A shadowy silhouette jumped from vine to vine along the tall green oak branches, then stopped at a large patch of bare bark with scattered hair splinters.
The figure carefully pinched a hair, smelled it, then tasted it.
The Curly Haired Baboon... it's mating season now, and human heads are the favorite toys for their young. I should avoid this area.
This shadow was Ilven, two days after parting from Reshal's group. He'd spent one day resting before resuming his journey home, covering a significant distance to reach this point.
His return was taking longer than expected. Beast migrations had altered familiar paths, requiring map adjustments. Normally, he would pause to update his maps thoroughly and investigate such drastic changes; knowledge that could mean better chances of survival later.
But the newfound wealth he carried made him uneasy. Only back in Grey Tulip, with its semblance of law enforcement, would he feel safe. Beyond that, this sudden fortune had changed his plans. He needed time to consider how to use it carefully. There were also his injuries and cauterized wounds to consider.
Though his initial wealth had been reduced, it was still an unimaginable sum. His ordinary hauls already attracted thieves—if word of his current fortune spread, he might find himself hunted by his entire shelter, dying without even a burial place.
As the saying goes, a poor man was guilty of holding treasure.
"The beast lords' influence has been almost immediate," Ilven muttered. "Even extremely territorial beasts have shifted. Some of the stricter territories also show signs of invasion, yet no battle signs. Staying too long could be dangerous."
Last night, Ilven had also heard more ghastly howls than usual, the sounds were spine-tingling and evoked fear in all who heard them, the night predators who awoke were far more dreadful than anything he had ever heard before.
It was clear that a storm was brewing, its effects unpredictable. These changes, combined with the upcoming Crimson Night, could lead to something unprecedented.
On the bright side, at least he has covered some of his weaknesses before heading home. Ilven rubbed his new bronze pistol. A sense of safety eased his budding uneasiness.
Time goes back to two days prior.
He bid the Mad lions farewell but then a sudden realization struck him.
Ilven had remembered why Fenri was still alive apart from his slippery guile; it was the connections he bought with their natural treasure. He used this to get ahead, which also acted as a kind of protective charm for himself.
In a small place like Grey Tulip, resources were tightly controlled. Some things couldn't be bought with money alone; you needed to know the right people.
Building such connections took time, money, and sacrifice.
For instance, gene potions weren't made in Grey Tulip, and they weren't purchased regularly enough to keep in stock. High-level equipment, medicines, and supplies took time to arrive, transported from higher-level shelters.
Though Ilven liked the sight of money, it would do no good if it wasn't converted to strength. Recent events had also left him with a deep desire for power.
He had resolved to spend his money immediately to better equip himself.
As Reshal's group prepared to depart, it suddenly occurred to him—he would have to spend heavily on building relationships, processing fees, and taxes when buying equipment back at Grey Tulip. Jumping through the same hoops Fenri had to.
Even then Fenri likely couldn’t keep all the money from their natural treasure’s sale, most likely he gifted it to someone and got a few benefits in return not daring to say anything, but Ilven wasn’t quite willing to do the same.
Moreover, he knew there were no impregnable walls in this world, especially in Grey Tulip. If he bought some special items to use as his trump cards, word might leak through the handful of people who supplied such equipment. That would give others leverage over him.
But there was a way to bypass all these issues, right in front of him. With a heavy yet expectant heart, he voiced his desire to the group.
Reshal paused before asking, "Boy, how old are you?"
"Fifteen in a few days, sir," Ilven replied, not understanding the question's purpose.
Reshal tossed his carving knife in the air a few times, then smiled. "Sure, we have spare equipment we can sell you. What do you need?"
Overjoyed, Ilven listed everything he wanted.
"Are you sure about this, little scavenger? You'd be returning almost all the money you just earned," Reshal chuckled.
Ilven nodded solemnly, assuring him he wouldn't regret his choice.
"Good." Reshal waved, and someone fetched the items.
Ilven bowed in gratitude before accepting them, barely containing his excitement.
As they prepared to leave, Reshal asked something unexpected. "Boy, what is your dream?"
Caught off guard, Ilven studied Reshal's expression. Finding no hidden motives, he answered hesitantly. "My goal... I never gave it much thought. Before today, it might have been living with my loved ones in a safe place, eating good food, truly living and not just surviving..."
Revenge.
