The soft hum of the sleeping village, a fragile lullaby of survival, was suddenly shattered. A voice, sharp and urgent, cut through the pre-dawn silence. "General! General!"
Riku's eyes snapped open. He was instantly awake, every muscle in his exhausted body tensing. He pushed himself up from his bedroll, his aching limbs protesting, but the urgency in the voice spurred him on. He recognized it: it was one of the veteran scouts, Kael, the same man Levi had bantered with by the fire. Kael wouldn't raise such a ruckus unless it was an absolute emergency.
Riku stumbled out of his tent, his mind already racing. "What is it, Kael?" he demanded, his voice rough with sleep and immediate concern.
Kael, his face grim in the pale moonlight, saluted quickly. "General, it's the resource gathering team. The ones who went out yesterday with Igris. There's been trouble. Two newcomers... they're dead."
The words struck Riku with a visceral force, a cold, sharp blade twisting in his gut. Dead. Two more. Two lives he had promised to protect, two lives that had survived the impossible journey only to fall now. The pain was immediate, a deep ache that threatened to shatter his carefully constructed calm. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a wave of despair washing over him. It wasn't just two deaths; it was a crack in the fragile hope he was desperately trying to build. Every loss was a personal failure, a reminder of the relentless, unforgiving nature of this world.
"How?" Riku choked out, his voice barely a whisper, forcing himself to breathe, to push down the anguish. "How did they die? Igris was with them! How could Igris let them get killed?" The question was laced with a raw fury, directed not at the Shadow, but at the sheer, agonizing unfairness of it all. Igris was his most reliable protector, his unwavering guardian. For it to fail... it was unthinkable.
Kael's gaze dropped. "They... they went too far, General. They broke formation, despite Igris's warnings. They were killed by warbeasts. Big ones. It was quick."
Warbeasts. Of course. The omnipresent, unseen danger of Disboard. But Igris... to let them stray. To let them die. A surge of cold, furious rage coursed through Riku. This wasn't just misfortune; this was a lapse, a failure in vigilance. His own Shadow, his most loyal guardian, had allowed this to happen. The thought ignited a dangerous spark within him, a frustration so profound it bordered on despair.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, locking his heart away behind walls of ice. Emotions were a luxury he couldn't afford. Anger, grief, despair – they were weaknesses in this war. He had to be calm, pragmatic, ruthless. He had to analyze, to understand, to prevent further losses.
With a hardened resolve etched on his face, Riku pushed through the lingering pain. "Lead the way, Kael," he commanded, his voice now flat, devoid of emotion, a sharp contrast to the inner turmoil. "Take me to them."
He followed Kael through the dim light of the sleeping village, his aching body moving on autopilot, his mind already calculating, strategizing, bracing for the grim sight ahead.
Riku pushed through the small cluster of scouts, their faces grim and drawn in the faint pre-dawn light. His gaze immediately found Igris, a silent, imposing figure at the center. Nearby, Levi stood, his arms crossed, his usual stoic demeanor tempered by a rare, somber air.
Levi met Riku's furious gaze. "Don't be furious with Igris, Dola," he stated, his voice low but firm, anticipating Riku's wrath.
Despite Levi's words, Igris's shadowy form seemed to subtly bow, a gesture of profound apology. Its voice, a deep, resonant whisper, filled the air. "Master, I failed."
Riku ignored him, his eyes still burning. He turned to the other scouts present, his gaze cutting. "You. What happened?" he demanded, addressing the experienced veterans who had been part of the resource gathering team.
A scout named Jora, a seasoned tracker with a scar across his brow, stepped forward, his voice heavy. "General, we were doing as instructed. Igris was overseeing the gathering, making sure we found good veins of ore and reliable water sources. We'd spread out a bit, but always within range, always staying aware."
Another scout, Finn, chimed in, his eyes haunted. "Then, out of nowhere, they ambushed us. Warbeasts. Fast, and there were a lot of them. They burst from the brush, General, too quick."
"As soon as the attack began, we all followed protocol," Jora continued, his voice steadying. "We immediately converged on Igris, forming a tight defensive perimeter."
Finn swallowed hard. "But those two... Markus and Lena... they were new. They'd strayed a little too far, trying to get to a patch of particularly rich ore. Before Igris could even close the distance, before they could pull back to us, the warbeasts were on them. They were gone in an instant."
Riku's fists clenched at his sides. Still... Igris. His mind screamed at his servant. How could you let them die, even a little distance away? Your speed, your power, it should have been enough! The internal fury was a cold, simmering fire.
"After that," Jora concluded, his gaze hardened, "Igris engaged. It was swift. There were twenty-three of them. Not a single one escaped."
"We buried Markus and Lena properly, General," Finn added, looking at the ground. "And we salvaged what we could from the warbeasts for their belongings and other things. It was the least we could do."
Riku closed his eyes, taking a slow, deliberate breath. He could feel the familiar, agonizing process of his heart locking away, of emotions being systematically suppressed. Fury, grief, the sting of loss – all pushed down, hidden behind the cold, clear logic of a strategist. He needed to process the information, not succumb to the pain. The war was merciless. And it had just claimed two more of his people.
Fucho, one of the veteran scouts who had remained in the village, stepped forward, his gaze troubled. "General," he began, his voice hesitant, "may I... may I say something?"
Riku, his expression still a mask of grim resolve, gave a curt nod. "Speak."
"Those scouts," Fucho continued, his voice heavy, "they shouldn't have scavenged the warbeasts."
A sharp, angry voice immediately cut through the air. "Why not, Fucho?! We need the resources!" It was Finn, his face still pale from the earlier ordeal.
Fucho turned to him, his eyes grave. "Because warbeasts are exceptionally good at sniffing out their own kind. Their sense of smell is beyond anything we understand. If we bring their belongings into the village, the scent will linger. Other warbeasts... they'll be able to track it. They could reach this village by the smell of their fallen comrades."
A sudden, chilling silence fell over the gathered scouts. The implication hung heavy in the air: by trying to salvage resources, they might have inadvertently laid a scent trail directly to their new home.
Levi, who had been listening intently, let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Well, that's just a minor inconvenience, isn't it?" he drawled, a dangerous glint in his eye. "We can simply kill all the warbeasts before they kill us. A tit for tat, if you will." He cracked his knuckles, a predatory smile playing on his lips. "Let them come. We'll turn this place into a warbeast graveyard."
Riku, however, turned to Levi, his voice cold and unwavering. "Levi, do you have any idea how many warbeasts are scattered across Disboard? Conservative estimates put their population at around one to one and a half million. We cannot fight them all. We cannot turn this village into a perpetual battlefield just because of a scent trail."
His words were a harsh splash of cold water, dousing Levi's battle-hungry fervor. The sheer, overwhelming number hung in the air, a stark reminder of the impossibility of fighting a total war against an entire race. Riku's pragmatism, though often brutal, was rooted in a grim reality. They had to survive, not merely fight.