Watching the silhouette of Nergigante flying off in pursuit, the Arch-Tempered Velkhana's icy armor shattered into glittering fragments as it spread its magnificent wings and flew toward Logan's position.
At once, Logan became alert. He ordered Aki and the Azure Rathalos to retreat first, while he remained in place—both to cover their withdrawal and to see what the Arch-Tempered Velkhana intended to do.
Soon, the frost-radiating Velkhana and Logan, whose surrounding air shimmered faintly from heat distortion, met in the skies above the basalt canyon.
Unlike the wary Logan, however, the Arch-Tempered Velkhana merely cast him a glance with those jewel-like eyes. Then, tracing a graceful arc, it brushed past him in passing.
Beyond the far end of this canyon lay the Guiding Lands; it would not take long flight to reach them. Although it had not joined as part of the ecosystem there, it had nevertheless built a nest of its own.
While the Arch-Tempered Velkhana did not mind residing in the Elder's Recess, compared to the volcanic region, the snowy lands suited its temperament far better—though the snowy area within the Guiding Lands was admittedly rather small.
Logan remained where he was, the heat radiating from his silvery-white scales slowly cooling back to normal temperature.
Looking at the few scattered pieces of purple volcanic glass nearby, Logan's mind was filled with the image of that moment when the Arch-Tempered Velkhana brushed past him—the inexplicable look within those amber-gold, gem-like eyes.
It was neither hostility nor vigilance.
It was simply the kind of look an aged elder would give when glancing at a brat.
Though, in terms of age, before these Elder Dragons that had lived for hundreds or even thousands of years, Logan truly was no different from a brat, still—what about the respect due between Elder Dragons?
This left Logan genuinely speechless. To think that, while he had treated the encounter as a life-or-death confrontation, in the eyes of that Arch-Tempered Velkhana, he was merely a little brat.
If he hadn't been fully aware of his own strength—knowing that without truly fighting to the death, staking everything, he wouldn't be a match for that ancient old hag who had lived for who knew how long—Logan would have already unleashed a burst of flame at her.
As for whether he could win in a fight to the death—that was another question entirely.
After all, after living for so many years, even a pig could develop enough battle intellect—let alone a highly intelligent Elder Dragon.
Thus, that brief and simple skirmish came to an end. For the monsters of the Elder's Recess, life still had to go on, and new battles were already beginning to unfold.
Aside from certain lazy Fat Wyverns that only knew how to grunt and gnaw on bioenergy crystals and ores, the other monsters once again began their activities across this scorching land, seeking new prey.
...
In the Ancient Tree, the Ecological Research Center had undergone a complete transformation within just half a month after a large number of new personnel were added. Many projects that had been shelved due to lack of manpower were restarted, and everyone once again threw themselves into their busy work.
"Falcon, make sure to say a proper farewell to the Huntsman. If there's ever a chance in the future, come back to the New World for a visit."
The Admiral, watching as Falcon placed his belongings onto the back of his Canyne and once again strapped the dual Kulu-Ya-Ku blades to his back, spoke with a trace of reluctance.
Though there had been no formal master-disciple ceremony, the Admiral truly admired this gifted and diligent student from the bottom of his heart.
This Second Fleet hunter, who had fought for ten years in the New World's pioneering efforts, had finally reached the time to return home and contribute to rebuilding his homeland.
Everyone has their own aspirations—the Admiral could not, and should not, stop him.
Falcon opened his mouth to speak to the Admiral, yet no sound came out. After quite a while, he slowly lowered his head.
Though the very purpose of coming to the New World had been to temper himself upon this harsh, untamed continent—and to learn stronger and greater hunting techniques from the veterans so that he might one day return home and strengthen his village—
Over these ten years spent together, perhaps because of the countless hardships they had shared, even though he had already made up his mind and submitted his return application, at this very moment Falcon still felt as if he were betraying his companions and failing everyone's expectations.
Thus, faced with the Admiral, who was both his mentor and his friend, Falcon lowered his head in shame.
Seeing Falcon's expression, the Admiral immediately knew what he was thinking. He reached out and patted Falcon on the shoulder. As Falcon raised his head, the Admiral's lips carried the same bright, hearty smile as always.
"Remember why you came here, and why you're leaving. Steady your heart, and no matter what you face, keep walking firmly toward your goal! A true warrior always knows what he lives for!"
Meeting the Admiral's gaze, the unease and guilt in Falcon's heart gradually subsided. He gave a firm nod.
Ten years of pioneering life had meant not only confronting the threats of countless creatures but also enduring battles under extreme conditions. Every pioneer, beyond their own strength, had long since forged an unyielding heart.