"You no longer want those things?" Reshal looked amused.
"No, I do. Just one more thing," Ilven said seriously. "To become stronger."
Reshal examined him for any sign of false bravado but found none.
"Very well, kid. Take this." He tossed Ilven a large bronze revolver. "It's a pistol from my early years; its name is Old Driver. It’s a bit outdated, but it's one of Master Gallov's works. Take good care of it, it might be the one to save you on rainy days."
Ilven caught the revolver tossed to him with heavy hands, almost dropping it. Immediately the strange yet intricately crafted weapon caught his eye.
The bronze revolver was massive, the barrel the size of his forearm. Old Driver's leather grip bore the marks of countless battles, each scratch and wear mark telling its own story.
Dark yellow runes were carved deep into the metal, ancient patterns that seemed to shift and dance when sunlight touched them. The matte-black cylinder could hold twelve rounds—overkill for any normal weapon of its size.
Despite its weathered appearance, it radiated the kind of presence Ilven had only felt from the most dangerous beasts in the forbidden zones. Even lifting it made his arms tremble, like a child trying to wield a warrior's weapon.
Yet there was a primal beauty to it, the same kind you might see in an aging Stonewood tree—scarred but unbroken.
Ilven was still lingering in surprise from the sudden gift when the convoy departed.
This was definitely no ordinary weapon.
It might even be worth all the money he earned today, it was that amazing yet he got it simply as a gift, Ilven hesitated for a while on whether or not to accept this grand gesture but found he had no choice but to do so.
He gratefully bowed to their retreating figures, vowing to repay the favor someday.
***
“Boss, was that wise giving him such a valuable thing?”
“Valuable? its barely a Two-star Alchemical Weapon. It’s useful for low to high level beings but not much more, just right for the kid. It’s no longer effective for our current battles even as a distraction.”
“Yes, but still it can at least be sold for 10,000 silvers as a named weapon from Master Gallov who’s now an artisan blacksmith. Why give it to the kid for free? You say all the time we should be careful with our finances, 10,000 is not a small amount for us now, it’s the same as our average haul. So why?”
“I wonder?” Reshal replied mysteriously.
“It’s an investment, right? That’s why you asked his age.” Old Sixth or Karo, had finally recovered and butt in.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Karo, you’re back to normal? You should be more careful next time. You’re still in the adaptation period for ‘Green sight’, the adverse effects from the first potion you ingested hasn’t faded either, sigh, that more than quadruples your sensitivity, looking at beasts with such pure bloodlines could be lethal, even just a fragment.” Reshal commented. One of his greatest regrets was not meeting this team member earlier, he could have prevented him from taking an ordinary potion with such significant side effects.
“I know boss, but who would have expected such a weak kid to be carrying that kind of loot, I subconsciously unleashed my full ability causing it to backlash. I guess I was a bit cocky having achieved Tier 2.” Karo wryly smiled. Perhaps it was a good thing he met this accident here and not in battle. His inflated ego was adequately crushed.
“Still though why choose such a lowly brat? There are dozens if not hundreds like him under the rule of our shelter.” Black Jackal snarled still holding a bit of animosity towards Ilven having failed to kill him as he wished.
“Luck.” Ekaterina added, still playing with her hair, “He’s a very lucky kid. Isn’t that right darling?” She winked to the leader who smiled in response.
“Huh? What does that matter?” Black Jackal said in annoyance.
“What does it matter? If we weren’t lucky, we’d be long dead, Eggwater Ridge would be just one of many tipping points.” She continued. That boy, I wonder what he’ll look like if we meet again. He’s quite interesting.
Ekaterina had met a variety of people, even before she obtained her charm ability her looks could defeat many men, young and old. Although Ilven had quickly disengaged she had sensed his thick killing intent when she released him from her ability.
If he had the chance, he would have likely killed her just then. It was rare to see such ruthlessness in a young scavenger. He reacted like a desolate beast cub, instinctively going for the kill not like a boy at all.
“But what does that have to do with his age?” Someone asked puzzledly.
It was not Reshal or Ekaterina who replied but the oldest member of the group, Charles who had been a hunter for many years, “It’s time for Black Rock to make their sweep of the area, did you forget?”
Charles stroked his grey beard.
“Black Rock?”
Many were confused but Ekaterina suddenly let loose a laugh as if thinking about something very amusing.
