The Skeleton Soldier Failed to Defend the Dungeon

Chapter 314: The Empire’s Blade (2)

Leandro did not answer. He simply nodded and left the shop. His silence was not merely out of courtesy toward the leather merchant who had dealt fairly with him, because he knew full well the captain had spoken those words expecting him to die. Yet, he had meant to take that road regardless.

Leandro had never planned to demand so much as doubling the reward. Yet, it was no surprise. Whether it was a monster in the mountains or a bandit chief, he often saw how those who offered bounties behaved very differently when it came time to pay. He already knew how to deal with such people.

What mattered was the prey: the hippogriff. Leonardo never once thought of losing. In the four years he had hunted monsters alone, drifting from place to place, he had mastered two domains.

The first was the domain of the blade. Within a radius of three meters, he could cut into an opponent’s opening in an instant, whether it was another bounty hunter creeping up on him, a cave-dwelling bat monster, or even the phantom of his mother.

The second domain was far wider. At times, it stretched to a hundred meters, depending on weather and terrain, and at other times it narrowed to barely twenty paces. Within it, he could sense all presences, living or dead. He’d find the target with the second domain, then draw it into the first. That would be the end of it.

The weather was clear, and his condition was perfect. Yet, after combing the Short-Tail Plains for some time, there was no trace of the hippogriff. Even the woodpecker forest in the center of the plains, where the nest was rumored to be, yielded nothing. Perhaps the rumors of the beast had driven even people away. There was no human presence at all.

Instead, he found newly erected signboards. In bold red letters, they read: Man-eating Hippogriff Sighted – Do Not Enter.

Below, in smaller script, were accounts of its deeds: men, women, and children had all been seized and torn apart. It was just as Leandro had heard. He circled the marked area.

Soon, he came upon dried, clotted blood on the ground. Looking up, he saw a corpse snagged on a branch. The lower half of a corpse dangled there, torn from the waist. The wound was ragged, as if bitten through. The branches were broken where the person had fallen before lodging halfway down.

Leandro slowly drew his sword. A short distance further lay the upper half of the corpse. Judging by the torn parts and the clothing, it was the same corpse. The hands bore the calluses of a seasoned hunter, his grip still clutching sword and bow.

At last, Leandro glanced at the man’s face. Frozen in terror, eyes bulging, mouth gaping as if mid-scream for mercy, the man’s face had hardened in death.

Leonardo walked on. More corpses appeared, long since weathered and decayed. The corpses looked like laundry, hung on branches everywhere. Their innards were intact, flesh barely torn. In some cases, their remains lay in as many as four or five pieces, but, when fitted together, they would form a whole body.

They hadn’t been eaten because the thrill of the hunt drove the creature. Such a pattern meant it was accustomed to fighting humans.

Leandro focused on his second domain. He felt the presence of small beasts and birds within the great circle around him. In some regions, hippogriffs were revered as holy beasts. Humans so easily worshiped what they did not understand, especially beings stronger than themselves.

They would submit to the very violence that wound them, ally with it, defend it, and even obey it. Humans clung to fleeting exceptions, those rare moments of false peace. People crowed about hippogriffs carrying riders through the sky. Once a monster showed the faintest kindness, humans were quick to marvel.

In truth, the hippogriff hunted humans it had no need to eat, tore them apart, and scattered them. A monster was nothing but a monster. The same was true of Garbera, the man-eating vines that devoured countless mountain tribes, yet they were worshiped as gods by those very tribes.

Humans bowed to the same violence inflicted upon them, appeasing it like hostages begging their captor not to kill them. To Leandro, it was a distortion. The proper response was not reverence, but hatred and wrath.

Within three meters of the blade’s domain, anything that entered had to be cut down. Garbera, the so-called god of the eastern mountains, was Leandro’s goal. The hippogriff’s bounty was nothing but practice.

He continued walking. Perhaps the beast’s vision from the sky was broader than his second domain. So, he made no effort to conceal himself. He walked openly, letting his presence flare. Yet, even as he passed among the weathered corpses, the hippogriff did not appear. Instead, out of nowhere came the sound of a furious horse’s cry.

”Neigh!”

A wild horse, a head taller than most, charged so hard the grasses of the plain rippled. It looked like a windstorm was galloping in.

Were horses always this fast?

While Leandro stared, spellbound, the black stallion tore through the still air with its front hooves and struck him. With that speed, height, and mass, a solid hit could shatter a skull. Startled, Leandro stepped back and slashed with his sword.

By all appearances, it was an ordinary wild horse, and not a man-eating monster. He loosened his grip at the last moment, yet a long gash opened from the animal’s flank down to its thigh.

”Neigh!”

”Easy.”

Of course, the word had no effect. Ignoring its wound, the agitated horse kept lashing out with its forelegs. Each kick carried enough weight to be dangerous; wind pressure buffeted Leandro so hard his collar snapped and fluttered. Pressed, he dodged the charge, the savage back-kicks, the flurry of the horse’s front hooves, and climbed a thick nearby tree.

”Neigh! Neigh!”

Leandro watched the creature snort, blood seeping from the fresh cut. There was no doubt that it was a horse. Large and muscular, yes, but it was still only a horse. After circling the tree threateningly, the black stallion finally withdrew.