Seeing Falcon's composure return, the Admiral finally released his shoulder in satisfaction.
"All right, once you're back, make sure to build your homeland well. Pass on everything you've learned here to those outstanding young ones! I hope that the next time we meet, I'll hear the good news that your village has completely overcome its troubles."
Falcon nodded, and then, as if suddenly recalling something, a faint smile appeared on his lips. "I'll do my best. In the village chief's letter brought by ship, he mentioned a child named Utsushi—he might be the most gifted youth our village has seen in decades. That boy may well be the key to resolving the next Rampage."
Seeing the hope in Falcon's expression, the Admiral nodded in agreement.
As for why that hope should be placed upon the younger generation rather than Falcon himself—
Falcon was already thirty-two years old now. Both the Admiral and the Huntsman had already been the main fighting power of the First Fleet when they were twenty-six. Yet even for warriors as strong as they were, when facing an Elder Dragon one-on-one, they could only manage to hold their own.
In the scholars' calculations, for something like the Rampage to occur, the ones capable of causing such a phenomenon would either have to be Elder Dragons—or monsters possessing calamity-level power equal to that of an Elder Dragon.
Falcon's talent was exceptional. Among the shipborne hunters of the Second Fleet, he could be counted among the very best. Yet, that was all.
After bidding farewell to the Admiral and the others, Falcon mounted his Canyne and followed behind the cat transport team, heading toward Astera.
The liaison ship would depart in one month's time, so there was still some time to spare.
Within Astera, a figure quietly made his way toward the rear mountain, to the nest of the Chameleos.
After scanning the area and finding no trace of the Chameleos, he nevertheless instinctively knew that the Chameleos and its hatchling were surely there—perhaps right before his very eyes.
The Provisions Manager reached out his hand, attempting to touch the creature—only to grasp at nothing. There was nothing there!
"Cough, cough!"
He cleared his throat to mask the awkwardness, then readjusted his tone and spoke with a note of expectation. "Old friend, for quite a long time to come, I'm afraid I won't be able to play our lockpicking games with you anymore. The Guild needs someone familiar with Astera's logistics to return and plan out the establishment of the Fourth Fleet. I'm not young anymore, and I don't know if I'll ever make it back."
"So, I came to say goodbye. If it's possible… could you come see me off?"
After speaking, the Provisions Manager unconsciously clenched his fists, waiting in nervous anticipation and faint fear for the Chameleos's response.
One minute. Two minutes.
A full five minutes passed, yet the nest remained completely silent. The Provisions Manager felt somewhat disappointed—and at the same time, a little helpless.
"So it really isn't here."
After all these years of struggle against one another, the Provisions Manager understood the Chameleos's temperament very well. Even if it had no desire to acknowledge him, it would still make some kind of sound to let him know of its presence.
Now, after waiting so long without hearing a single noise, it was clear that the Chameleos was not in the nest.
Those slightly sentimental words he had just uttered—he had, in truth, spent a long time psyching himself up before mustering the courage to say them aloud.
Since the creature wasn't here, although he felt a bit of regret, what he felt even more was release.
"Gwaa!"
A sudden croak echoed from the entrance of the nest, startling the Provisions Manager out of his wits.
Turning his head, he saw Chameleos poking its head through the entrance of the cave, its large eyes rolling as it stared at him. Then, glancing back around at the surroundings, it seemed to be checking whether it had entered the wrong nest.
"Gwa?"
After confirming it hadn't made a mistake, Chameleos let out a questioning croak.
The Provisions Manager understood instantly and waved his hands in a fluster. "N-no, it's nothing! I just came to deliver some Mega Potions—once I'm done, I'll leave right away!"
Laughing awkwardly, the Provisions Manager took a Mega Potion from the small pouch at his waist, set it down on a nearby stone platform, and hurriedly turned to leave.
Little did he know that behind him, Chameleos was staring at his retreating back, an odd glint flashing within its large eyes. Then—
"Gwa!" (You unfilial brat, put down that Mega Potion!!)
Caught red-handed in the act of theft, the young Chameleos's eyes darted about before it swiftly swallowed the potion, flapped its tiny wings, and turned invisible, intending to make a quick getaway.
Unfortunately, between Chameleos, there existed a special form of sensory connection—allowing them to pinpoint each other's location precisely. To other creatures, the invisibility might be nearly impossible to counter, but in the eyes of a fellow Chameleos, it looked no different than usual.
A whip-like tongue lashed out, striking the young Chameleos squarely on the tail.
Amid a sharp, terrified croak, the nest opened by the Mother Chameleos filled with thick, rolling white mist.
Within the swirling fog came the occasional pitiful whimper.
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