“You couldn’t possibly mean!” Some exclaimed in astonishment, catching the hint.
Black Jackal added where they left off, “Impossible, absolutely impossible, there’s no way that kid could become one of them! He’s just some backwoods rat who is a bit lucky.”
“Hoho. There is no guarantee he will succeed yes, but there is a chance, no matter how small isn’t there?” Old Charles chuckled in response.
Reshal remained silent accepting his statement.
“But the chances are so...” Black Jackal muttered still in disbelief.
“Low yes, almost negligible but it is a fact there are a few lucky ones each batch. That’s the fundamental reason they even undertake such a bothersome task. What if? Just what if? That’s all that matters. Even if the kid fails it’s just a gun but if he succeeds…” Charles didn’t continue but they all understood what he was getting at.
Building relationships with Beastmasters was a necessity for any power with ambition; if they ever wanted some amount of influence, strength and authority. The paths to progression and growth were completely held by Beastmasters.
Without the Beastmaster related to their group their team couldn’t even swallow all of the proceeds from their hunts furthermore tensions were also high recently between that person and their leader. Logistics was also very costly.
If they were to somehow gain the backing of another Beastmaster then their current situation would improve several folds.
The group burst into waves of discussion.
***
Ilven was still dressed shabbily but he had few more bags made of desolate beast skin with him, these were exquisitely made unlike his previously homemade ones from poor materials, the largest of which was like a backpack containing several precious items.
His back, legs and waist had two pistols, three knives, some thin throwing daggers and needles strapped against them bringing him a newfound sense of safety.
Fortunately, the territory of the Curly Haired Baboons is an odd broken linear shape and not a wide circle, so I don’t have to take a long detour risking meeting something more dangerous.
He scoured the area for the right point and carefully followed through. He heard a few distant howls but they were not close enough to alter his chosen path.
Soon after he happened to meet a half-eroded flower at the base of a tree.
There was faint sour smell with a hint putridness.
Green Hibiscus? This smell and the erosion… the piss from the Scorpion tailed Monkeys? In the territory of the Curly Haired baboon? Again, sworn enemies in the same area. There’s also the poison flea parasites that are symbiotic with them eating their shit.
Ilven’s face was crestfallen. This was not the first time he had seen such a situation. Presumably this was due to the beast lords but after all, these were creatures ruled by instinct and even though they had some intelligence, it would always bow before their natural instincts.
No matter how the unknown situation of the beast lords progressed, these enemy clans in each other’s territories were akin to the stomach of a dying Sulphur Landfish; destined to explode left unchecked.
Adding to that problem, the diversity and quantity of species involved in today’s Greenstone Forest was too complex, a few would already be a headache but attempting to predict the consequences of so many different desolate beasts was impossible.
Ilven had already begun to prepare himself for the worst.
The sun slowly began to fade away.
Leaving the complicated labyrinth that was Greenstone Forest, the young man breathed a sigh of relief. As one of the central nodes of life and resources in Gray Haven, Greenstone Forest was a gathering of the strongest and most troublesome of desolate beasts.
Those outside the forest were weak races pushed out by the struggle or those who didn’t dare enter the battlefield of darkness and blood. Ilven surveyed the area then took a short break unable to ignore his aching wounds for much longer. His strong willpower could only suppress the sharp stings of pain from his many wounds for so long while maintaining strong continuous movements.
Fortunately, he was on the last legs of his return journey. After regaining some energy, he once again suppressed the pain, wiping away the numerous beast of sweat and continued his trek.
Seven hours later, Ilven finally made it home through several winding territories, steep cliffs and ravines, cracked earth and hidden man-made tunnels eventually landing on a twisted path. This twisted path was part of Grey Tulip's natural defenses, ending in a mildly poisonous bog that caused diarrhea for desolate beasts.
Choosing where to establish shelters was itself an artform. For instance, Grey Tulip was built in a large underground cavity near a bog that was also used as fertilizer for the internal and external farmlands.
It didn’t actually have a physical outer defensive wall like many shelters did.
Instead, there was the outer poison bog to ward off beasts and the inner bog that was purified by Grey Tulip over time to aid in growing crops. The wider beast territory surrounding their location also belonged to a mild tempered species that were disliked by other desolate beast clans with no dangerous predators to speak of.
