Three young girls had already gone missing in the Village.
This border Village, once reborn from the flames of the Mercenary Company and gradually prosperous from the influx of refugees, was for the first time shrouded in such a strange and ominous cloud.
At first, people did not care.
Adolescent girls, their thoughts like the wind in the forest, were impossible to grasp.
Perhaps they had eloped with a lover to a more prosperous town; or perhaps they were merely playing and hiding in some corner, waiting for their families to search anxiously.
The parents’ anger far outweighed their worry.
Until the Village’s lumberjack found the first corpse deep in the forest.
It was a girl who had just turned sixteen, who in daily life loved to pin a daisy in her hair.
But now, her torn clothes were mixed with mud, and that face that had once bloomed like a flower was frozen in utter terror.
Most unbearable to look at was her lower body, violently torn open, the wound hideous, as if some Beast far larger than a human had pierced her body in the most primal and savage way.
Panic spread like a Plague.
The villagers finally realized this was not a simple elopement or accident.
They organized themselves spontaneously; the Militia took up spears and Bow and Crossbow, the men gripped axes and billhooks, and began a large-scale search of the surrounding woodland.
They had once used these weapons against the bloodthirsty Mercenary Company, and now they had to fight an invisible Enemy.
Soon, the second missing girl was found.
She was curled up in a damp tree hollow, her death even more miserable than the first.
Her abdomen was bulging high, yet it had burst open from within, as if something had gestated and grown inside her, finally breaking out in a horrific manner.
That terrifying sight made the father who discovered the corpse let out a scream and faint on the spot.
The third girl remained completely missing, as if swallowed entirely by this deep forest.
Who was the murderer? Was it roving bandits? Or those Heretics said in legends to take pleasure in torturing others?
Some remembered the atrocities of the Pure-blood, those monsters wearing human skin, whose desires were bottomless.
The shadow of fear shrouded the Village.
No more sounds of young people’s laughter were heard at night; every household kept doors and windows tightly shut, and parents watched their children desperately.
The Militia increased night patrols; torchlight cast wavering human shadows on the Village’s wooden walls, but it could not dispel the chill in people’s hearts.
Among all the chaotic guesses, only one Voice seemed out of place.
“It is a Beast.”
The person who said this was the Village’s only old hunter.
He was taciturn, had spent most of his life dealing with beasts in the forest, and always carried the scent of pine needles and blood.
He carefully examined the traces around the corpse–the subtle marks in the soil, the broken branches, and the faint lingering musky odor in the air–all led him to this conclusion.
“A Beast?” The villagers could not understand, their faces full of absurdity. “What kind of Beast would… would do such a thing?”
The old hunter could not answer.
He could give no solid evidence; it was only his intuition as a hunter who had coexisted with this forest for decades.
A warning from life’s most primal instinct.
Things were still getting worse.
A few days later, a man returning late at night was attacked. Dragging his body with half a shoulder torn open, he struggled back to the Village, repeating: “Beast… I saw it… the shadow of a Beast…”
Just as the Village was in panic, a King’s messenger rode hard and brought the King’s notice.
“Imperial Vinland Palace Earl and Elector Otto Heidelberg is entering the border. All border Villages are to watch Imperial army movements and prepare for Strong Walls and Clear Fields at any time. Furthermore, those who kill Imperial Spies and Imperial Scouts will be heavily rewarded.”
The shadow of war temporarily suppressed that unknown fear.
Compared with monsters hiding in the dark, living Imperial soldiers were a more realistic threat.
The villagers began reinforcing the wooden walls and checking watch posts.
Those strange disappearances were also conveniently blamed on infiltrating Imperial Scouts.
After all, those Imperials were known for cruelty; it was not strange for them to do anything.
Gradually, no one mentioned the Beast attacks anymore.
But the old hunter did not let down his guard.
That hair-raising feeling of being watched as prey by an apex predator gnawed at his nerves day and night like a disease in the bone.
He rummaged through boxes and chests, and from the bottom of a dust-covered wooden chest he found the “trophy” left by his grandfather’s generation.
It was a head that had been cured and was still fairly preserved.
It had a human-like outline, but bore thick horns and protruding fangs. Even with empty eye sockets, it still radiated unsettling wildness and malice.
On the head’s label, written in long-faded ink, was a word–“Beastmen.”
The legend was true.
The old hunter examined his leather armor, torn when he fought a bear, and touched the hunting knife at his waist, its edge already somewhat rolled.
He found the Village craftsman, the old fellow he had known his whole life.
“Old man, got work again?” The craftsman’s several young sons were around the stove, imitating the pulling of the bellows. Seeing the old hunter, they greeted him all at once.
The craftsman was sitting at the door, peeling fruit for his wife.
His wife’s illness had worsened again; most of the time she could only lie in bed.
“What, want to change weapons?” The craftsman took the hunting knife the old hunter handed over, tested the edge with his thumb, and shook his head. “The Noble Masters want some game again?”
“No,” the old hunter said hoarsely, “I want to hunt.”
“Hunt?” The craftsman was a little surprised.
The old hunter did not say more.
He looked at the craftsman’s lively children, and a rare smile appeared on his face.
When people grow old, seeing young life always brings a bit of comfort.
Even Beasts have the feeling of licking their young; humans are even more so.
