Chapter 23: The Wild Huntsman

With the iron tools that Sir Romon provided—ostensibly as part of a trade, but in truth as an act of aid—the pace of construction at the camp rapidly increased. Until then, the settlers hadn’t even had enough hoes to distribute one to each person, let alone long saws, iron drill bits, carpenter’s axes, and other steel implements. Half of the elderly and infirm could do no more than work with bare hands or wield the small pickaxes and javelins abandoned by defeated kobolds. Clearing land for fields on the riverbank had been just about manageable in recent days, but once it came time to fell trees and build houses, the shortage of tools became a serious problem.

Villagers without proper tools found themselves at a loss before trees that could barely be encircled by a single person’s arms—and in the western forests, such trees were considered small, with most requiring at least two people to wrap their arms around. With the supply of iron tools from Sir Romon, Leo himself was filled with new enthusiasm for labor, and at dawn he joined the villagers, cheerfully heading into the forest to work the great saws.

Yet, after spending nearly the whole morning helping a group bring down a single large tree, cutting it up and dragging it back to camp, Leo’s enthusiasm for physical labor was thoroughly drained. Unable to tolerate such inefficiency, he resolved to scout upstream along the Anzeno River.

It was not laziness—certainly not! According to intelligence from the kobold Feisha, there was a wildfolk tribe living beneath the waterfall at the river’s source. The camp’s meager armed force was enough to intimidate the weak kobolds, but when it came to a fishing and hunting tribe deep in the forests, Leo, still recovering from his wounds, dared not make any rash moves.

The cold northern lands were not suited for farming; north of the Anzeno River, more than half the villages relied on fishing, hunting, or herding, and spears and hunting bows were the villagers’ standard equipment. As for the wildfolk hiding deep in the mountains, it went without saying—Leo suspected that if he recklessly led his farmer-turned-militia to “root out bandits,” they might well be turned into pincushions halfway to their destination.

However, Feisha’s description suggested that this tribe was not as savage or barbaric as he had imagined; perhaps peaceful coexistence could be achieved through communication and trade. Until the camp had firmly established itself, Leo had no intention of provoking any conflict. He even instructed the scouts patrolling the camp’s perimeter to avoid venturing more than ten miles upstream; even if they encountered the wildfolk, they were to steer clear of confrontation.

The scouts capable of patrolling alone were all handpicked and trained by Urian; losing even one would be a painful blow. But the more formidable these scouts became, the greater the risk of a clash with the wildfolk. Any casualties, on either side, would drive the situation toward hostility—potentially beyond repair.

For the first meeting, it was vital to make a good impression. As the camp’s second-best negotiator—the first being Urian—Leo decided to go himself.

Leaving the Riverbend Peninsula, he followed the winding, twisting course of the Anzeno River toward its source, the terrain growing ever steeper. Water, rushing down from the heights, splashed everywhere upon the bare rock, and now and then a waterfall four or five meters high blocked the way. In some places, jagged rocks split the river into four or five rapid, narrow channels that flowed apart for hundreds of meters before rejoining downstream, or vanishing entirely beneath the earth.

After following this fractured riverbed for more than ten miles, Leo suddenly heard a commotion. He quickly crouched down, hiding in the shadows of the trees to observe. Ahead, on a pebbled riverbank, several short kobolds stood scattered in the water, each holding a short wooden spear and staring intently at the river’s surface.

One kobold suddenly thrust its spear into the water; with a delighted yelp, it pulled back—only to find the spearhead empty. It barked with frustration, but then heard a companion cry out in triumph. Turning its head, it saw another kobold lift a short spear from the river, a foot-long black fish skewered on the end.

The lucky kobold yelped with glee and immediately bit into the fish’s belly, tearing off a large chunk of flesh. Its companions immediately pounced, wrestling one another for the fish. In less than ten seconds, the foot-long fish had vanished down their throats, leaving only trails of blood dissolving into the river at their feet.

After a few encounters, Leo had learned to distinguish kobold warriors from the rest by their build and equipment. The ones before him were not fighters—at most, they were newly adult kobolds. Industriousness was not in their simple minds; once their basic hunger was satisfied, most quickly grew tired of hauling iron ore. Some returned to dig for shiny stones, others snuck off to hunt for meat.

These young kobolds belonged to the latter group—still unscathed by the brutality of the wilds, retaining a naive fearlessness, and, being in a stage of rapid growth, desperate for fat and protein. That was why they risked sneaking away from the main group to fish at this remote riverbank.

A wicked impulse stirred in Leo. He crouched lower, picked up a rounded stone, and prepared to teach them a lesson in survival. But at that very moment, a sudden sense of dread seized him—a surge of danger that left him frozen on the spot.

Looking up, Leo saw a tall figure standing atop a massive boulder above the river, staring down at him with a cold, unyielding gaze. The stranger wore clothes stitched from animal hides, and a helmet fashioned from an entire giant wolf’s skull, shadowing most of his face. If he lowered his head even slightly, he would seem almost a wolf standing on two legs.

His wrists, shoulders, and waist were adorned with sharp animal fangs and bones—ornaments, perhaps, but in battle, they could serve as armor or weapons. At his belt hung two hatchets; on his back, a massive longbow and a quiver of arrows; at his side, a white bone spear planted in the ground.

The sight instantly reminded Leo of the barbarians from a certain video game, though this hunter was not nearly as formidable—a lower-level version, perhaps. In truth, Leo’s own attire was not so different, but his counterpart exuded a wild, lethal aura that set them apart, like the difference between a herbivore and a carnivore.

The two stood at a distance, facing each other. Between them, the young kobolds continued to fish, oblivious to the tension.

After several seconds’ stalemate, seeing that the hunter made no move to attack, Leo released the stone from his hand, raised both hands slowly, and stood up, offering a bright, friendly smile to show he meant no harm. The stone tumbled down the cliff, splashing into the water. The kobolds looked up warily, then spotted the wildfolk hunter on the boulder above.

They instinctively shrank back, hiding their spears behind them, not even daring to point them toward the stranger. One particularly small kobold, barely a meter tall, bared its teeth in a show of bravado—only to be smacked on the head by a companion’s stick, immediately wilting.

The wildfolk hunter paid no attention to the kobolds. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them, and they scattered like birds startled from a bath, clutching their spears as they darted into the woods.

The scene amused Leo. The kobolds clearly held the hunter in awe, yet did not seem especially afraid of him—it was like a bunch of mischievous children caught bathing in cold water by a stern village elder: afraid of a scolding, perhaps, but not for their lives.

Once the kobolds had vanished, the wildfolk hunter cast a final, measuring glance at Leo, then stepped back and disappeared behind the boulder.