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Chapter 62: Sacrificial Offering

The men of Balak selected the finest cuts of meat and hung them on a tall tree, a distance away from the town.

When Vikir appeared confused, Aiyen figured it out.

"It's a sacrifice to Madame Eight Legs."

Vikir nodded slightly.

He had encountered Madame Eight-Legged once before, in the darkness of the jungle.

An unspeakable monster. A creature of untold horror that no man could survive.

The people of Balak seemed to use parts of their dead prey, or the bodies of their prisoners of war, as sacrifices, nailed to tall trees.

Curiously, no animals were interested in the meat the Balak men hung from the tree.

Hyenas, vultures, and even the occasional insect were not attracted to the meat.

They wouldn't even entertain the idea of touching it because they knew to whom it belonged.

"I wonder if the heroes of Baskerville and Morg were also sacrificed to Madame Eight-Legged long ago?

It seemed plausible, given the non-human culture of the Balak.

The next day at sunrise.

Vikir rose early and padded out of his tent.

On the way, he noticed a group of drunken Balak champions sleeping in the early morning dew.

Vikir was careful not to step on them, and soon he was walking towards the outskirts of town.

His body was healing faster each day.

And he would need more food if he wanted to recover quickly.

The meat, blood, and innards of the oxbear were not enough, so Vikir traveled to the outskirts of the town to find nourishment for himself.

As a slave, he didn't expect to be allowed to leave the town, but the guards at the gate were surprisingly willing to let him go.

"What are you, a slave, wandering around alone because you did well in the hunt?"

The guard, Ahun, glared at Vikir's audacity but didn't restrain him.

"You don't think you're afraid of the jungle just because you've killed a dying bear, Kek, get out and die."

Ahun waved him off, and Vikir ventured into the wilderness, pondering.

Eventually, Vikir reached the tall tree where he had hung his offering the previous night.

"...!"

Vikir's eyes widened slightly.

Sure enough, the hundred kilograms of meat that he had hung on the tall tree was gone.

The disappearance of the meat meant that its owner had come and gone, although the wild animals, birds, and insects that roamed nearby had not seemed interested in approaching it.

The area was filled with white, dried slime and scorched, dead grass.

"... ... That's a fearsome demon."

Vikir turned away from the spot and headed towards a nearby stream.

A stream of muddy water.

There was no boundary between water and ground.

Only overgrown plants and prickly leaves marked the stream's boundaries.

Vikir climbed a high branch and unraveled his line.

He took out the longest, toughest strand of Oxbear's fur and used it as a fishing line.

At its end was a hook carved from the oxbear's scavenged bones.

Vikir bit the tip of his finger gently to draw blood and splashed it into the stream.

The reaction was immediate.

Bubbling, gurgling, foaming... ...

Judging from the bubbling bubbles on the surface of the tan water, it had worked.

Vikir threaded a frog that had been wandering nearby onto a fishing guide and cast it into the center of the foam.

The bite was immediate.

... Tsk!

A fish with teeth as sharp as saw blades snapped off the line.

<Piranha Natteri>.

Risk rating (individual): D

Risk rating (group): A

Size: 30cm

Found in: Edge 6, Dark and Red Mountains

-Travels in groups of typically two or three thousand individuals.

When alone, they are timid and shy, but in a group, they will charge at even the largest of foes.

They are sensitive to the smell of blood and will gather in deep pools in rivers, and when they catch the scent of their prey, they will swarm away, leaving only the bones.

The frog used as bait was destroyed, but the oxbear's fur and bones were intact, as were the line and hook.

A fish with a black body and a red belly.

When Vikir caught it, he threaded it onto a spiky branch.

The next bait was a small piece of flesh from the fish he had just caught.

The Nateri were even more eager now that they were consuming meat from their own kind as bait.

One, two, three, four... ... fish continued to come.

Some were over 70 centimeters long, with black or white bodies and red eyes.

"They must be tough to catch."

Vikir muttered as he looked down at the natteri, their gills pierced by long reeds.

They were originally sensitive only to human blood and the flesh of their kind.

Human blood, especially if it has been infused with some degree of mana, is a prime target.

The hunters of Balak don't seem to realize this, so Vikir simply piles up the food quietly.

Vikir then cooked the nateri over a low fire of fallen leaves and sticks.

He ate some, smoked some, and used them to make fish balls.

By the time he had gathered freshwater crabs and zaras crawling along the stream banks and stocked up on food, the morning sun had risen.

