TitoVillar
patreon
MHD Chapter 31: One Bazelgeuse, Too Many Rathalos
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 02:02:59 +0000 UTCAs the Chameleos darted into the forest, the Rathalos lost their target completely.
Above the dissipating mist, the Rathalos roared in unison—a cry of victory.
“Rooooar~~~!”
A long, resonant howl—like the approach of a bomber—gradually echoed from the distance.
A massive Bazelgeuse charged in at full speed.
It had heard it!
Heard it from far, far away!
The clash of two giant beasts to the death—the bloodiest kind of struggle between life and death!
These sounds, this chaos—it exhilarated it! Its blood surged with energy!
Its explosive scales could barely stay put!
It needed to detonate—needed to let everything burst out!
This magnificent music needed to climax through its very own explosive finale!
“...Rooar?”
Mr. Bazelgeuse, the self-appointed air sentry who had rushed in with all his might, suddenly found himself under the cold gaze of dozens of narrow, vertical pupils.
A group of burly Rathalos, like an organized gang, stared unblinking at this uninvited guest.
The Bazelgeuse’s internal speaker cut out. Its roaring stopped dead.
"Roaar!!" (Crap! This wasn’t a clash between two monsters—it was a whole pack of Rathalos bullying some poor kid!)
Realizing he’d been misled, the Bazelgeuse awkwardly turned, performed an impromptu emergency crash-landing stunt under the gaze of the entire pack, then scrambled into the air again, fleeing frantically in no particular direction.
Sure, it was strong—strong enough to nearly overpower a Rathalos in one-on-one combat.
But this wasn’t one-on-one!
There were so many Rathalos here, all pumped and ready to fight. One look was enough to tell this crowd was nothing to mess with.
It might be big, but it wasn’t stupid.
It had no desire to challenge an entire Rathalos pack on its own—this wasn’t some suicide delivery run.
As they watched the Bazelgeuse’s retreating form disappear into the distance, the Rathalos exchanged confused glances, completely unsure what that guy had come for.
Casting a final, lingering look at Logan—barely managing to stay airborne—the victorious Rathalos, having just driven off an Elder Dragon, turned and flew back toward their nest in the Ancient Tree.
The Grimalkynes erupted in joy when they saw Logan and Aki return safely, leaping and waving their limbs in celebration. For a time, the den echoed endlessly with cheerful meows.
When the Rathalos had left the Ancient Tree to support Logan, the Grimalkynes had also dispatched some of their own to scout the tree’s outer canopy.
They had witnessed the Rathalos’s battle with the Chameleos with their own eyes.
It was an unbelievable victory. The Chameleos, a creature that usually left its victims helpless, had been driven off!
And the one who contributed the most to this feat was none other than the very wyvern they had chosen to follow—Lord Logan!
“Meow! Meow-meow!!”
The Grimalkyne chief let out a loud call, bringing the excited crowd to silence.
Logan needed proper rest. The wounds covering his body were badges of honor—they should not disturb him now.
With the chief’s command, the Grimalkynes reluctantly returned to their dwellings.
Before leaving, some of them sneakily collected the scales that had naturally shed from Logan’s body and tucked them away.
Neither Logan, Aki, nor the Grimalkyne chief reacted. All pretended not to notice.
Logan and Aki didn’t mind. After all, a Rathalos has a robust metabolism and sheds quite a few scales every day. The Grimalkynes, who also kept the nest clean, would’ve swept them up anyway.
The Grimalkyne chief understood that this kind of admiration toward the wyvern they pledged loyalty to would only strengthen the unity of the tribe. It was a good thing—there was no reason to stop them.
And with that, the operation to repel the Chameleos had finally reached its conclusion.
Yet Logan still felt a lingering unease. He had a strong sense that this young Chameleos wouldn’t give up so easily.
There was a real chance it would return—and next time, it would be prepared for Logan’s tactics.
Elder Dragons were not ordinary monsters, and Chameleos in particular was known as one of the most intelligent among them.
Next time, it would be far trickier to deal with. It likely wouldn’t give the Rathalos a clear target so easily again. Logan would need a new strategy.
With those thoughts in mind, Logan began his days of recovery.
This time, most of the injuries inflicted by the Chameleos were superficial—but the crash landing had caused serious internal trauma.
Fortunately, with the Chameleos driven off and no further sightings for several days, life near the Ancient Tree had started to return to normal.
Creatures that had fled in panic were gradually returning, which greatly eased the Rathalos’s pressure on food supplies.
With Aki tending to him and the Grimalkynes volunteering to head to the lower levels of the Ancient Tree to gather intelligence from the returning Jagras, Logan was able to enjoy several peaceful, restful days.
But all of this was likely just the calm before the storm.
...