Leandro looked toward where it went. A newborn foal lay sprawled there, stretching its spindly legs with squeaks of effort.

The riddle was resolved. The horse was not drunk on surplus strength, but a mother on edge with a young one to protect. The foal stamped its hind legs and pushed its forelegs forward, then flopped back, rolling to expose its belly. It wriggled and tried to stand on all fours, failing again and again.

Bleeding from her side, the mare approached and, with her tongue, licked from the foal’s rump up its spine to its head. The little one flared its tiny nostrils and blinked. It sagged, then shook its damp mane violently, braced its hind legs, and finally stood firm.

Leandro found it strangely hard to look away. The blood still running from the mare’s side pricked his conscience; he regretted the cut.

He shook his head. Whatever affection lay between dam and foal, they were still only beasts.

In the end, he thought maybe that was for the best.

A hippogriff could detect the scent of blood from five kilometers away. This would be enough bait.

Fwoooooosh!

The wind rose. The foal slid its legs a little to the side but kept its stance. Its shaky hindquarters settled, and even its tail ceased to twitch. It mouthed at the wind blowing toward it, chewing it like fodder. Then a stronger gust came.

The sound of a knife-edged cry ripped the air. ”Kyaaa!”

The predator dove, wings spread wide and talons out. Leandro hadn’t sensed it at all moments ago. Perhaps it had caught the scent of the mare’s blood from the wind. Unintentionally, Leandro had used the black mare with her newborn as bait. If he had moved closer earlier, he might have sprung sooner; the distance now annoyed him.

”Hm?”

Instead of getting snatched in an instant, the mare sprang sideways with startling agility and reared, smashing both forehooves into the hippogriff’s head. As if it had never imagined a mere horse would attack, the hippogriff flinched and beat upward in a flurry.

High above, the hippogriff circled for another pass. The mare kept the foal between them, trotting in a ring and snorting up at the sky.

”Kyaaaaaa!”

This time, the hippogriff folded its wings and dove even faster. Despite the gale from a wingspan over three meters, the foal stood up straight and glared at it.

”Neigh!”

The mare clamped the foal’s nape in her teeth and slid aside, timing a brutal back-kick to meet the predator’s descent. The hippogriff tumbled across the ground in an ugly sprawl, then surged skyward in haste.

They traded life-and-death passes with the foal between them. The more they clashed, the clearer the outcome became. Even on the ground, a hippogriff could tear an ogre to pieces. Its wings, scaled like steel, took the mare’s cleanest kicks without suffering a truly mortal wound.

In contrast, the mare couldn’t quite evade the accumulating cuts, sharp wounds blooming across her hide. Those wounds could have toppled most horses, or anything for that matter. She stood by the will to protect her young. If Leandro waited longer, the fight would end on its own. The horses had done their work as bait.

Leandro stifled his presence and dropped lightly from the tree. The mare’s blood on his blade had not yet dried.

”Kiaaaak!”

As if to crush a presumptuous life, the hippogriff dove with both talons forward, aiming not at the foal now but straight at the mare. It took a blow from a forehoof and still followed through, pinning the mare under its weight.

She should have died at once, yet the mare clung on savagely, only to be driven to the ground by the sheer mass. Close to the hippogriff’s body, her legs looked almost thin. After pinning her, the predator glanced at the foal, as if to mock a creature that could do nothing but stand. It lifted one talon and cut the mare’s throat.

Paat!

Blood sheeted over the mare’s corpse. Instinct told the hippogriff something had gone wrong. It tried to leap skyward, but it had never before lost a leg. Unbalanced, it staggered.

It couldn’t comprehend how a single afterimage of a blade’s path had cut its limb into three pieces. Before it could think, it was dragged into a circular trajectory, and Leandro saw the corpse of a great, headless bird.

The sixteen-year-old boy looked down at the corpse, wondering what to name the technique. One wing had been severed, exposing the heavy torso beneath; deep blue hoof-prints mottled it with bruises. The mare’s part as mere bait had not been meaningless.

Leandro took two steps back and looked at the fallen horse. ”Thank you...”

”Neigh...neigh...”

He was about to tell her it was thanks to her when he felt the death rattle. He pulled salve out from his pack and pressed it into the wounds. The blood clotted stickily, but too much had already poured out.

The foal cried and crawled on its knees toward them. ”Squeal! Squeal!”

The black mare looked at Leandro, blinking as if in plea, then turned her head to her young. After a few labored breaths, she went still. Leandro looked from the headless hippogriff to the big, lacerated corpse of the mare, then to the foal. It was alone now, licking its mother’s corpse.

The last look the dead horse had given him carried a weight not easily ignored. Without the two of them, the hippogriff might never have appeared, and perhaps he would never have brought it down.

When a fellow hunter dies while taking a monster or a wanted murderer with him, how should the reward be divided?

Leandro had never had a companion, so he didn’t know the answer. A faint instinct brushed his thoughts: compensate the family.

After a quick tally in his head, he turned to the foal with a troubled look. ”The split bounty... will cover at least thirty years of feed. I’ll take you with me until then.”