Logan still couldn’t quite hide the trace of nervousness in his demeanor, and the situation in the Ancient Forest really had begun to feel… off.
It wasn’t just the cats who had noticed— even the Fire Wyverns of the Ancient Tree had picked up on it. But so far, there had been no major disturbances, so life for the Fire Wyverns went on as usual.
Another half month passed. Now, at the Astera outpost, a short Wyverian scholar wearing a hat leapt up onto the table, notebook in hand, ready to smack it down on the Admiral’s head.
The Admiral hurriedly dodged, looking on helplessly at the furious elder of the Wyverians, who was cursing nonstop, accusing him of nothing but making trouble for them.
The Wyverians were a peculiar race. If humanity in its previous life on Earth could be considered to have had a privileged place, then in the world of Monster Hunter, it was the Wyverians who truly held the natural advantage.
Wyverians possessed lifespans far beyond that of humans, and their growth was unlike ours. In the first half of their lives, their bodies grew from small to large just like humans, but in the latter half, they shrank back down from large to small.
Thus, every elder Wyverian bore a short, aged frame.
And like monsters, the Wyverians also had exceptional individuals among them. The rarest of these, said to appear only once in a thousand years, might not even be counted as “human” anymore.
That being was humanity’s ultimate trump card—rumored to possess power rivaling even that of the “forbidden.”
“It’s not made up—I saw it with my own eyes! Everything in here really happened. How can you accuse me of spinning tall tales?”
The Admiral was indignant—deeply indignant.
When he first handed in his notes, the scholars had been all smiles. But after going through the material, they claimed he’d gone brain-dead chasing after a Teostra, fabricating such absurd nonsense it insulted their intelligence.
They called it sabotage of New World ecological research.
“Why? You still dare to ask why? Look at what you wrote! That it could wreathe itself in flames like a Teostra—that we could accept, since Old World records do mention one extraordinarily special individual like that.
“But then what did you write next? That it could absorb another creature’s flames, making the fire burning on an Old World Rathalos vanish entirely.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” the Admiral replied, arms folded, perfectly confident.
The Wyverian scholar was nearly driven to a stroke. “Are you mocking my intelligence? If you’d written that it wasn’t a Rathalos, but rather some unknown Elder Dragon, I might have been able to accept it. But a Rathalos?! Do you understand that this violates the very laws of ordinary biological evolution?”
He roared, but when he saw the Admiral still wearing that stubborn, unyielding expression—like a human-faced Rajang refusing to admit fault—he suddenly grew calm.
Without another word, he carefully put away the notebook, hopped down from the table, and walked away in silence.
Muttering under his breath, he added, “I must’ve lost my head… getting so worked up like that. Shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have.”
The Admiral watched the Wyverian scholar deflate in an instant, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that the look the other gave him before leaving had been rather disrespectful.
Ahem. Without a word, Carlos—now promoted to Supreme Commander—picked up the Admiral’s notebook and handed it to the young man beside him, whose features bore a seventy-percent resemblance to his own. With a glance, he signaled the youth to put it away, then called for the meeting to begin.
“Let’s all give our respective summaries first.”
The quiet murmurs between colleagues faded, and everyone began reporting on the progress of their assigned responsibilities over the past period.
As a side note, Tonkotsu was present as well, representing the New World’s Grimalkyne and Felyne Management Office.
That position had originally been Sita’s, but Sita had recently stepped in to replace Grammeowster Chef who, after starting the handover, had planned to return to the Old World within two years. Sita was now in charge of the Weapons Division and the Felyne Canteen.
For the Research Commission, it was a rare occasion to have all high-ranking members gathered together in one place.
...
Meanwhile, in the Ancient Tree, Logan had just finished a hunt when that sudden, inexplicable feeling returned—that sense that the world was calling to him.
Unlike the time with the Rajang, however, this call wasn’t particularly urgent. It was as if the monster in question wasn’t wreaking havoc on the ecosystem at any alarming speed.
From that alone, he could tell the opponent wouldn’t be especially difficult—something he could handle on his own.
Still, once bitten, twice shy. Without having received many assignments from the Boss yet—without being able to determine a clear pattern—Logan chose to play it safe.
After returning to the Ancient Tree, he called Aki to join him, and the two flew straight toward the western side of the forest.
