Chapter 5
The highlands of the forest were blanketed in thick mist. Oddly shaped crags and strange rocks jutted out above the fog, making them look like floating islands. Between the peaks lay gorges and caves, their crevices dotted with moss and tiny wildflowers in bloom.
Haska bounded from peak to peak, moving straight into the next motion without any connecting steps.
“Don’t marry her, just wait for me. Okay?”
That tiny thing never ran out of ridiculous things to say.
She didn’t even know what mating meant, yet she kept throwing herself at him asking for it—was that courage or foolishness? One moment she seemed timid, the next bold beyond reason; it was impossible to pin her down.
“You promised! You said a man’s word is worth more than gold. You said you’d grant me a wish, so grant it!”
He couldn’t take back what he’d said, and in the end, he’d allowed her to stay in the forest. Still, she stuck in his mind like a thorn in his paw.
And today, of all days, the rocks seemed oddly soft.
There was no satisfying crunch when he smashed them; they split cleanly at the slightest touch. It didn’t sit well with him.
As he scanned around for something to destroy that might satisfy him—
“Oh, look at the dust flying. I told you to take it easy, didn’t I?”
He looked up at the clucking tongue to see Morgana standing on the cliff above.
When he turned his head away as if ignoring her, she picked her way down between the gaps in the rock.
“Why are you holding back during mating season? Pheromones are our identity. Accept them.”
The Moo-wolf race possessed two forms: human and beast.
If one couldn’t transform and fully utilize their beast’s body, they were no different from animals. What set them above mere beasts were their pheromones.
Of course, the price for that was forced reproduction. But compared to what they gained, the cost wasn’t all that high, was it? Still, the stronger one was, the exponentially greater the price became.
Morgana considered that price a good thing. Without the hormones that were produced periodically, their race would have gone extinct long ago. For survival, it was an essential, unavoidable condition—how could something essential to existence not be desirable? Pheromones were their identity.
The one standing before her wouldn’t agree, though.
“If you’re not here to spar, keep walking.”
“Well, listen to the manners on this little beast.”
Morgana tried to smack his back with her fan, but he blocked it instantly.
“If you want respect, you’d better earn it by winning a fight.”
In the Gulas Forest, age meant nothing.
Their hierarchy was determined solely by strength. No matter that Morgana had once been close to his mother and sisters—she still had to be deferential to Haska. The only reason she treated him differently was because she owed him a debt from the past.
Under this tacit understanding, Morgana continued to treat him like a nephew rather than a ruler.
“So, Haska, is your type younger ones?”
“Spout one more piece of nonsense and get lost.”
“Let’s see… You’ve lived for 313 years, right? In human terms, that’s like sixteen or seventeen?”
Unlike the short lives of humans, their race lived for something close to eternity. The length of their immature stage varied wildly by race—it could be one year, a hundred years, even a thousand. Because of that, they didn’t count age before awakening; they only counted from the moment they awakened.
Haska had awakened around 297–298 years old, which made him roughly sixteen or seventeen.
“They say age is just a number, but still—it’s better when the gap is small, right? Generational differences can’t be ignored.”
“Why am I still listening to this garbage?”
Even after his rebuke, Morgana’s mouth refused to close.
“I noticed the kid’s cheeks have vanished. All tattered, like a beggar… And don’t get me started on that shack. Of all empty houses, you picked that one? The floor’s rotted through, the windows are smashed—she’ll freeze to death in the cold. And imagine how scary it must be at night…”
Her tirade suddenly cut off.
Her audience’s attitude was far too insolent, and her interest in speaking plummeted.
“Who am I even talking to? Are you listening?”
“Nope.”
This brat—just listen to the way he talks!
She knew full well he was keeping an eye on the girl—she’d even assigned her most trusted aide to watch over her—yet he tried to hide it.
No doubt about it, it was Colby. Haska’s loyal lackey. The fruit the girl had been given to eat? Surely it was the monkey who had picked it for her.
“Tsk. You care, so why can’t you just say it?”
Looking at the white tiger who failed to live up to his size, she couldn’t help but think the girl was the more precious one. But still—
First, she needed to move the child somewhere safe.
“Oh, I see. I had it wrong. She’s not your mate. I suppose I’d better spread that news far and wide through the forest.”
“Go ahead.”
“Until now, no one dared touch her because of the rumor she was yours. But once that’s cleared up? There’ll be chaos. Right? Tender organs, soft and delicate—she’d be a delicacy.”
“…”
Even at her provocation, Haska stayed silent.
Tail bristling, mouth clamped shut, feigning indifference.
Mature on the outside, immature to the core—such was this white tiger.
Late at night, tossing and turning, Haska finally kicked out of his nest and stood up.
No one was watching, no one was listening.
Muttering an excuse about getting some air, he slouched out of the cave.
Expanding his senses to check the hut’s location, his pace quickened. He’d picked up more than thirty presences nearby.
When he deliberately released some power and approached, the intruders bolted in all directions.
“You’re here, sir.”
Colby, who had been keeping watch while hanging upside down in a treetop, spotted him and dropped down, kneeling on one knee to report.
“All is well.”
“I doubt that.”
“Pardon…?”
Haska shoved the hut door open with his forepaw. Faint, broken sobbing reached him. The source was a small back curled up tight, legs not even stretched out.
“Hic… I-I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise. Don’t leave me behind. Let’s… go together, Mother… I’m scared. Please take me too.”
As if to catch something that wasn’t there, the child reached out into empty air.
Haska crossed his forelegs, watching the pitiful gesture with a detached gaze.
“If you think I’m going to comfort you, you’re mistaken.”
“Anton, I’m sorry. Because of me… everyone, I’m sorry…”
“Quiet.”
She wept piteously. He could have wiped her tears, but instead, he merely stared at the sleep-talking human.
A nuisance.
This human who had appeared out of nowhere was nothing more than a nuisance. Look at her now—shouldn’t he be resting at this hour, yet here he was wandering around instead. The perfect, interlocking rhythm of his life was thrown off.
He was certain that if he kept her around, she’d continue disrupting his routine at every turn.
“Should I get rid of her?”
If killing her felt too troublesome, tossing her outside the forest would be a clean solution.
And yet… strange. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Was it because she was annoying but harmless? Because he owed a debt? Because she was too weak to resist?
None of those reasons felt satisfying enough to explain his hesitation.
How long had he been lost in thought?
The deep scowl on his face gradually eased. Perhaps it was finally over—
But his guess was wrong.
The child’s forehead was blazing hot, like a burning coal.
Her tiny head radiated such heat it felt like it might explode.
“Haa… haa…”
Her ragged breathing sounded on the verge of stopping entirely.
“What the—? You mean you cry a little and then die?”
A predator who’d never suffered so much as a sniffle in his life had no idea that children often fell sick with fevers. In all his 313 years, this was the most bewildering moment.
And it wasn’t over yet. The wheezing human suddenly convulsed, then went stiff as a rod.
“She’s really dead?”
To check, Haska raised a paw and gave her a light tap. No movement. He tapped again—
And this time, her hand grabbed his leg. Heat seeped into his paw, and she rubbed her cheek against it.
“Smells nice…”
Correction—this was now the most bewildering moment in all his 313 years.
