"Run?" Veylin asked. "Run where?"
"If it can drive out the Gray Swamp Crocodiles, it can crush us! There aren't even enough of us to get stuck between its teeth!"
Barrett sighed helplessly. "No one's ever seen... no one's ever seen anything that hunts Gray Swamp Crocodiles like rabbits!"
Veylin offered no opinion.
"Barrett, you've only just sworn your loyalty, and now you want to drag me off running?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice easing the suffocating tension.
"Protecting your liege and his domain is your sworn duty, Barrett. Forget your mercenary ways."
The Garrison captain's face flushed crimson, but he could not muster a single retort.
Veylin stopped looking at him and turned to the other man.
"Tumo." Veylin patted his shoulder. "Were the floods during the Weeping Moon particularly severe this year?"
"Y-yes, my lord," Tumo answered. "The worst I've seen in over thirty years of life."
"That explains it." Veylin nodded.
"Explains what?" Barrett could not help asking.
"This monster either migrated here recently or has been here all along. Correct?"
Veylin calmly laid out his reasoning.
"A Level Five Magical Beast couldn't migrate without causing a considerable disturbance. The Grey Sea is the Haiti Duchy's busiest trade route. The kingdom's southern patrol fleet would never let a magical beast that dangerous cross the border. So it's most likely been trapped in some corner of the marsh all this time."
As Veylin walked them through his sound reasoning, both men's breathing grew considerably steadier.
"This year's floods woke it-or rather, set it free."
"The excessive rainfall expanded the area it could move through, letting it invade the Gray Swamp Crocodiles' territory and drive them out. Now that the rainy season has passed and the floodwaters are receding, its range will shrink as well, forcing it back into the depths of the marsh."
Veylin looked at the two men.
"For now, we're safe."
Barrett still looked uneasy. "But my lord, the Weeping Moon will come again next year!"
"Then we'll be ready before next year's floods arrive." Veylin's voice was firm and decisive.
After a long silence, Barrett struck his breastplate with a dull thud.
"Yes, my lord!"
He stopped talking about running and shifted into battle mode.
"My lord, we ought to have a plan. I suggest we immediately reinforce the wall facing the depths of the marsh. We need to map out emergency evacuation routes and make sure the civilians can leave first if the worst happens."
"Agreed." Veylin nodded. "You'll have full responsibility for those matters. Tumo, keep an eye on the people's mood. What happened today stays between the three of us."
"As you command!"
"As... as you command."
Veylin turned and left the warehouse, leaving the two men behind.
Of course he would not run.
Abandon Graysea Marsh? Abandon this promised land that only I know about?
The other pioneering nobles' domains were either barren mountains or woodlands that had long since been carved up. Only here lay a vast stretch of virgin land submerged beneath a shallow sea, enough to support a kingdom where he could pursue research freely.
As for that Level Five Magical Beast...
Danger also means opportunity.
The corpse of a Level Five Magical Beast—its flesh, bones, magical core... any one of those materials could earn him a fortune. It would be a wealth of resources sufficient to fund his domain's initial accumulation of capital.
A treasure slumbering in a forgotten corner of the world, and a fierce beast guarding it.
That's fair.
That evening, Veylin sat in his office.
Candlelight illuminated the desktop and his face.
He took out the notebook he carried with him.
He opened it to pages densely covered in square Chinese characters.
Picking up his quill, he wrote a new line on the paper.
[Advent Era, May 13. Weather: clear.]
[Who would've thought Barrett, with those thick brows and big, honest-looking eyes, would be the first to suggest running? Damn, just the shadow of a Level Five Magical Beast nearly broke up the team I'd worked so hard to put together. Being a leader is exhausting. The slightest disturbance, and I have to calm everyone down.]
He started a new line and began his formal record.
[Team building: I've finally brought the Graymist Village residents and the settlers together. Without relocating the village, they'd probably still be at each other's throats. I never imagined leading a bunch of uneducated people would be this frustrating. It's as annoying as supervising college students. I need to set up a night school to strengthen their ideological education, so they don't fall apart whenever something happens.]
[The Grey Wolves mercenaries have some discernment, at least. They recognized my potential to be a great emperor. Their loyalty still needs testing, though. I need to find a way to give them some benefits and improve cohesion. Hmm, I can put bloodline purification experiments on the agenda.]
[Research direction: This world really is fascinating. "Ether" gives living organisms supernatural traits. What gets you into the sky might not be aerodynamics, but magic! Yet the natives' methods of using it are so primitive. They simply use whatever they have. Why don't they consider modifying these supernatural organisms to better meet the needs of production and everyday life? For example-a "supernatural cycle"! If the producers, consumers, and decomposers were all supernatural organisms that could be raised artificially, what an interesting sight that would be!]
[Risks: The mysterious magical beast in the marsh. All I know is that it may have some kind of spear-like attack. I still need to find a way to look up information. Also, I can't stubbornly charge in and fight a monster above my level. Hmm, I'll need to find some outside help.]
Veylin drew two lines beneath "outside help" and pondered for a moment.
Then he put away his notebook and spread out a sheet of fine parchment.
It was time to write a letter to Earl Dawn.
He dipped his quill in ink and swept its tip across the paper, producing elegant Haiti calligraphy.
Veylin had already carefully planned the letter's contents.
First, he thanked her for her generous funding and said that he had now established a firm foothold. Then, adopting the tone of someone sharing a little-known secret, he casually slipped in a passage.
[...Your current predicament reminds me of an interesting piece of unofficial history. Legend tells of an empress named Yekaterina, who ruled a nation lost in the river of history. She was well versed in the art of power and did not always mobilize her vast armies herself to suppress potential threats.]
[Sometimes, at a banquet where the court nobles exchanged toasts, she would merely mention in passing, with the leisurely air of someone discussing a hunt, that fierce packs of wolves had taken up residence somewhere in the vast forests. Then those "sheepdogs" eager to prove their loyalty to Her Majesty and win her favor and privileges-those ambitious noble lords with private armies at their command-would tear at one another and fight endlessly over the "right to hunt wolves," that symbol of honor and favor...]
The letter seemed to discuss an amusing historical anecdote, yet it was a manual for slaying dragons, tailored specifically for the lady earl caught in a vortex of power.
Only at the end of the letter did he add a seemingly casual remark.
[...I am ashamed to say that developing this land has not been entirely smooth sailing either. The creatures in the marsh are far more varied than the Adventurers' Guild's records suggest. This brings to mind your original warning. If it would not inconvenience you, might Your Ladyship consult the Royal Capital Library, or your family's ancient archives, on my behalf and see whether there are any past records concerning this "Graysea Marsh"? Records of certain powerful magical beasts, for instance.]
Afterward, he wrote another, somewhat shorter letter.
Veylin blew the ink dry, carefully folded both letters, and sealed them with wax.
He handed the letters to Barrett, whom he had summoned.
"Find the fastest courier."
"Tell him these letters matter more than his life."
Candlelight danced in Veylin's wine-red eyes, making them glow an even brighter crimson, as though they might drip blood.
What lay crystallized within them was a scientist's boundless hunger for the unknown.