In the Hameln Great Forest, where the midday food chain competition was fierce, Velok was concentrating with his eyes closed.
His pupils were moving restlessly under his closed eyelids, and it wasn't long before his eyes opened.
"Hmm."
Velok half-opened his eyes and let out a faint groan.
"Ah, really."
His voice was clearly perplexed.
"Another such monster?"
Velok had only recently noticed the masked mage.
An old war mage.
To catch this monster, he had set up several traps.
The ruler of the swamp.
Velok had moved this ancient being, which had guarded the swamp of death for hundreds of years, to the wetlands.
'If the wetlands are blocked, they will eventually have to change their path.'
He thought he could wait calmly and then swallow the exhausted bait.
"Who would have thought they would capture the ruler of the swamp."
It was an unexpected situation.
The ruler of the swamp.
What kind of monster was it!
He had expressed it simply as 'moved' for the sake of hunting, but Velok had to invest considerable mental energy to move this ancient being, which stubbornly guarded its territory.
During this process, he had clearly confirmed the power of the ancient being known as the ruler of the swamp.
If he were asked to catch it himself...
'I can do it. I can do it, but...'
The scene of battle that flashed through his mind.
The scenes sent by the familiar he had released to monitor the bait's movements were truly—
Astonishing!
Pulling out the ruler of the swamp's eyes and engaging in a close combat.
Even though it was clearly a mage, they exchanged attacks and defenses without a single inch of retreat.
In other words.
'A rare madman, that’s what it is.'
Though his face was hidden by the mask, Velok could immediately tell.
The guy... was smiling.
Even as he was thrown by the ruler of the swamp's brutal fist, he laughed while his flesh was torn.
Surely, the face hidden under the mask was wearing a rare, bright smile.
However, what was truly shocking was something else.
- Whoosh.
An explosion that instantly silenced all sounds.
After a flash of light, all that was visible was the corpse of the ruler of the swamp, as if it had been torn apart by a giant beast.
It was an explosion that utterly annihilated its target.
Thinking up to this point, Velok unconsciously stroked his forearm.
Goosebumps rose on the skin hidden under his robe, and he was startled at that moment.
"Huh, I..."
The unconscious reaction of his body. He realized what emotion had caused it.
It was...
"Feeling fear?"
Fear, or the emotion called terror.
But why?
"Haha."
A sudden burst of laughter.
"Hehe. Hahaha!"
Velok leaned back and laughed heartily, looking up at the sky.
His laughter echoed throughout the Hameln Great Forest.
After a moment.
"Hehe, hehehe. This is really... amazing."
Velok calmed his laughter and clutched his stomach.
How long had it been since he laughed like this?
His abs ached from laughing so hard, but it was a pleasant pain.
"Really, really, it's so interesting. Where did such a guy come from?"
Occasionally, there are fools who say this.
'The world is wide, and there are many strong people.'
It's nonsense.
The world may be wide, but there aren't many strong people who can satisfy Velok... no, not many prey.
Especially not someone like the masked guy, who made his skin tingle with a lethal presence!
To be honest...
"It seems interesting."
The old war mage is more for show.
A kind of trophy to say, "I hunted such a high-level prey!"
But this guy was different.
'I want to hunt him.'
While the old war mage is better for show, this guy is the one who stirs the hunting instinct.
No, no.
'He's not prey.'
Yes. This isn't the feeling a hunter has when facing prey.
Rather...
'He's also a hunter.'
I don't know what he hunts.
But one thing is certain: he is a hunter.
Whether he hunts mages like me, knights, or monsters, his essence is ultimately no different from mine.
'This, then... yes.'
A fellow hunter who can share the thrill of the hunt.
That's why I want to hunt him even more.
What kind of hunter am I to another hunter? Which of us, you or me, is the better hunter?
"Smack."
Velok ran his tongue over his dry lips.
'I should... prepare more carefully.'
I'm curious.
What face is hidden under that mask?
What expression will the hunter have, and what eyes will he have, in the moment of death?
"Hehe, hehehe—"
Like a doll with a malfunctioning emotional signal.
Velok stood still, his shoulders shaking as he let out a listless laugh.
Soon, Velok picked up the communication crystal.
Not long after he sent the signal, a voice came from the other side of the crystal.
[We greet the Seer...]
Perhaps due to the high mana density in the Hameln Great Forest.
The voice from the other side of the communication crystal was mixed with noise and not smooth.
However, Velok didn't care and gave his orders.
"I'll inform you of the location psychically. Give me two days."
[Understood.]
It was a rather unreasonable order.
Even the most secretive person would find it difficult to penetrate the chaotic Hameln Great Forest.
But Velok, who gave the order, and the black mage who responded, both ended the communication as if it were natural.
This is the relationship between a gold mage and a black mage.
Like a hunter commanding a hunting dog as they see fit, a relationship where they must simply follow, regardless of the situation.
'Let's see... the hunting dog is ready. What stage should I prepare?'
