Chapter 33
The mutant sheep’s massive size, firm wool, and the taut muscles hidden beneath it were just as I remembered. Even if its combat power and bloodlust had decreased, a knight or two wouldn’t be enough to subdue it if it chose to charge.
“If the mark has disappeared, killing it won’t yield much aura.”
Baaaaaaaaa.
As if it understood me, the sheep bobbed its head repeatedly. Its feeble cries didn’t so much as prick my nerves.
‘Pathetic.’
With that thought, all tension I held toward the sheep vanished like mist.
“I won’t kill you.”
I intended to leave it alone. That creature could easily make itself the ruler of the Forest of Caprice and live around like it owned the place.
Using the excuse of having missed the mutant sheep, I planned to stay and hunt a few more days in the forest.
Now that my Aura Cultivation Method had become more efficient, I could even command Inferno to roast entire beasts whole and bring them in.
Baaaaaaaaa.
The mutant sheep followed behind me. The blood wolf pup clung tightly to its side.
They seemed to be in sync, even matching each other’s pace as they walked gently along. Though I’d never given permission, it was clear the mutant sheep had decided to follow me.
“Do as you wish, you worthless thing.”
I suddenly realized that neither the blood wolf pup nor the mutant sheep had names.
‘Just give them something easy to say. Shylock? No, too flashy… Paroma and Annes?’
Shylock was the greatest knight in House Hebron’s history. Paroma had mastered wind-type aura, and Annes was a knight of water.
‘Too ordinary?’
As I was compiling a list of notable figures from the history of the Kingdom of Xenon, a group of people approached me from a distance.
Sir Brown was at the forefront.
Summoned by a hunter, the knights of Hebron and the mage Bartman had come running, saying they were here to rescue me. Sword in hand, Brown’s face lit up the moment he saw me.
“My lord! Are you okay? They said a mutant sheep that devoured a mutant bear had appeared…!”
Baaaaaaaaa.
The large sheep stepped delicately out of the bushes. The blood wolf pup was right beside it.
Sir Brown raised his sword, aura surging, and pointed it at the sheep. In response, the sheep bleated and quickly hid behind me.
“It’s over. The bear’s corpse is back there—take care of it. The chest is torn open and the heart is gone, but the rest is in decent shape.”
“I-Is that thing… safe?”
No one would think the sheep was normal. It was far too large for a sheep, its wool was charred black in places, and it had been neatly trimmed in patches—those were the parts cleaved off by aura-infused blades.
Its massive curled horns looked like they could take down even a knight if it rammed them.
“It went berserk for a bit, but it’s calm now.”
Baaa!
The sheep bleated in agreement, and Mage Bartman turned to me.
“You’re not seriously going to keep that thing, are you?”
“It’s calmer than the blood wolf.”
“We should equip it with restraints in the territory.”
Bartman showed great interest in the mutant sheep. It was understandable—there were no records of such a creature anywhere. This might well be the first mutant sheep in the history of the Kingdom of Xenon.
“Make one yourself. Ordinary restraints won’t hold them. If it’s too difficult, just make something that looks like a restraint. Bill Amy for the cost.”
“Yes, Baron.”
As we walked toward the main road, the forces from House Zylson arrived, having ridden along the side path.
‘If this thing still bore the mark on its forehead, half of them would’ve been killed or wounded.’
The sheep that had been so dangerous, had now grown not just tame but downright timid.
‘With proper training, it might be even more useful than the blood wolf. Its tough wool alone could be highly practical.’
I had checked on the way over—its wool was still incredibly dense. Without an aura-infused blade, it would be nearly impossible to shear.
Four knights from House Zylson approached me.
To my surprise, leading them was Ambrod de Zylson.
“Where’s the monster?”
Though Sir Ambrod had stepped down as commander of the knights, his real authority still outranked mine. The knight-commander of a viscount’s house was held in higher esteem than most barons.
“I handled it. It was a mutant bear.”
“A bear? I heard it was a sheep.”
“The sheep killed the bear, and I captured the sheep.”
“You captured a sheep that killed a mutant bear?”
“I’ve no reason to lie.”
I tilted my chin toward the massive sheep trailing after me.
Ambrod’s eyes sharpened. I was used to that kind of look.
It was jealousy.
If Ambrod had been born in House Breio, he would have been praised—jealousy was seen as the key to growth in that family.
Ambrod sat atop his horse, with two legs—one of which was a prosthetic. Judging by how seamlessly it blended in, it must’ve been a ‘Baryan’s leg’.
“So you’ve accepted the viscount’s offer after all?”
Baryan’s leg was a prosthetic that allowed him to live a normal life. However, it made fighting as a knight impossible.
In fact, that leg would become a knight’s weakness.
It seemed Ambrod had accepted the role of ‘the face of Zylson’, which Viscount Zylson had proposed. His role was to be paraded around at various events, bragging his past glory and socializing with nobles who admired knights.
“Why, though?”
“What do you mean?”
“How can you grow so quickly? You're from Hebron, so how...?”
Ambrod became emotional. His face flushed red, and he clenched his fists tightly.
His disability had nothing to do with me. Yet he seemed intent on blaming me—or rather, he blamed everything surrounding him.
