Chapter Eight: The Wild Goose Carries the Branch

Once the monster was dealt with, the residents and passersby who had retreated to a distance or taken shelter indoors cautiously emerged.

The bold livestock trader, who had dared to fight the winged serpent dragon, suddenly went weak at the knees and collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily as if his chest were a bellows.

“Is he alright?” Oran sheathed his weapon and approached.

Sea Buckthorn supported the merchant’s shoulder, her expression filled with concern. “Not too well, although he wasn’t bitten, he was scratched a few times. The claws of a winged serpent dragon carry poison. We need to remove the toxins quickly and bandage the wounds.”

“Do you have any antidote?” Oran asked as he took a vial of healing potion from his pack and offered it to the merchant’s lips.

“No... the antidotes and bandages are all with Hesa,” Sea Buckthorn replied.

“No worries, I’ll take care of it.” A robust voice boomed.

A tall man pushed through the crowd, shouting loudly, “Alright, everyone step back! Don’t crowd around here.”

He knelt beside the merchant, administering an antidote and inspecting the injuries.

Oran took the opportunity to observe the man.

The man had sturdy limbs and dark bronze skin, appearing to be in his forties or fifties. His gear resembled that of Hesa’s city fortress guerrilla unit, though with design details tailored for male swordsmen, the most common type. His conspicuous wide-brimmed hat was almost a symbol of the fortress guerrilla squad.

Recalling Hesa’s earlier mention that this area was near the district overseen by “Boss Joda,” Oran surmised the man’s identity with near certainty.

Shortly after the man’s arrival, Hesa pushed through the crowd and hurried over.

Together, they helped the injured merchant drink the healing and antidote potions, finished bandaging, and after a few minutes of rest, the merchant’s condition improved significantly, though he still looked shaken.

The man supported the merchant’s arm, helping him to his feet, his deep voice calming. “That was just to stop the bleeding and a simple bandage. Now we’ll take you to the infirmary. The wound needs thorough cleaning and may require stitches.”

The merchant grimaced but nodded, calling over a vendor he knew to tend his livestock. With support from the man and Hesa, he hobbled toward the nearby infirmary.

Left behind, Oran hesitated, unsure if he should follow.

The man turned back, nodding toward him. “If you’re free, come along. You really helped us out today. I’ll treat you to a good meal afterward!”

“Am I invited too?” Hesa asked happily.

“None of your business,” the man replied playfully.

After settling the merchant at the infirmary and assigning other guerrilla members to calm the townsfolk and retrieve the winged serpent dragon’s corpse, the sun had risen high.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the burly man removed his wide-brimmed hat and hung it behind his neck, revealing a square face with a short beard.

Hesa whispered beside him, “Boss Joda never takes off his hat while working, even indoors. Taking it off means he’s ‘off duty’ and more approachable.”

Joda patted the back of her head, then extended his hand to Oran. “I’m Joda. These guys like to call me ‘Boss,’ but our fortress guerrilla team has no rank or hierarchy. At most, I’m just a senior to these young ones.”

Oran nodded. “I’m Oran, a one-star hunter. Nice to meet you.”

Joda stepped closer, eyes fixed on him. “Hmm, I’ve heard your name. Our Rockrock isn’t a small town. It’s rare to see someone become a full-fledged hunter before seventeen. I’ve only heard of a few in all these years.

To put it bluntly, you’re one of those so-called ‘prodigies.’”

Oran merely tilted his chin slightly, choosing not to reply.

Hesa, however, looked surprised. “Ah? I thought you were just a stray kid. Turns out you’re pretty impressive!”

Seeing Oran’s calm demeanor, Joda’s eyes showed respect.

Hunters aren’t scholars; being a genius isn’t that important.

There are many late bloomers, and early deaths of so-called prodigies at monsters’ jaws are just another name on the casualty list.

“You’re a good kid!” Joda laughed, slapping Oran’s arm. “Sorry for being blunt earlier. Seems you really don’t care about the ‘prodigy’ title.

Good. I don’t bother with those who puff themselves up at the slightest success.”