"...?"

As he returned to the town with a bag full of food made from leaves, he saw an odd sight.

In the center of town, in front of Boss Aquila's garrison huts, there was a long line of people.

"What's that?"

Vikir scratched his head.

There were no fewer than thirty people lined up before the clan leader's dwelling.

Interestingly, all thirty were young women.

"Is this some kind of ceremony?"

Regardless, to reach the military enclosure, he would have to pass by this line.

Unaware of Vikir's approach from behind, the young women chattered amongst themselves.

"I've been in line since dawn, thank God I'm near the front."

"I even spent the night here!"

"Too bad. I should have gotten up a little earlier."

Vikir listened, still trying to make sense of it all.

Something didn't quite add up about their conversation.

"Given your performance at the last hunting festival, you're probably going to escape without punishment, right?"

"Then obviously you'll take a woman in the village as a mate?"

"I'll talk to the chief and make sure I'm first to apply."

"I saw you carving up the meat yesterday, and it was so good."

"You must be strong to take down an oxbear."

"How handsome."

Vikir shuffled away.

"????"

An instinctual warning passes through him before he fully comprehends what's happening.

Vikir is about to turn away.

"These are real!"

He hears a loud cry.

Thirty or so women step back, startled.

Where their gazes were directed, Aiyen stood, her eyes gleaming

.

She was carrying three freshly killed roe deer.

She threw them to the ground and addressed the women of the town.

"'What nonsense,' she said to the women, 'I fed you yesterday at the brew house, and now you're trying to steal from me at the last minute!'"

Then, one of the women gathered the courage to speak up.

"Then use it first (?) and then hand it over!"

"Quiet down, you're not talking to a child's slave anymore!"

"Monopolies are awful!"

"If you're so desperate, go out there with a noose and catch him!"

"I've been out many times and there's never been a boy like that!"

"How far have you been out?"

"To the borders of the realm!"

"You could go out through the gate and find him!"

Aiyen shouted, drawing her knife from her inner thigh.

Then the women in the line began to retreat.

Even the bravest of Balak's women fear Aiyen, the hunting leader.

No wonder, since conflicts with her go beyond hair-pulling and nail-tearing.

Watching the women slink away, Aiyen grunted fiercely.

"Sh*t. If this keeps up, someone will get hurt while I'm waiting for them to heal. I can't trust a bitch like Sagal. I need her to get better soon so she can give me an explanation... ... ... "

She turned away, muttering to herself.

Aiyen and Vikir's eyes met.

Vikir, who had been inadvertently hiding behind the tent, tensed.

He hadn't done anything wrong, but he had been seen.

However, it was Aiyen who seemed more agitated than Vikir.

".... Look, did you see that?"

"...."

"Hmmm. No."

"...."

"...Khhhh."

An awkward silence fell between them.

Finally, Aiyen scratched her neck and stepped closer.

She's almost a foot taller than Vikir.

Aiyen stepped closer and looked down at Vikir.

When she spoke, he could smell the pleasant scent of tree berries mixed with her warm breath.

"The other night, Mother convened a meeting of the Elders."

"...."

"Among the many things on the agenda was your story."

From everything she had said to him before, it was traditionally reserved for those who caught and presented the largest game in the hunting system to be freed from slavery.

But now, it seems, the reward is more than just a piece of cotton fabric.

"Listen, you can ask my mother for something. As a fair hunter of the past slaughter."

Aiyen turned to Vikir.

"She will probably try to match you with a mate."

An outsider, a bonded slave.

The only way to keep such a valuable individual in the clan is to know who they will be paired with.

"... ... I wonder if that's why those women were lined up all morning."

Vikir murmured softly.

Meanwhile, Aiyen narrowed her eyes and asked in a gentle tone.

"You. Do you have a mate in mind in this clan?"

... There can't be.

His body is broken, he's in enemy territory, and he's been fighting dangerous creatures this whole time.

As Vikir shook his head firmly, Aiyen's expression softened.

It was a mixture of anger and resignation, of relief and apprehension.

... Tuck!

Aiyen threw her arms around Vikir's shoulders.

Though her strength areas for dominance, she gently lowered her hands when they reached Vikir's shoulders.

Aiyen leaned close to Vikir's ear and spoke in a soft tone.

"Later, when my mother calls for you, I will decide what you will ask from her."

Her eyes gleamed.

"What should I ask for... ... "

She looked as if she were planning some kind of trick or another.