Chapter 248

The centaur leader ran. This was no time to worry about injuries.

He was a monster who had already experienced fleeing twice.

To have intelligence meant knowing when to escape from danger.

He did exactly that.

In his monster mind, he recalled the first being who had made him run.

In the place humans called the Demon Realm, all sorts of things lived deep within.

Of course, the centaur leader didn’t understand the Demon Realm or any geographical concept.

He simply remembered the creature that used to toy with him.

Long arms—anything caught in those hands was ripped apart.

He called it the Hand That Rips. It tore things up for fun, even if it wasn’t food.

Thud, crunch!

The leader smashed through branches with his shoulders.

Black blood oozed from his right foreleg.

Pain sharpened his senses.

The memories continued.

He escaped the Hand That Rips, crossed the border, and fought.

Then he lost, and was chased.

In the end, he was hounded by humans all the way here.

The monster repeated a single maxim.

The strong survive.

What did he need to do to survive?

Instinct pushed him.

‘Subjugate the wild horse herd on the plains and create an even larger group!’

If a monster could have ambition, it was now.

More precisely, the monster was learning something from being close to humans.

He was capable of it with his intelligence.

He learned to hide and build up his strength.

This time, he’d also learned how to size up his enemies.

From a human perspective, it was obvious that letting him escape would become an even greater threat.

No, it was a clear threat.

If the leader survived this time, he would subjugate all the wild horses of the pasture.

Then he would gather even more monsters and beasts.

* * *

‘If I let it go, this’ll be a headache.’

His instincts spoke. Even without them, his mind understood.

It was said the longer a monster survived, the more cunning it became.

What did that mean?

Cunning and sly—when wickedness was added to a monster’s savagery—

‘That’s going to be a huge pain.’

Above all, this might become Dunbakel’s funeral battle.

He didn’t feel any debt over the slave’s death.

Still, from the moment he took her in, she was his responsibility until the end.

If he hadn’t accepted her, it would be different, but he had—and once someone was under his command, he believed he should take responsibility.

On the battlefield, dying was the soldier’s duty, but what came after was the commander’s job.

Especially since Dunbakel had done it to save a life.

‘Why did she do that?’

If the slave was alive, that was the first question he’d throw at her.

He pushed aside the brief thought and focused on running.

Leaves rushed toward him, roots rising from the ground like snares.

Everything was meant to slow him down.

It was the same for the centaur monster.

That meant that even if he couldn’t catch up instantly, at least he wouldn’t lose him.

Encrid exhaled sharply, then inhaled, stepping on a rounded root and swinging his dagger vertically at a branch in his way.

Ping.

A brittle branch snapped, bounced off his shoulder, and flew away.

A twig grazed his cheek, leaving a bead of blood that was whisked away by the wind as he ran.

Everything in the forest was an obstacle, coming at him fast.

The same was true for the monster, but the centaur had much thicker skin and body than a human.

He could smash through obstacles.

The leader really did.

He just charged straight through most things.

Encrid had already tossed away his vision-blocking helmet, and though it hit the monster’s back, the beast didn’t even flinch.

The helmet just bounced off his back muscle.

He didn’t even twitch. He looked utterly committed to escaping.

Of course, it was also because a thrown helmet during a sprint didn’t have much force behind it.

‘Should I practice throwing while running?’

He’d need it in moments like this.

That was for later.

Encrid wanted to catch him.

Responsibility for Dunbakel, the danger to come—he wanted to settle everything here.

At this speed, they’d soon leave the forest, and after that, it would be open pasture.

This was the area with the most wild horses. If they made it there, he’d lose him for sure.

‘No.’

He didn’t want to lose him.

He focused on one thing, running, summoning complete focus as all his senses sharpened.

The sense for evasion, the intuition born from it, were now dedicated to a single purpose.

‘I won’t lose him.’

The moment he repeated that wish to himself—

Twenty paces ahead on the right, he spotted the twisted rings of a half-broken tree.

His senses went wild, showing him a path.

The [Will] he’d realized through rejection stirred a little.

Encrid’s body moved along that path on its own.

He stepped off the ground, planted a foot on the tree to the right, and vaulted into the air. At the same time, he stabbed his knife into a thick branch overhead.

His running speed carried him forward.

He let go of the knife, grabbed the next branch like a monkey, and swung forward again.

He soared twice through the air, then dropped upside down and threw his sword.

It wasn’t just a stunt; it was acrobatics.

Physical control gained from relentless, even torturous training.

Athleticism, explosive strength from the heart of monstrous power.

Courage and sharpened senses, predicting each moment ahead.

He brought it all together as one and embodied it with his body.

Anyone watching would have seen him suddenly leap, fly through the air twice, and then shoot forward like a flash.

The running centaur leader had just exited the forest.

The leader felt joy.

‘I’ve finally shaken him!’

He broke through the woods, stepped into the open—but a sword pierced his head.

Encrid’s thrown sword went straight through his skull.

And as the sword hit, something slammed into the leader’s side.

It looked like a black shadow.

Encrid’s vision and skull buzzed.

It was from over-focusing.

Or rather, from the [Will] triggered within that focus, but he didn’t know that.