The craftsman seemed to see his thoughts, and a proud expression appeared on his face:
“Speaking of which, my daughter Marianne has become quite successful lately. She said in a letter that the Noble Master she serves has taken her as an adopted daughter, and she even sent back a large sum of money for our whole family to move to the Capital.” As he spoke, he laughed. “My wife even joked, saying our daughter must have hooked that Noble young Master and is about to become the lady of the house.”
“Then why don’t you move there?”
“Ah,” the craftsman sighed. “Her mother cannot leave this place. Those doctors in the city are all weird, saying not bathing can prevent disease–what nonsense. Here, at least we have you, old fellow, bringing game from time to time to nourish her body.”
The old hunter nodded silently.
He remembered the craftsman’s daughter’s friend, the girl named Liria with platinum-blond hair.
Back when the Mercenary Company attacked the Village, he had come back from the forest and happened to see the end of the battle.
That usually quiet and gentle girl was covered in blood, standing alone atop a mountain of corpses, her eyes cold unlike a human’s.
The power of a Crestbearer was truly extraordinary.
“If I catch game, I’ll share some with you,” the old hunter said.
“Ha, of course I thank you. But occasionally giving money is better,” the craftsman said half-jokingly.
“Didn’t your daughter send you a large sum of money?”
“That’s true.” The craftsman chuckled and said no more, focusing on forging a new weapon for the old hunter.
The old hunter, having obtained brand-new equipment, did not hesitate at all. With his most loyal hunting dog, he plunged into the forest.
He searched inch by inch along the paths the girls had taken before they disappeared.
He knew better than anyone how to look for traces; the scent of Beasts, the marks of trampling, the information carried by the wind–none could escape his senses.
Just as he went deep into a dense forest rarely visited by people, the attack came suddenly.
Several cold arrows shot from different directions, tricky and deadly.
The old hunter rolled to dodge. The hunting dog beside him had already pounced out like a black lightning bolt, and a scream immediately came from the forest.
This was not a Beast.
It was a person.
The fight ended quickly. In the forest, no one was the old hunter’s match.
He killed three attackers and captured one alive.
Under his interrogation, that group of so-called “Green Forest Heroes”–a bunch of robbers who killed and plundered–confessed to their crimes.
Those two girls who had died miserably were indeed killed by them.
To confuse the public, they deliberately damaged the corpses to look like Beast attacks.
The old hunter dragged the robbers’ corpses and the live captive back to the Village.
He became a Hero; the lord even sent a generous reward.
The Village’s dark cloud seemed to disperse, and people began celebrating again.
But the old hunter always felt something was wrong. Was the matter really this simple?
That sense of crisis, like a thorn in his back, did not disappear.
He used all the reward money to upgrade his equipment again, and even bought a well-trained falcon.
The villagers did not understand. The murderer had been brought to justice, so why was he still so vigilant?
“There is still one girl not found.” He only said this. “Those robbers said they only killed two.”
He entered the forest again. This time, he was even more cautious.
One night, the falcon let out a sharp warning cry in the air.
There was a strange movement in the forest.
The old hunter immediately rushed over with the hunting dog.
In the darkness, grass and trees swayed; he and the hunting dog became separated during the chase.
When he followed the sound and found his old companion, what he saw was its cold corpse.
The hunting dog’s throat had been cut with one slash, clean and neat.
But… beside its corpse, on the muddy ground, there was only a clear set of prints left by animal hooves.
Those hoof prints were actually made by a two-legged walking creature!
A bone-chilling cold rose from the soles of the old hunter’s feet straight to the top of his skull.
He remembered the head his grandfather had left behind.
To avenge his old companion, he suppressed his fear and began setting Traps in the forest.
He used everything he had learned in his life–the most concealed and deadly bear traps and tripwires–carefully placed in the area where those strange hoof prints appeared.
A few days later, he heard, from deep in the forest, a nonhuman scream mixed with pain and fury.
The prey had fallen into the Trap.
He rushed toward the sound, but at the Trap site he saw only a pool of dark blood and a stench so foul it made him sick.
Beside the bear trap, deformed after being forced open by great strength, were scattered a few tufts of coarse, black-gray hair.
He followed the blood trail all the way, but the traces completely disappeared before a swamp deeper in the forest.
For some reason, he did not dare go further in.
That deep forest was like a giant mouth that chose people to devour, quietly lurking in the darkness, giving off the breath of Death.
Humans cut down trees, built city walls, and carved out living space for themselves at the edge of the forest.
But they had also encroached on the territory of certain… “original inhabitants.”
They were very angry.
Dusk fell, and the old hunter dragged his exhausted body out of the forest.
Just as he was about to step into the range of the Village’s torchlight, the ground began to tremble slightly and continuously.
He suddenly turned back.
From the distant forest came a huge roar like ten thousand horses galloping.
Herds of wild deer, panicked wild boars, running foxes… countless birds rose from the forest, blotting out the sky, and fled in panic toward the plains.
All animals, whether herbivore or carnivore, abandoned their hostility toward each other at this moment, having only one thought: flee!
They seemed to be fleeing something indescribable, more terrifying than Death itself.
This spectacular and strange scene made the old hunter feel cold all over.
The Beast stench in the wind became more intense than ever before.
They have come.
They have set their eyes on this Village.
Prey, hunter… before this ancient forest, who can truly define the difference between the two?
The old hunter’s gaze pierced through the thickening dusk, fixed dead on the depths of the forest that had fallen into dead silence.
There, in the deepest darkness, countless pairs of eyes glittering with Greed, cruelty, and hunger were also silently watching him, and the human world behind him that glowed with faint torchlight.