Asterion felt like a leaking balloon, his vitality and vigor draining rapidly through the several spikes lodged in his body.
However, he didn't feel overly weak just yet; his "balloon" was large enough to leak for a while longer.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!!
If nothing else, a battlefield containing a Bazelgeuse was certainly the grandest, and definitely the loudest. The sound of explosions hadn't ceased from start to finish.
Reckless!
He was a pure brute!!
The Bazelgeuse roared, constantly attempting to rush to Asterion's side. As soon as he got close, he would brazenly detonate the Blastscales nearest to Asterion. To achieve this, he was even willing to accept a slash from Asterion as the price—he had a long health bar anyway.
Trading damage for damage was the Bazelgeuse's style—a purely hooligan way of fighting.
The most critical issue was that Asterion genuinely didn't dare trade damage with the Bazelgeuse right now. Even as a fellow fire-attribute wyvern, and even though his Glavenus physiology possessed sufficient resistance to fire damage, he couldn't risk it—the Nergigante spikes were still stuck in his flesh!
If he were uninjured, Asterion's temper would never tolerate this kind of shameless, hooligan fighting style from a Bazelgeuse. With his razor-sharp serrated blade, a wyvern capable of trading damage with him hadn't been born yet.
I bet my damage is higher than yours!
Unfortunately, there were no "ifs"—the current situation was that Asterion dared not tank the Bazelgeuse's attacks.
The Nergigante's spikes were very long and very hard, while Asterion's body wasn't wide enough to accommodate them safely; those spikes had nearly pierced him through. Most critically, the injury was located on the side of his body, near his spine.
The heat exhaust pipes Asterion had planned for himself during his last evolution were right in that vicinity.
This was extremely dangerous.
Once the Bazelgeuse tackled him and detonated the Blastscales at point-blank range, the impact from the explosion could shift the spikes embedded in his body, causing secondary damage. If they punctured or severed the exhaust pipes, it would truly be fatal.
The intense, continuous combat had already mobilized muscles all over Asterion's body, generating massive amounts of heat. So far, he had been venting it through the dissipation ports on his tail—but if this accumulated heat were to erupt inside Asterion's body all at once, there would be only one result.
A chamber explosion.
Internal organs devastated, wounds torn open... the consequences of an internal "backfire" went without saying. Asterion now barely dared to bend his body significantly, fearing those spikes would cause even greater destruction.
Horizontal Slash!!
He turned abruptly for a sweeping slash. Amidst a series of deafening explosions, Asterion felt no tactile sensation of his blade hitting anything.
"Explosive Reactive Armor," a backward design that Asterion had already eliminated, was being carried forward and glorified by the Bazelgeuse. Or rather, the Bazelgeuse had walked this path to its extreme—he was essentially using the detonation of his Blastscales to catch Asterion's slashes.
The airwaves and shock from the explosions would knock Asterion's sword-tail off course, skewing it and preventing effective damage.
Clumsy in flight, clumsy in movement on the ground, this Bazelgeuse was fast in only one regard: raising his neck or lifting his tail—positioning the areas that produced Blastscales to face the enemy in the shortest amount of time.
And then, exploding.
It made Asterion laugh out of sheer anger. He had thought his own "explosive reactive carapace" was a brand-new operation beyond the imagination of this world's monsters, a lead in underlying logic. He hadn't expected that nature had long produced a monster that lived by this method and had perfected the art.
There are always masters.
"Roar, roar, roar!!" (Take this! Heaven and Earth Peerless Spirit Slash!!!)
Hesitating no longer, Asterion raised his head and roared. The Bazelgeuse understood the roar—well, he didn't understand the string of gibberish Wyvern-language, but he felt Asterion's posture, the aura of "I'm standing my ground to unleash my ultimate move."
It was the long-absent Tail-Biting Great Spin. The serrated scales on his sword-tail had all retracted. Asterion bit down on the tip of his tail, building up power——Protective Polish!!!
The shrimp-style recoil launch reappeared. Asterion's slash broke the wind! It whistled past with an aura that seemed ready to sever the world itself!!
Uh, whistled past?
Right past the Bazelgeuse's side.
At the very instant Asterion released his full power, the Bazelgeuse unhesitatingly detonated all the Blastscales on his neck. He had the martial integrity not to attack while Asterion was charging up, but he could see the power of this move and treated it with caution.