“Mm.” Oran acknowledged.

Joda was momentarily at a loss; this kid seemed reserved, and conversations with such personalities often stall.

“What do you like to eat? It’s on me! Thanks to you, if you hadn’t arrived early, the merchant’s injuries would have been much worse.”

“No need for such courtesy.” Oran was straightforward. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to learn more about the fortress guerrilla team first.”

“Ah.” Joda glanced at Hesa. “She told me you might be interested in joining. I thought it was just her wishful thinking.

Looks like you’re considering it too?

Great! We’ve always been short on reliable members. Fresh, trustworthy blood is more than welcome!”

Oran’s expression showed hesitation, but he knew he couldn’t keep silent.

“Sorry, but does the guerrilla team accept part-time members? I hope to advance to two-star quickly, so may not be able to fully commit to city patrols.”

“Ha! I get it!” Joda clapped Oran’s shoulder, laughing. “You might have some misunderstandings about the fortress guerrilla.

It’s almost mealtime. You like grilled meat, right? There’s no young person who doesn’t, I bet. There’s a good place nearby; let’s eat and talk!”

Oran sighed inwardly. Did the fortress guerrilla team always discuss matters over meals?

But with little choice, he was half-dragged by the two—plus a cat—toward a specialty grilled meat restaurant.

Before entering, the strong scent of spices and onions hit his nose hard, nearly making him sneeze.

Joda glanced professionally at the street crowd and asked Oran, “Haha, this place is pretty spicy. Can you handle heat?”

“...I can manage.”

“Boss!” Joda’s loud voice nearly hurt ears. “Three people and a cat, bring two grilled meat flatbreads and extra onions!”

“Hey! Boss Joda’s here! Find a seat—your meat’s coming right up! Want some beer?”

“No beer. We have patrols this afternoon.”

“Thanks for your hard work!”

After some banter with the owner, Joda led them to a table. Hesa, clearly a frequent visitor, grabbed two onions from the kitchen and began peeling.

“So, what did you mean by the misunderstanding about us?” Oran tried steering the conversation back.

“Ah, right...” Joda looked as if he’d forgotten this wasn’t just a meal. “Our fortress guerrilla team started as a volunteer group. Later, the chairman incorporated us, and we grew to this scale.

So, don’t think of us as a military unit or a knights’ order. If you must, think of us as a club of hunters gathered to protect their hometown. Something like that.”

“So, it’s freer?” Oran asked tentatively.

“Exactly. Besides routine patrols, other work is simple: clearing trade routes and dealing with monsters near the city.

Mostly low-level threats like yellow velociraptors. More dangerous monsters are directly assigned by the guild.”

“Why not publish these tasks openly at the guild then?” Oran pressed.

“Oh, that question.”

Joda stroked his short, stiff beard. “Well, these tasks are numerous but easy, with low rewards. They’re one-star tasks, and most hunters think they’re not worth the effort.

Yet, these jobs need to be done quickly to keep trade routes safe and protect citizens. That’s why Rockrock needs the fortress guerrilla team.”

Oran nodded, understanding.

Indeed, if it were him, once he reached two or three stars, he wouldn’t bother with ‘hunt three-headed yellow velociraptor’ tasks.

Joda smiled and continued, “You’re a hunter with a mentor, not one of those from the training camp.

Many young hunters fresh from the Rockrock training camp join the guerrilla team during their early days.

It helps them quickly gain real combat experience, and these hunts count toward their task numbers.

Some even say the fortress guerrilla team is the cradle of Rockrock hunters.

Ah, the meat’s here, dig in!”

Joda gestured toward the huge platter of grilled meat just served, motioning ‘help yourselves.’

“There’s also a saying that the fortress guerrilla is a gathering place for low-star hunters.

It sounds harsh but isn’t wrong—after all, it’s a cradle.”

Joda glanced at Oran with a smile. “Some fledglings grow here until their wings are strong and then fly away.

Others, the homebodies, stay in the nest, gathering twigs and patching up every day.

That’s what the fortress guerrilla team is.”