, you stand triumphant! Truly, the time I spent raising and training you was not for nothing. Now you shall be immortalized in the records of history, alongside the champions that came before you!”

The boy’s name was Courage Petacos, and his hobby was beetle-catching and battling—particularly with rhinoceros and stag beetles. He didn’t know why, but he felt a strange connection to these creatures, as though he understood them and they understood him. Though to outsiders, it might have seemed weird, many other youths his age felt similar connections to different things. It was a sign—but a sign of what, you’ll learn in the near future.

For now, you should know that Courage’s family did not share his enthusiasm for beetles. In fact, they hated it—especially his mother, who despised bugs in general. However, because she allowed her other children to keep pets, she begrudgingly let Courage pursue his hobby. There was one condition: he could only keep one beetle at a time. This rule meant that Courage never built the vast collections most bug enthusiasts prided themselves on.

Still, beetles have short lifespans. The average species lives only six months, and even the longest-lived ones rarely make it past six years. Over time, Courage had raised a fair number of beetles as pets—from dung beetles to the mighty elephant beetle.

As his beetles neared the end of their lives, Courage developed a ritual. He would take them back to the place he had found them and let them fight one last epic battle against the best opponent he could find. To him, this was a “farewell ceremony,” a chance for his beetles to bask in one last glorious victory before being released into the wild to live their final days.

Deep down, he knew the truth—death was inevitable, and no amount of ceremony would change that. But this ritual made it easier for him to let go. It was his way of coping.

After finishing his celebratory speech, Courage picked up the defeated rhino beetle and gently carried it to a nearby tree branch. He placed a small piece of fruit jelly beside it as a consolation prize. The rhino beetle accepted it without protest.

Turning back, Courage picked up his champion beetle and the bucket he had used to carry it. He began walking away, only stopping once he reached the base of a tall tree.

“Sigh… Time sure flies,” he said wistfully, glancing at the tree’s roots. “I still remember the day I found you right here. You were just a grub back then, but now you’re all grown up and retiring. It feels like it all happened yesterday.”

His expression turned fond before breaking into a small smile. “Well, it’s been real, my boy. I wish you a peaceful end.” Then, more jokingly, he added, “I’d say more, but it’s almost lunchtime, and you know what Mom will do if I’m late. At least you won’t have to live in fear of her fury anymore. Goodbye now, Red Tusk. I’ll remember you.”

Courage crouched and gently placed the beetle on the ground at the tree’s base. He gave it one last, lingering glance before turning around and walking back toward home