Hehe.
Velok smiled, his face flushed with excitement as if he was enjoying the mere thought of it.
* * *
We entered the First Base Camp just as darkness was settling in.
The base camp, despite being in the middle of the night, had no torches lit. Rayleigh entered one of the tents and announced our arrival, even in the darkness.
"Base camps usually don't light fires at night. Monsters might be attracted to the light..."
We could light fires during our camping thanks to Obern's barrier magic.
While the base camp does have mages or artifacts that can perform similar roles, the principle is not to light fires for efficiency.
"We should stay here for now."
Rayleigh said he had been assigned a tent by the base camp manager and led us to a place.
It was pitch black, but Rayleigh entered the tent as if he were familiar with it.
Click.
The tent lit up brightly with a candle.
Rayleigh soon checked to make sure no light was leaking out and sat down.
"Hmm, as expected, it's quite deserted."
"Deserted?"
I had accumulated enough mana to see through the darkness, but Rayleigh hadn't.
How did he know?
"There's a certain atmosphere. Base camps are usually as quiet as a mouse at night, but I can't sense any presence. It's literally... as if everyone except the manager has been evacuated."
His somewhat recovered sense of presence.
Indeed, as Rayleigh said, the number of presences he could sense nearby was quite small.
Excluding the small insects and small animals, there were probably only a dozen or so, at most twenty.
"By the way, the base camp manager?"
"Yes. The base camp manager is the mercenary group that owns the base camp. They take the byproducts of the mercenaries using the base camp as payment. They're bandits, really..."
Like a kind of lord.
Just then, a voice came from the tent opening.
"Bandits... Rayleigh. You've become quite bold in my absence."
"Ah!"
An uninvited guest entered the tent.
He was a bulky mercenary with a voice that echoed like a cave.
Rayleigh is also a large man, but this guy made him look small in comparison.
I stared at the man, and it was then that the silent Obern spoke.
"The chief who governs the First Base Camp. The mercenary group's name is..."
"Abiot. Abiot."
The man cut off Obern's words, brought a chair, and sat down.
Would the chair hold his size?
The chair looked pitiful.
'But, the chief?'
I took a good look at the middle-aged man.
His beard was turning white, and his hair was thinning, suggesting he was transitioning from middle age to old age.
However, the light in his eyes was as bright as a young man's.
At that moment, the chief extended his hand to me.
"..."
"Let's exchange greetings. Don't you know how to shake hands?"
"Aha, is that it?"
This kind of experience is common for me.
Why, isn't it a thing?
When you join a group of men, you often try to establish dominance.
I smiled and shook his hand, and at that moment, the chief's face contorted.
"What... are you doing?"
"..."
Was it for his dignity?
His jaw was clenched as if suppressing pain. The voice that came out between his teeth was trying to sound calm, but the pain was evident.
His eyes were full of confusion, and I was the one who was more confused.
"Isn't this it?"
The chief didn't respond.
He just turned his gaze to Rayleigh.
"You've brought some crazy guy."
"Hehe, that's..."
"Never mind."
The chief shook off his hand and looked at me.
"Mr. Mage, consider my age. I'm past the age of childish strength contests."
"You don't know."
"..."
It's either or.
He glared at me.
Should I punch him in the eye?
I barely restrained myself.
I am a mage with manners.
But, that's one thing.
"By the way, why is such a distinguished person here?"
"Why else? I came for a reason. I heard you were returning to the Fourth Base Camp?"
"How did you...?"
Obern reacted to the chief's words.
After all, we had just entered the First Base Camp.
But the chief looked at Rayleigh with a disdainful gaze after a moment.
"You don't know how much your pathfinder talks. He chattered on and on during your last visit. He probably even revealed your plan to eat this naive mage for lunch?"
"Ah!"
"Well, it seems... you failed spectacularly."
Rayleigh's already pale face turned ashen.
But Obern either didn't understand or thought it was in the past.
He just looked at the chief with a calm face.
I broke the silence.
"So, what is your business, Mr. Chief?"
"My business is... simple."
Creak.
As he leaned forward, the already precarious chair groaned.
At the same time, his muscles seemed to bulge significantly.
"Even if you think we're bandits, bandits also value their territory."
"So..."
"I know roughly what's happening. The chiefs of the camps have a communication network."
So, he knew that Deshtrow was coming from the inner area.
The chief spoke then.
"If the Fourth Base Camp falls, we won't be safe either. We will fight to defend ourselves."
In other words, this is what he meant.
To put it nicely, he was saying he would fight to the death to protect his territory.
To put it bluntly, he was asking us to guide them to their suicide spot.
But it wasn't a bad request.
'More hands are better.'
You might think mercenaries wouldn't be much help, but the enemy isn't just Deshtrow.
The undead surrounding it are also formidable opponents.
But why?
"I can't do that."
A firm voice.
"..."
Surprised, I looked at the source of the voice.
There, Obern was glaring at the chief with a rare, tense expression.