Chapter Thirty-One: A Severed Head

After an entire day spent in anxious panic, it seemed that Lord Shaya’s luck was at its peak—the pursuers never managed to catch up. As they journeyed farther and farther, the sense of danger gradually receded, and the unease in everyone’s hearts began to dissipate.

At dawn, Shaya gathered some dry grass and burned it to ash, then carefully smeared it over his wounds. Those with experience in the wild knew: when injured and lacking medicine, applying burned grass ash could both staunch bleeding and prevent infection.

By midnight on the second day, Shaya’s luck reached its zenith—they encountered a jackal that attempted to attack them. The beast met its unfortunate end beneath Shaya’s fire fork, then was transformed into fragrant roasted meat. The remainder was packed as provisions for the group—though the Goblin Queen’s burden grew heavier.

Shaya, lacking any sympathy, simply treated Ox as a slave. The Goblin Queen herself had no objection; after all, for goblins, once one’s status became “Soso,” personal rights ceased to exist—oh, and goblins likely never understood the concept of rights to begin with.

They trekked through the wilderness for five days before finally glimpsing a long stretch of dark blue on the distant horizon—mountains! At last, mountains! The group erupted in cheers; Shaya could not help but pound his chest and roar with excitement.

These past few days had stifled him terribly, and even he, a seasoned hunter, began to worry that perhaps he was lost. To avoid pursuit, they had veered away from the river, which should have served as the best guide. According to the goblin’s information, mountains would appear after three days’ walk, yet they had journeyed five. Had they not found mountains in two more days, the poor goblin would surely face Shaya’s wrath for misleading them.

Even though the mountains were visible from afar, as the saying goes, “a horse dies running toward the mountain it sees.” It took half a day just to reach the woodland at the foot of the range. Upon seeing the lush green forest, Shaya flipped a somersault in excitement and shouted aloud.

For Shaya, raised in the mountains, the sight of forest and hills evoked a familiar feeling beyond description. Here, everywhere was food, prey, and resources to be exploited.

As Shaya shouted with joy, the Wretch couldn’t help but dampen his enthusiasm. “Hey, Shaya,” she sighed. Ever since he had made her eat the only food they had—red ant eggs—she had stopped quarreling with him, no longer called him a bumpkin, and even spoke to him with surprising kindness.

“What is it?” Shaya turned, puffing his chest. The wound on his shoulder had already healed—a fact that astonished both the Wretch and the goblin. This fellow’s constitution was monstrous—one might suspect he was some hybrid spawn of man and magical beast. Among humans, such phenomenal resilience was unheard of.

His various injuries had all healed; the claw marks left by the bloodthirsty mad wolf on his back were gone, the scars vanished. The arrow wound in his shoulder was nearly healed, newly grown skin visible beneath the last scabs—apart from a slightly darker color, there was nothing amiss.

It was infuriating. The Wretch’s foot, mangled by a trap, was still unhealed; she needed help just to walk, while this bumpkin was already bounding about.

After hesitating, she finally reminded him, “Look at this enormous mountain—how are we supposed to find a dragon here?”

Shaya was stunned. He looked up—the forest at the base alone seemed endless, the greenery stretching up the slopes. The mountains themselves were a vast, unbroken chain, one after another. If they searched every peak, it might take two or three years, and still they might not finish.

But Shaya was not one for stubbornness. He sighed, “Treasure hunts rely on luck. If we don’t find anything, so be it. We’ll wander the mountains for a few days; if we find something, great, and if not, the pursuers will have gotten far enough. Then we can turn back.”

He paused, then smiled, “Or perhaps we could just cross the whole range. I reckon a month’s journey would take us to the other side, which I’ve heard is the territory of the Odin Empire. I’m alone, so I’ll get by anywhere; if need be, I’ll just go to Odin to make a living.”

The Wretch smiled gently, “Ha, you once said you signed a magical beast contract in Wildfire Town, claiming it was a matter of a man’s honor and you’d uphold it no matter what.”

Shaya chuckled, “Honor is important, but… if you throw your life away for five copper coins, that’s not heroism, it’s foolishness. Even heroism needs to suit the occasion.”

See, this bumpkin was hardly noble.

After a moment, Shaya lifted his chin, “Hey, Wretch, since you saved me in the river, I promise you now: if we encounter a dragon, I absolutely won’t use you as bait!”

“Oh?” Her eyes lit up, and her gaze softened even more.

But Shaya’s next words dashed all hope. “If we meet a dragon, I won’t use you as bait. We’ll each rely on our own skill to escape—whoever runs fastest survives, whoever lags gets eaten. That’s fate. As long as you outrun me…”

The Wretch: “…………”

Outrun you? With her injured foot, even if she were in perfect shape, there was no way she could outrun this abnormal freak!

Her teeth itched with irritation. Damn bumpkin! Scoundrel! Just as she was moved, he spoils it with such nonsense!

Yet, after her anger subsided, she couldn’t shake the feeling that if real danger arose, he would not abandon her.

She didn’t know why, but she was confident in this.

…

Once inside the forest, Shaya quickly fashioned a forked stick for the Wretch to use as a crutch, sharpened another with his fire fork for a spear, while poor Ox continued as porter—though his load was much lighter.

They walked through the woods for half a day. By evening, as Shaya scouted for dry branches to start a fire, he suddenly heard a strange sound deep in the forest.

It began as a vague noise, but as Shaya pushed aside the undergrowth, it grew clearer. The Wretch and Ox, following behind, heard it too.

It was a thin, drawn-out sound, weak and desperate, like a dying man’s moan or the nighttime cry of an owl.

The Wretch shivered, shrinking her neck. “Hey, Shaya, could it be a magical beast?”

Shaya listened intently, then turned with a smile, “No! It sounds like someone’s wailing. In fact, when I first found you, it sounded just like this.”

The Wretch blushed, about to retort, but Shaya was already striding ahead.

After a few hundred paces, they reached a small clearing in the woods, with signs of trampled grass—someone had been here. As they parted the bushes, they saw the source of the sound.

It was a person! A man with long golden hair, matted with grass and dirt, feebly struggling for life.

As they approached, they could see his face clearly—and only his face. The poor soul was buried up to his neck, only his head exposed above ground.

Despite his pitiful cries, Shaya found the sight oddly amusing. He strode over and tapped the man’s head with his toe. “Hey!”

The head immediately perked up, eyes pleading as he looked at Shaya and cried out, “Blessed be the gods, praise to the great Lord, the Lord’s light shines everywhere! Someone has finally come to rescue me…”

“Who are you?” Shaya squatted, scrutinizing him.

“I’m a man!” The head replied helplessly. Though his face was filthy, his eyes shone with astonishing brilliance—Shaya had never seen such spirited eyes. Despite his sorry state, his tone carried a peculiar flavor. “Can’t you see I’m human? Stop wasting time and dig me out, I’m about to suffocate.”

He spat out a mouthful of dirt, “You’d best bring me some clothes. Those bastards stripped me naked before burying me…”