But until the flames and black smoke caused by the explosion dissipated, the Bazelgeuse felt no sensation of being attacked—not even the feeling of an attack being deflected by his own explosion.
"Roar?"
Letting out a confused cry, the Bazelgeuse looked behind him—far in the distance, that strange wyvern was running away without looking back.
Bazelgeuse: "......."
Is this correct?
Yes, it is.
Asterion had made a decision that went against his ancestors. From birth until now, this was the first time his Tail-Biting Great Spin hadn't been aimed at an enemy, but at the unobstructed sky.
To reiterate, all of Asterion's actions were personal behavior and did not represent the Glavenus species as a whole.
He ran, and he ran decisively, feeling absolutely no shame.
The Tail-Biting Great Spin allowed him to launch himself a great distance in an instant, and the Bazelgeuse's defensive stance gave Asterion the time to flee. Everything was just right.
Knowing there was a ticking time bomb inside his body and not running—staying to fight head-on—would be the act of a fool. Asterion was no fool.
"ROAAAAR!!!"
The Bazelgeuse was beside himself with rage.
A monster of his age and rich experience already possessed mature intelligence. Now, that mature intelligence told the Bazelgeuse—he had been played.
Clumsily running a few steps on the ground, the Bazelgeuse flapped his wings and took flight. But never mind comparing him to Flying Wyverns that excelled in aerial combat like Rathalos or Seregios; the Bazelgeuse couldn't even compare to a Rathian in terms of takeoff speed, flight speed, or maneuverability.
Asterion's running speed, however, was fast even among Brute Wyverns.
By the time the Bazelgeuse flapped his wings and glided to the spot directly above Asterion, he could only watch helplessly as the cunning wyvern jumped into a massive underground tunnel, twisted through a few turns, and vanished from sight.
Diving down to the entrance of the underground tunnel, the Bazelgeuse wore a look of indignation—uh, if his face, with its features all scrabbled together, could make an expression. Anyway, after pacing back and forth for a few steps, the Bazelgeuse decided not to chase him underground.
Although he loved fighting, the Bazelgeuse wouldn't do something strictly suicidal. Just one look down the tunnel and he could guess how small the space inside was. Given his clumsiness on the ground, fighting in such a narrow space would just mean getting hacked to pieces by that strange wyvern.
"ROAAAR!!!"
Finally, leaving behind a mocking roar, the New World World Police, Bazelgeuse, took off once again!
On the other side, Asterion hadn't actually gone far. He was indeed lying in ambush below. If the Bazelgeuse dared to enter, he would have jumped up and hacked him to death in a frenzy.
Hearing the Bazelgeuse's "Wyvern-language" cursing, which wasn't particularly dirty, he didn't get angry. After a cold snort, Asterion began walking toward his lair.
If this Bazelgeuse dared to show his face when Asterion was in good condition, dared to rely on those Blastscales to trade damage again... Heh.
Asterion's thoughts were not happy. Today was a total loss. First, his prey was stolen by Nergigante, then he fought Nergigante and got injured, and then a neurotic Bazelgeuse showed up—he hadn't gained a single bit of Bio-energy, and had actually lost quite a bit due to the high-intensity combat.
A pure net loss.
Damn you, Nergigante!
If Nergigante hadn't gotten greedy after stealing the Diablos and tried to eat him too, things would never have developed to this point.
Having cursed Nergigante an unknown number of times, Asterion returned to his lair. His scarred and battered appearance made the Grimalkynes who spotted him at the entrance scream.
In no mood to explain too much to the Grimalkynes, Asterion lay down in his small nest, exposing only the side of his body where the spikes were embedded.
Not long after, the Old Shaman, having received the news, came running.
"B-Big crisis, meow!!" Starting with his familiar scream, the Old Shaman scrambled up Asterion's body with three or four claw movements. Just two glances at the wound and he clutched his head, shrieking, "It's completely rotten, meow!!"
"Roar! Roar roar!" (Shut up! You guys pull these spikes out! Call more cats to pull together!)
Roaring impatiently, Asterion looked at his hand—forelimb. It was somewhat frustrating.
Even though he had forelimbs of sufficient length and his movement posture had shifted to quadrupedal running, a dragon's limbs were still not as convenient or dexterous as a primate's, and he certainly couldn't pull the spikes out himself.
Asterion once again felt the benefits of having loyal Grimalkynes. It wasn't just about eating good food; if the injuries he sustained today were on any random wild wyvern out there, even if that wyvern escaped Nergigante's pursuit, it would gradually die due to these embedded spikes.