“Did you read the book I gave you?”
“Would you like to check?”
It wasn’t a provocation. It was more of a polite request.
Several knights besides me noticed the tremble in Ambrod’s voice.
They looked at him curiously, and when they saw the desperation in his eyes, they pretended not to notice.
‘His attitude is bad.’
“If you’d like, come to Hebron.”
“I’ll come tomorrow.”
It was a reply as swift as the swordplay he used to demonstrate in his prime. His expression made it seem like he’d show up as soon as the moon rose and insist it was already tomorrow.
“Have breakfast, take your time. Send someone ahead to inform us of your visit.”
* * *
Bulf and Syang.
The blood wolf pup was named Bulf, and the mutant sheep was named Syang.
Bulf had completely adjusted to life in Hebron. He ate the scraps of meat thrown by the soldiers and fell asleep leaning against the shaded walls when he was full.
Since Bulf wasn’t a mutant and had never been marked, he roamed freely with only a collar around his neck. A tag on it read: ‘Property of Baron Hebron’
Syang, the mutant sheep, wasn’t allowed to leave the lord’s manor. Partly because of the risk of his wild instincts emerging, but more because of the mage Bartman's obsession.
“This wool is tougher than steel!”
Though Bartman was a mage employed by the Serpens’ guildmaster, he resided in the Hebron estate’s magical laboratory as if he were the resident mage.
He had been analyzing Syang’s wool for its hardness, strength, and toughness.
In many ways, Syang’s wool surpassed steel. It rivaled even the latest alchemical creation, ‘Murray wire’.
“It feels soft and warm to the touch. Lightness is the best part of this wool.”
“Don’t you think it could even stop an arrow?”
Bartman held up a bundle of Syang’s wool. It was so densely packed that there was no space for an arrow to pierce through.
For this kind of research, it was far better to verify with one’s eyes than to debate hypotheticals.
They summoned Brown, who was practicing swordsmanship in the training ground. He was the best archer in Hebron and could even infuse his arrows with a small amount of aura.
“Brown, try shooting this with an arrow.”
Swish—Thunk!
Brown aimed at the bundle of wool hanging on the wall. The arrow didn’t penetrate—it tangled in the wool and dangled there.
Bartman retrieved the wool and his eyes widened.
“Oh! Not even a scratch!”
“Brown, now shoot it with aura on the arrow.”
“There won’t be much difference in power.”
Aura had a tendency to dissipate.
That’s why knights initially focused on enhancing their physical abilities with aura. After gaining enough experience, they began imbuing their swords with it. Similarly, aura could be applied to bows and arrows—but the problem was that once an arrow left the bowstring, the aura rapidly dissipated.
‘It’s not like there’s no solution, though.’
I knew of the archery of Sir Fritz, a bowmaster who had been active in the early days of the Kingdom of Xenon. House Breio had prioritized swordsmanship, so they hadn’t tried to restore Sir Fritz’s archery techniques. I hadn’t reconstructed them, but I had memorized the original texts, though some portions were missing.
“It’s okay. Try shooting from a closer distance.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Brown’s bow glowed faintly.
Instead of the bow, he concentrated his aura into the arrow, then lightly released the taut bowstring.
Swish—Thunk!
The arrow spun violently as it flew, burrowed through the wool, and embedded itself in the wall.
“The wool is undamaged. If we weave it more densely, it’ll make excellent armor. How much wool is there?”
“We’ll have to shave it to find out.”
Syang carried his tangled wool like a sack on his back. Having likely lived in the Forest of Caprice all his life, he probably had never been shaved.
“Brown, go and shave Syang’s wool. Be careful—you might make him go berserk if you cut his skin. If it’s too hard to do alone, get another knight to help.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * *
Syang’s wool could only be cut with a sword imbued with aura. Trying to untangle the wool by force could result in losing fingers, so the knights wore thick leather gloves.
Baaaaaaa.
Once shaved, Syang looked so scrawny he seemed smaller than Bulf.
Apparently enjoying his lighter body, he pranced around on his tiny legs.
“Let’s see how fast your wool grows back. Maybe giving you herbs good for hair growth will help?”
I knew a few herbs that were rumored to help, though none had proven effective. Hair loss was one of those tragedies that even medicine and divine power couldn’t cure.
Knock knock.
I could guess who it was just from the knock. I sensed the presence beyond the door and told him to come in.
Father’s attire grew more flamboyant by the day. At first, it seemed he was just mimicking the fashion trends of the capital as I had advised, but now he had developed his own style.
Today he wore a jacket that looked like it had been stitched together vertically from two differently colored ones. The surprising harmony between green and black was offset with a white scarf as an accent.
‘Was Father always this bold?’
It wasn’t something one could wear without a good deal of courage.
“Ahem! Word is, my son has some wool that’s strong, light, and warm. If it doesn’t interfere with your work, would you mind if I had a look at the fabric?”
Father couldn’t hide his excitement over the new woollen material. As I heard his voice, something he once told me came to mind:
–It’s okay to be wrong. No, there is no wrong to begin with. Trust your instincts. As I trust you, you must trust yourself. My son, walk your path.