At this time, the western part of the Ancient Forest was one or two degrees cooler on average than the central region.
In that stretch of woodland, a brutal slaughter unfolded before the eyes of a young Wyverian girl cloaked in a camouflaged ghillie mantle.
She watched as Great Birds were being massacred one after another by a Yian Garuga. Its eyes had a pale, whitish film, its body seemingly entangled by something, and its temperament was violently frenzied—so much so that it didn’t even spare the chicks in the nests.
The killing went on for a long time. Only when there was no longer a single living Great Bird in that territory did the Yian Garuga, still unsated, sweep its gaze over the area from a high perch before spreading its wings and departing.
A long while later, once the Carrion Birds—drawn by the scent of death—began to peck at the corpses, the Wyverian girl stepped out from the concealing brush. She darted past the bodies of the Great Birds, one after another, until she reached the nest. Snatching up two intact eggs, she turned and hurried away.
“Shame… there won’t be so many eggs to eat anymore.”
Her lithe figure wove effortlessly through the forest, vaulting over obstacles with practiced ease. After slipping through a small hollow in a tree trunk, she emerged into a wide, open area.
This was a small Wyverian settlement in the New World.
No one knew exactly how many generations ago their kind had arrived here, but their numbers were few, and most were ancient Wyverians who had lived for an extremely long time.
Their bodies were not quite the same as those of the Old World’s Wyverians—who, apart from pointed ears, four-fingered hands, and backward-curved feet, looked almost identical to humans.
The Wyverians of the New World still bore scales upon their backward-curved feet.
“Mmm… the forest’s nutrients need replenishing. Monsters are restless. Do not go out.”
The speaker was an ancient Wyverian, wearing a broad bamboo fungus cap that made him resemble a great green mushroom growing from a tree. His voice was heavy with warning.
The Wyverian girl set the eggs down and nodded. On her forehead, three bright crimson scales—like decorative ornaments—glinted brilliantly under the sunlight.
...
Logan and Aki were ambushed mid-flight.
That’s right—two high-ranking Fire Wyverns were attacked while in transit!
And the attackers? Merely a flock of Wingdrakes that, on any normal day, would only be fit to serve as snacks for a Fire Wyvern.
Such a thing had never happened before.
On this trip toward their destination, Logan had been plagued by a lingering sense of foreboding.
It had nothing to do with their actual mission—he simply felt that something major was about to happen in the Ancient Forest. Something that concerned the entire forest… something that could affect even the upper reaches of the Ancient Tree.
Yet, all the way across the canopy, he hadn’t spotted anything amiss—until now, when he and Aki were intercepted mid-air by a flock of Wingdrakes that would normally scatter at the mere sight of a Fire Wyvern.
They swarmed in dark waves, recklessly hurling themselves into the attack.
Flames burst in the air. Fangs and claws ripped into the Wingdrakes one after another.
In near-instant kills, bodies rained down from the sky.
And still, even under such slaughter, the Wingdrakes pressed on—burning under the flames, yet still trying to tear a chunk of flesh from Logan’s body.
The Rathian was not particularly adept at aerial combat, but against mere Wingdrakes, Aki only needed a sweep of her tail to knock one away, or a bite to the neck—crack—to end another.
The saying “many ants can bite an elephant to death” did apply in this world, but only if those “ants” were numerous enough and could break through their target’s defenses.
Wingdrakes were so feeble they barely ranked among small monsters. Even the wind pressure from a Fire Wyvern’s wingbeats could throw them off balance.
In under ten minutes, the entire flock had been wiped out. Logan and Aki were left without a scratch—not even their breathing had quickened.
"Roar~" (Let’s get down there and see what’s wrong with these Wingdrakes.)
Logan growled toward Aki. She answered, then dove first, scanning the forest around them to ensure no more enemies were near before calling back to him.
Landing, Logan took in the sight of Wingdrake corpses strewn across the ground. That was when he noticed their coloration—a pale cast to their hides, skin slack and loose with an aged look, as if their life force had been drained away.
Yet when they had attacked moments ago, they hadn’t looked like this at all.
Stranger still, despite the number of bodies, the scent of blood had not drawn any Carrion Birds.
After a thorough inspection and finding no further clues, Logan, still uneasy, took to the air with Aki again, continuing toward their destination.
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