Unable to pull out the spikes themselves, a monster would have to endure the wound gradually becoming inflamed, infected, and rotting, causing progressive damage to internal organs until they finally died while trying to hunt.
The Grimalkynes certainly didn't understand Asterion's anatomy; they simply followed his instructions to help pull the spikes out.
The plan was simple, but the execution wasn't simple at all.
Compared to the height of the Grimalkynes, Asterion was simply too massive. To safely pull the spikes out at an angle perpendicular to the wound, the Grimalkynes first had to build a scaffold to transfer the force.
To this end, they brought over a thick log, dug a large pit in the ground to bury the base of the log, and tamped down the soil. Then, using knives made from hard monster bone left over from scavenged carcasses, they ground a groove into the base of the spikes and tied a sturdy rope around them.
Pulling this rope over the top of the log, a group of Grimalkynes on the other side shouted chants and pulled together—the principle was simple, and the effect was quite good.
With the Grimalkynes' efforts, and after spending more than half the day, the Nergigante spikes were finally all removed from Asterion's body, making him feel like he had come back to life.
With the foreign objects gone, Asterion's wounds finally began to heal, ensuring no lasting complications.
"Um, Boss, meow? Can we keep these spikes, meow?" Sparky, guarding the side, asked timidly. "They look so sharp, meow."
There were six spikes removed from Asterion. Even the shortest was over a meter long, standing taller than many Grimalkynes when placed upright. As for the long ones, there was no need to say more; even Pot, the Grimalkyne's First Warrior, had to tilt his head back to look at them while standing next to one.
"Roar." (Sure.)
Asterion's voice was weak. He wouldn't take his anger at Nergigante out on these few spikes. If the Grimalkynes used them as weapons, it might enhance their combat power. Having the aura of an Elder Dragon on them might also— Hm?
Asterion opened his eyes and scrutinized the few Grimalkynes holding the spikes. Nergigante was a bona fide Elder Dragon. According to life-level analysis, the Grimalkynes should have been scared weak-legged by the Elder Dragon aura on the spikes. But these guys looked as if they felt nothing at all?
Because of him?
Asterion felt he understood something.
Never mind Pot, who was twirling a spike-spear with impressive vigor, even the ordinary Grimalkynes were— Holy crap, these bold guys are actually gnawing on Nergigante's spikes with their mouths??!
Rarely shocked enough to curse, Asterion clearly saw several Grimalkynes tilting their heads, biting and sucking on the spikes incessantly, occasionally casting sneaky glances at him.
Perhaps with the example of Pot before them, the Grimalkynes of the Glavenus Tribe now possessed a mysterious craving for things that dropped off monsters.
Specifically, taking a sip whenever they had nothing else to do.
Fine. Even if they couldn't be the First Warrior of the Grimalkynes, becoming the Second Warrior wasn't bad either.
And after discovering that Boss Glavenus had noticed their actions but didn't stop them, these Grimalkynes sucked even more vigorously.
Asterion felt somewhat helpless, but also a bit amused, because he remembered the description in the Monster Hunter setting books. After researchers at the Institute provided nutrients to Nergigante spikes, the spikes exhibited an extremely strong biological reaction, indicating they were differentiating into egg cells.
It was precisely through this experiment that scholars proposed a hypothesis: Nergigante obtains massive amounts of Bio-energy and regenerative ability by preying on Elder Dragons, and the spikes, having received this massive energy, transform into reproductive cells to propagate new Nergigantes.
Uh, which is to say, what the cats were sucking on right now was actually Nergigante's... that.
If this hypothesis was true, then Nergigante was really no different from Homelander, blasting "Getsuga Tenshos" all over the New World every day.
That naturally evil Nergigante brat!!
Suppressing his laughter, Asterion watched the cats distribute the spikes. Relying on his strength as the First Warrior, Pot secured the longest and thickest one, and Sparky got one too—though he didn't know if they would grind the spikes into powder to eat like Pot did, or fashion them directly into weapons.
Curious, Asterion waited for the result.
The most urgent matter right now was to heal his injuries. The appearance of Nergigante gave Asterion a bad feeling.
That guy had a personality where he wouldn't wake up early without a profit to be made. He hadn't come to the southernmost tip of the Wildspire Waste for so many years in the past, so why come now?
What was attracting him here?
————
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