In the Wildspire Waste, a massive, ferocious beast burst up violently from beneath the sand—its gigantic, sharply pointed horns jutting from its head, its monstrous maw full of jagged teeth. At first glance, it looked terrifying and brutal. Yet its diet consisted mainly of ravenously munching on cacti—an oddly docile habit for an herbivorous Flying Wyvern.
Its charge was laser-focused as it barreled toward the 'little things' that dared wander freely within its territory.
[Clang!!]
A massive shield slammed into its path, colliding with the twin horns in a thunderous crash.
The Admiral’s muscles bulged, veins clearly visible as his feet gouged deep trenches into the ground beneath him.
“AAAAAHHHHH!!”
With a roaring battle cry, this man—just a little over 2 meters tall—stood his ground and forcefully halted the charge of a 24-meter-long juggernaut!
And not only that—they locked in a raw contest of strength!
It was as if a human were going head-to-head in a pure test of power with a creature the size of a rat—and matching it blow for blow.
That was the might of a human Rajang—a true legendary hunter.
A sturdy Felyne sprinted in with lightning speed, leaping high onto the Diablos’ back, drawing its greatsword and beginning to charge up.
At the same moment, at the monster’s thick right leg, the Huntsman, clad in a Rathian armor set, raised his Rathian Great Sword and began charging as well.
Though he moved second, the Huntsman was faster—completing a full three-stage charge in less than a second before slamming his blade into the Diablos’ leg, the strike biting deep into the scaled and keratin-covered hide.
The Diablos let out a wailing cry of pain. Just then, the Felyne companion of the Admiral finished its charge and brought its greatsword down onto the Diablos’ head, the blade breaking through its scales and getting lodged into its skull.
The injuries drove the Diablos into a blind rage.
Summoning a sudden burst of strength from who knows where, it flung the Admiral forward, threw off the Felyne from its back, and swung its massive horns in a sweeping arc aimed directly at the Huntsman’s legs.
From the sky above, the Wyverian Hunter descended, wielding an Insect Glaive. He plunged one end of the staff precisely into the wound left by the Felyne’s earlier strike.
The tremendous impact caused the Diablos to lose its balance—its head smashing down hard into the ground.
The force of that heavy blow left the Diablos dazed for quite some time, giving the Wyverian hunter a chance to nimbly leap down from the monster’s head.
Taking advantage of the moment, the other hunters who had been lying in wait emerged from their hiding spots.
Light Bowgun users, Heavy Bowgun users, and archers began suppressing fire from a distance, while the rest of the hunters hurled ropes they had prepared in advance, aiming to bind the Diablos from all directions.
Each of these specially made ropes had a nearly one-meter-long wooden stake tied to the end.
The hunters, already in position, swung their hammers and drove the stakes deep into the ground with just a few heavy strikes.
Sensing imminent danger, the Diablos thrashed about wildly. But this was a meticulously planned capture operation—there was no way it would be allowed to escape so easily.
The goal this time was to capture the creature alive and bring it back as a replacement for the failed Elder Dragon investigation.
That’s right—this Elder Dragon investigation had ultimately ended in failure.
The research team had overestimated their own strength and underestimated the sheer density of monsters in the New World.
From the very first day they arrived at the Wildspire Waste, they were attacked by large monsters an average of three times a day. Even in the short intervals between those encounters, they were harassed by smaller pack creatures.
As the team pushed deeper into the Wildspire Waste, their logistical supplies began to run thin. Surrounded by monsters on all sides, they found themselves utterly isolated.
Once again, nature revealed its brutal side to the hunters.
Day and night, they were beset by all manner of creatures. Their supplies steadily dwindled, injured members accumulated with each battle, water and food became scarce, and the prolonged tension gnawed at everyone's spirit like a crushing weight.
Worse yet, their mission involved tracking an unknown Elder Dragon—forcing them to venture into complicated terrain and trespass into the territories of powerful monsters.
Even with the Admiral, the Huntsman, and the Wyverian Hunter—three powerful warriors—leading the charge, they were still overwhelmed. After all, no matter how strong one's fists are, they cannot fend off every strike at once, especially when facing beasts hardened by life in the harsh wastelands.
Even the Huntsman, a warrior of formidable skill, had sustained an injury in one of the battles and had yet to fully recover.
The expedition, slowed drastically by the unforgiving environment, eventually lost track of the unknown Elder Dragon. With no other options, they could only collect the leftover traces it had left behind, reluctantly scouring the area in hopes of finding a new clue.
After having been stationed in the region for quite some time, the Admiral and his team finally accepted the reality—they had no choice but to admit that this mission had failed.
In the end, to give everyone a sense of closure—and to justify the tremendous amount of resources they had spent—they shifted their focus in search of something they could still bring back.
Following the scholars' recommendation, the expedition team set their sights on the apex predator of the region—a Diablos in its prime.
To gather as much information as possible, the ultimate goal of this hunt was to capture it alive.
A living Diablos could provide far more valuable data than a dead one.
