Chapter Thirty-Two: Air-Dried

The Velocidrome gasped for air, its chest heaving. Its head, neck, and chest were covered in lacerations. Perhaps none were deep enough to be instantly fatal—many might have begun to knit together after a good sleep—but every single wound continued to bleed. The cumulative blood loss had left the monster significantly weakened, its movements sluggish and its gait unsteady.

Even so, Olan, circling the beast, kept his shield raised, never lowering his guard. He knew all too well that many hunters had been killed by monsters they had assumed were too weak to fight back. Having meticulously cleared out the lesser Velociprey and systematically eliminated any variables to bring the hunt to this point, he would not grant his opponent a chance for a comeback.

A final flurry of attacks or a Demon Dance would surely finish the creature off, but Olan had no intention of rushing in. He meant to stick to his target like a leech until it bled out. Not only did this minimize risk, but he also wanted to preserve as much of the monster’s carcass as possible for carving.

As the chase led them into a canyon pass between two rocky hills, a glint caught the edge of Olan’s vision. He flicked his gaze toward it. It was Shaji, using the polished surface of his Felyne dagger to reflect the sunlight. Receiving the signal, Olan raised his shield slightly to acknowledge the message. He slowed his pace, maintaining a distance of about twenty meters from the Velocidrome. He could not press too hard, yet he could not let the monster wander off; if it continued forward as he hoped, that would be ideal.

But this strange behavior made the Velocidrome uneasy. It hesitated, wavering between continuing forward or turning to launch a final, desperate counterattack while it still had a sliver of strength left. Olan felt a twinge of frustration; it seemed impossible to make the beast cooperate through "gentle" means. He struck his shield sharply with his hunting knife, creating a jarring metallic clang, then charged forward with a roar, acting the part of a predator ready to strike.

Startled, the Velocidrome flinched and instinctively broke into a run, completely failing to notice that the ground at the end of the pass looked slightly off. The moment it stepped onto that patch of earth, the ground collapsed into a pit, and at the same time, a net woven from spider silk and sturdy vines sprang upward, pinning the creature firmly in place.

Shaji’s pitfall trap had worked!

The Velocidrome struggled violently; it would likely break free from the net and climb out of the trap before long. But the hunter and his Felyne companion would not give it the chance. Shaji ran over carrying a large bag of powder and dumped the entire contents over the Velocidrome’s head.

"Go to sleep, meow!"

This was a capture-grade anesthetic, formulated from sleep herbs and paralysis mushrooms. Ordinarily, it was meant to be loaded into hollowed-out material shells or bowgun ammo to create tranq bombs or shots for maximum efficiency. But under the current circumstances, Shaji had no time for that; rather than fumbling with ammo crafting, he had simply made a larger batch of the anesthetic and increased the dosage.

His choice proved correct. Having inhaled an excessive amount of the anesthetic while struggling, the Velocidrome fell unconscious in a matter of moments.

"Capture successful, meow!" Shaji jumped for joy.

Olan walked over and ruffled the Felyne’s head. "Well done. I'll bleed it out, then get ready to carve."

"Meow?" Shaji tilted his head. "We captured it, aren't we going to transport it back, meow? The Guild would pay a higher reward, meow."

"No need. The sandship we arrived on isn't big enough to hold it, and we’d have to hire a specialized transport team. It's just a Velocidrome; it's not worth the trouble." Olan paused for a few seconds, his voice dropping. "Besides, I have another use for it."

Shaji blinked. "Alright, meow. Whatever you say, meow."

***

It was an oasis on the verge of being swallowed by the desert. Around the long-abandoned village, dried, broken bones lay scattered everywhere. In the center of the ruins stood an exceptionally large skeleton, its massive, curved horns reaching toward the sky like flagpoles.

Pinned to the tip of one of the great horns was the head of the Velocidrome. The desert wind whistled through the hollows of the bones, sounding like a low, mournful wail as it slowly dried the blood-stained skull.

***

Loc Lac, Guild Hall Tavern.

"To celebrate Olan's promotion to two-star! Cheers!" Resha held his mug high, shouting with joy.

"Cheers!"

"Meow!"

The mugs clinked together, sending golden ale splashing onto the table.

"Ha! I never expected you to reach two-star so quickly." Nuri downed his ale in one go, slammed the mug onto the table, and laughed.

Asa, who never knew when to keep his mouth shut, chimed in, "Exactly! I'm still crawling along at one-star. How did you end up running ahead to two-star like the big guy?"

"Isn't that just because you're a slacker?" Resha mocked him mercilessly. "Look at how many missions Olan has done in the last few months, and compare that to yours. If you spent half the time you waste flapping your gums on actual training, you’d be ready for your own promotion by now!"

"You’re so harsh..." Asa chuckled, but he didn't argue. Despite his lack of filter, he had one redeeming quality: he was good-natured and never took insults to heart.

"Aren't you drinking, meow?" Shaji, holding a mug of green matatabi wine, looked at Olan.

Olan was staring blankly at his own mug. Only when he realized the others were looking at him did he snap out of it and lift the glass to his lips, taking a large gulp.

"Cough, cough..."

The taste was nothing like he had imagined. The sharp, bitter sting of the ale caught him off guard, and he broke into a fit of coughing. After a long moment, he looked up to find the three men and the Felyne staring at him with odd expressions. Olan said sheepishly, "This is my first time drinking."

"Huh?"

"No way? I started drinking with my old man when I was thirteen or fourteen. My brother started even earlier."

"Meow-meow..."

"Come to think of it, I've never seen Olan drink before," Nuri said, stroking his chin. "I just assumed you were disciplined, or that you simply didn't like alcohol."

"My teacher didn't allow it," Olan explained simply. "But it's fine now. Should I drink more often to get used to the taste?"

"No need, no need. *Hiccup*—" Resha waved a hand dismissively. "Drinking isn't something to brag about; no need to force yourself. Oh, right, I almost forgot. The smithy’s mistress asked me to pass on a message. She said all the workshops in the city will be busy from this month through the next. The Velocidrome materials you dropped off won't be crafted into equipment for a while."

"I understand. There's no rush." Olan took another small sip, trying to appreciate the subtle bitterness.

"The monsoon season is coming soon. The number of tourists and merchants in the city is increasing, and the annual Harvest Festival is just around the corner."