Beyond the bog, there was a buffer area of trees with unpalatable fruits, stinky vines and so on that eventually gave way to dead trees that spread over a vast area.
These were the defensive blocks creating the wall of Grey Tulip.
Ilven made it through to the buffer area and arrived at the first unmanned outpost, he pressed the cheap wooden construct in a specific code before proceeding. If he didn’t do so a warning would be sent, and a scout would come to pay him a visit.
Soon he was past the barren trees and at the outer farmlands, a few skinny figures manning the fields with hoes and other tools saw his approach and looked at him with wary glances, their bodies tensed as if they would run away if he looked the least bit wrong.
These were the ‘black farmers’ made up entirely of refugees. Farmers were actually a high-status profession with their pitiful bunch being the sole exception. They neither owned the reclaimed farmlands, nor were they entitled to any of the yields.
The standard crops grown by the shelter, striped tulip and moon wheat, sometimes attracted vicious pests and wandering desolate beasts resulting in an extremely high causality rate so registered residents didn’t dare to farm here, the danger resulted in the turnover rate of these farmlands being quite astonishing needing a constant supply of bodies to take care of the crops.
Farming equipment and the local militia could lower the causality rate but as the lowest level of settlement, Grey Tulip was incapable of sustaining the costs of such actions, so they used disposable pawns to harvest their crops instead.
The workers were aware of this but were helpless to the matter were this not the case, they would never have hope of entering a shelter.
This was simply a means of survival for them as refugees seeking a safe place to settle down, they were paid a small amount and also had outer residency permits for their families if they took the job. This was of course for the shanty area in the outskirts and not within the core settlement, but it was still something very priceless.
To enter the shanty town as a refugee, you either had to offer 10 copper baht a head, exchange some natural treasures or have a recommendation from a citizen of high status. Ilven also went through this process when he first arrived.
To continue living in the shanty area you needed to have a job, pay taxes on time and obey any random enlistments from businesses or registered citizens as well as complete listed tasks given by the shelter management.
With the danger of the outside world being what it was, many jumped at the chance to sacrifice themselves and their labor for the well-being of their families.
We are all pitiful wretches. Ilven thought to himself, seeing many dead-eyed fake farmers look his way with no emotions, it was actually quite easy to tell who was new and who had been at it for a while.
The newbies saw him and heaved a sigh of relief, glad they didn’t have to risk death at every step with the chance of coming home with nothing two thirds of the time. At least here the fields were a valuable tribute to the higher ups that needed to be offered on time every season, so they were protected by the militia who were on call although not present.
They also had subsidized lunches although it wasn’t very delicious or much to look at. As long as they escaped fast enough from wandering beasts and dealt with pests properly their lives would be intact.
The old ones were numb knowing they were in a dead-end job, and they could never hope to progress, they awaited their death allowing their family to step over them and strengthen their status in the shelter.
Ilven nodded upwards to the overseers who doubled as lookouts before making his way to the entrance of the shelter. There were only five men acting as lookouts, but they were all well-equipped each a force to be reckoned with.
He bowed and offered a claw from an inferior black iron beast, the Flightless Bird as a ‘greeting gesture’ to the one guard on the ground supervising the farmers.
“Hm?”
Entering the hidden entrance, he looked over his appearance feeling the guard’s lingering gaze, but it proved to be nothing. He had smeared himself in dirt and grime returning to his usual appearance and removed his new weapons before arriving.
If he hadn’t, he might’ve been interrogated and robbed. Each sentry was an ability user or warrior. Here where the strong preyed on the weak, he would be like a lamb to a slaughter returning without proper concealment.
A quick look at their bulky weapons made it obvious that the quality was not high.
Before they were objects of awe and fear to Ilven but after meeting Reshal and the others, Ilven realized they were just some paper tigers.
Still, they were enough to kill ten of him even after his recent upgrades, so he kept his head down and went through the motions.
How enviable, not only did they get paid fat salaries, but they had tributes from both refugees and scavengers that would build up to a small fortune just by keeping watch. If there was danger they weren’t even required to fight to the death and simply had to fetch the main militia stationed in the inner area.
“Wait kid.” He thought he had passed through with no problem but then the gatekeeper quickly stopped him as he flashed his permit.
“Yes?” Ilven replied his eyes narrowing dangerously. Did he see something?