Chapter 25: The Elven Druid

“So this is the legendary magical beast? But why is it being hunted by boarmen? It doesn’t seem very strong in battle…”
Watching the gigantic marmot being surrounded, Leo grew suspicious.

The four wild boars scraped the ground with their forehooves, grunting, but dared not charge. The boarmen stood farther back, raising their crossbows to reload and fire.

Yet the marmot’s panic was genuine—it hugged its head with its front paws, covering its eyes, utterly refusing to resist.

A powerful bolt struck its forehead, only to ricochet off like a chalk stub, not even dislodging a single hair.

Leo’s mouth watered at the sight—he couldn’t help but take up a short spear, ready to play the hero.

Marmots, after all, were docile, herbivorous, and easily tamed!

Ironically, the boarmen hunting the marmot were more desperate than their prey. Their heavy crossbows could easily kill wolves or snow leopards, and grievously wound a brown bear, but couldn’t even scratch this marmot.

In close combat, they were utterly outmatched; even six- to seven-hundred-pound unicorn boars couldn’t budge the marmot’s massive form, let alone the boarmen themselves.

With a casual swipe of its claws, the giant marmot could send a two-hundred-pound boarman flying five meters. None dared get close.

But this marmot was a menace: it had devoured the entire winter stockpile of carob-root from the boarmen’s mountain fields in just a few days.

Then it tunneled straight through two miles of stone from the opposite cliff, just to steal from the boarmen’s grain stores.

If you attacked it, it would flee, wailing pitifully.

After a few days, it would forget its fear and return to steal more.

The only silver lining was its extreme timidity—it was almost entirely non-aggressive.

One boarman set down his weapon, taking out a torch and flint, intending to try fire against this impervious marmot.

But just then, a sharp whistle split the air—a short spear flew from the woods, striking him squarely in the thick neck, the keen point bursting out the other side.

Even the boarmen’s famed resilience could not withstand such a mortal blow. He dropped his torch and flint, clutching his gushing wound with one hand and trying to pull out the spear with the other.

The effort lasted only a second before he staggered and collapsed, convulsing as he died.

The three remaining boarmen, shocked and terrified, dove behind the trees, their porcine heads peeking out to scan for the attacker.

One of them called to his tamed unicorn boar with a series of guttural cries and pointed toward the direction from which the spear had come.

This unicorn boar, even larger and more fearsome than its wild cousins, immediately charged toward Leo’s hiding place, sniffing vigorously.

It paused, seemingly catching a scent, and began to follow it along the edge of the woods.

The boarman, watching his pet search for enemies, grew wary when the unicorn boar circled back toward him. He tried to shrink his burly body behind the tree.

Too late. Another short spear soared from above twenty meters away, pinning the boarman’s foot to the ground before he could retract it.

He let out a squeal of agony, fired a hasty crossbow bolt, wrenched the spear free, and retreated in a panic, half-crawling, half-rolling.

The beset giant marmot noticed the commotion. Sensing a lifeline, it suddenly grew “ferocious,” brandishing its sharp, curved claws in the air and squeaking threats in its childish voice, forcing the three unicorn boars back.

The boarmen, now attacked from both front and rear, panicked. One supported his wounded companion, while another dragged the corpse of the fallen, and they fled into the forest.

Only when the boarmen had disappeared did Leo climb down from the tree, grinning and waving at the “miraculously saved” marmot. “Hello there!”

The upright marmot bared its huge front teeth, but then, as if remembering something, cried out in terror, “Run!”

With that, it bolted. Before Leo could react, a chorus of unicorn boar calls rose again from the direction the boarmen had fled.

A dozen or more unicorn boars burst from the woods, followed by a larger force of crossbow-wielding boarmen.

Looking back, Leo saw the giant marmot already vanishing into the forest, swift as the wind.

He ran all the way to the banks of the Anzeno River, finally outpacing the boarmen and slowing to catch his breath.

Two thick crossbow bolts still jutted from his hide-covered shield. During that brief clash, the boarmen had showered him with arrows from dozens of meters away. Luckily, he’d been in the forest; had it been open ground, his seventy-centimeter shield could never have protected his whole body.

Even so, the hiss and thud of arrows splitting the air and striking wood made Leo’s scalp tingle—he hadn’t dared look back.

Fortunately, he’d grown up foraging in the forest, chased by bears and boars; running for his life was his greatest skill.

He crossed hills and valleys as if on flat ground, moving with the ease of natural talent.

Though the unicorn boars charged fast, once Leo escaped the boarmen’s command range, the brutes quickly slowed and hesitated, letting Leo open up a gap and finally break free.

Seated on a riverbank stone, Leo caught his breath, eyes scanning until he spotted the giant marmot drinking upstream.

“Hello there,” Leo called out as he approached, keeping his distance so as not to startle it. “My name’s Leo. I’m human.”

The marmot stood upright, eyeing him with curiosity, and replied in a childish, endearing tone, “My name is Freya. I’m an elven druid.”

The upright marmot stood over three meters tall, its short, dense fur quivering with thick layers of fat as it moved.

Leo, emboldened, approached and gazed up at this colossal creature.

Goodness, it was the size of a small car—must weigh nearly two tons!

Disappointed that it wasn’t a magical beast, Leo frowned. “An elf? Do all elves look like this?”

Everyone knew you couldn’t capture druids as pets, so the rarity was halved.

A flash of embarrassment crossed the marmot’s eyes. It turned ninety degrees and sat heavily on the ground, refusing to meet Leo’s gaze.

In a muffled voice, it said, “I’m an elven druid. This is my bear form.”

“Are you sure that’s a bear?” Leo asked in disbelief.

“I! Am! A! Bear!” Freya repeated, enunciating each word fiercely.

“All right, then, elven druid in bear form—where’s your home? Shall I take you back?” Leo, not wanting to offend her, quickly offered his goodwill.

At his words, Freya looked forlornly toward the distant waterfall. “I can’t go back.”

As Leo watched, the marmot hesitated, clearly unwilling to say more.

Was it some unspeakable sorrow?

As expected, NPCs always had tragic backstories.

Standing on tiptoe, Leo stroked Freya’s soft fur in comfort. “Then come to my place! I’ll treat you to something delicious!”

Whether she was an elf, a bear, or a talking marmot, he’d lure her home first and ask questions later!

Freya spun around at once, nimble as a mouse, her eyes gleaming.

“What delicious food?!”