In any case, falling on his shoulder, he twisted his body to roll and landed smoothly.

Using the rolling momentum, he pushed off the ground with his ankle and stood up.

Kneeling on one leg, Encrid stared at the monster with a sword in its head.

The one with the sword in its head was knocked aside—because something had slammed into it.

The dying creature’s body trembled violently. Or was it already dead?

Encrid looked for what had rammed into the escaping leader.

Whinny.

He saw a wild horse giving off a mist all over its body.

It rose behind the leader, the vapor looking almost like wings, but the blue mist quickly faded.

Encrid was in much the same state.

Sweat poured down his body, and as he stopped, it vaporized like clouds of mist.

A beast and a man stared at each other.

The centaur leader, still trembling, bled black blood onto the earth. For a moment, the standoff between horse and human lasted.

“Did you catch him? Oh.”

Rem’s voice came from behind, with a brief exclamation. He wasn’t alone.

“Brother, did you catch him? Well done.”

A rare compliment from Audin.

Someone else was noisily snapping branches as they approached.

There was also Jaxson, who had come up silently.

The one snapping branches behind would be Teresa.

Giants had slow feet—even half-giants.

“Did Ragna come too?” Encrid asked just in case.

“Oh, that bastard. He came in with us, but if there’s a shortcut, he just goes off wherever he wants,” Rem muttered.

Ah, Ragna.

Encrid shook his head inwardly.

Other than swinging his sword, he really was like the god of illness—always getting lost.

“Is that a monster? Hm?” Audin asked. Maybe his divinity let him sense demonic energy.

The curiosity was thick in his tone.

Rem seemed to sense something too and added,

“A fierce one.”

Encrid kept talking, never taking his eyes off the wild horse with blue sweat vapor.

Its body was black, but the sweat on its skin gleamed blue. It was a striking sight.

That made the mist bluish.

That wasn’t the only unusual feature.

Its eyes were two different colors.

One blue, one red.

There couldn’t be a stranger form of heterochromia.

If you looked closely, one eye even looked like a monster’s.

Encrid glanced at the corpse of the colony leader, still twitching on the ground.

‘How do monsters make magical beasts?’

Krys knew all sorts of random things.

“Knowledge is a weapon that shows women a different kind of charm.”

Yeah, that was a pretty smug reason.

Anyway, Krys had said:

“They scatter their blood and feed it. Then the brain of an ordinary animal becomes tainted with demonic energy. Especially for colony creatures, the blood must be very effective. Otherwise, it would be hard to keep magical beasts around.”

That’s how he’d led the herd of magical horses.

The reason for turning so many herbivores into magical beasts.

‘But there weren’t that many magical horses here.’

Were there just few wild horses in this area? No, that didn’t seem right. The proof was right before his eyes.

“Look at this one. It’s only halfway changed,” Rem said.

Encrid saw it too.

Why was it heterochromatic, why did it charge in through a cloud of vapor and ram the monster?

Snort.

The wild horse blew another warning breath. Encrid met its gaze.

The beast seemed to speak with its eyes.

‘I will win. I will endure. I will not submit to this blood.’

There was a sense of spirit, dignity, momentum.

Rem seemed to see the same thing.

What did it mean for a horse to endure?

Oddly, even though it hadn’t been long, Encrid felt a familiarity with the horse.

‘Why?’

He asked himself, then soon found the answer.

Encrid saw himself in the wild horse.

A beast tainted by monster blood becomes a magical beast.

That’s an unchanging truth.

“Fascinating, brother,” Audin murmured.

Encrid looked at the creature that rejected that unchanging truth. He stared into its eyes.

He could feel murderous intent. There was even a fighting spirit. The horse even had fangs starting to grow—something a horse should never have.

Encrid remembered the past.

– “A knight? Pfft.”

Someone scoffed.

– “Stop with the nonsense. Get a grip on reality.”

Someone rebuked him.

– “Give it up. I’m telling you for your own good.”

Someone worried about him.

They all believed in unchanging truths.

Encrid reached out his hand to the horse.

Even if he hadn’t killed the monster with a thrown sword, the horse would have stopped it with a body slam.

They had caught it together.

“Were you after him too?” Encrid asked.

What an intelligent beast.

He stepped closer.

For a horse to resist monster blood meant it had overcome that unchanging truth.

The horse bared its fangs.

Snort.

It blew another warning breath. One wrong move, and it might snap at his hand. Considering the monsters he’d seen, it might even bite his wrist clean off.

Just as it seemed about to bare its fangs, the horse shook its head and snorted again.

Its eyes flickered—murderous intent, then wariness, then changed several times over.

Encrid stepped closer; the horse retreated a step but didn’t run away.

Rem, the others—everyone but the lost Ragna—watched Encrid and the horse.

Only Teresa’s heavy breathing could be heard as she arrived late.

No one spoke.

It felt as if two new things were meeting for the first time.

So Encrid’s hand touched the mane of the black horse.

Was the blue-tinged sweat because of monster blood, or was it always that way?

There was no way to know.

And this one—half magical beast, half wild—did not refuse Encrid’s touch.

That was all.