Episode 15 : The Wolf King of Dogtooth Mountain - Part 2

"Garrulle: ..."

 It was not because he had suddenly regained his human reason in the midst of this bloody struggle that the scary hairs on the back of Guin's head stood on end and a warning snarl escaped his mouth.

 Rather the opposite. His wild, steely instincts got the better of him,

(If we don't do something, one day we're gonna get hit!

 That's why I sent out the alert signal pulse.

 Civilized men have morals, ethics, chivalry, even honor and honor. But beasts of the field have none of those things. All they have is a last-ditch struggle to eat or be eaten and a blind survival instinct to survive by any means necessary.

(--!

 Guin opened his mouth in a snarl and silently threatened the eyes of fire. By the time he saw them, he had already lost interest in this battlefield. He leapt like a lightning and dodged the attackers, then leaped on the rocks and ran from rock to rock like a huge flying beast, Tauro.

 Immediately, the ranting of the wolves, determined not to let them escape, pierced the darkness.

 The wolves leap on the rocks or circle the land, dodging rocks, in a full-on chase. The only prey doesn't even look back.

 A wolf leaped through the rocks and tried to sink its fangs into the Leopard's neck from its back. Without even turning his head, with a strange certainty, as if he had eyes even on his back, the huge Leopard stooped down, dodged the biting fangs, and moved on to the next rock.

 His muscular shoulders and chest rose and fell with the fury of a bellows, rushing air into his lungs, his feet stepped firmly on the bumpy, spiky rocky corners with unconscious precision. Everything from the round leopard's head to the half-naked man in his tanned leather clothing was covered with the wolf's blood, hair and flesh. Hundreds of wolves pursued him, on the earth beneath his feet and behind him, with the persistence of a man bent on the vengeance of his comrades.

 In a sense, this was a far more difficult and far more dangerous situation than the battle between one and hundreds that had just taken place.

 If he fails to step on a single rock - if he slips on a rock, his feet smeared with blood and flesh, he will immediately fall, his whole body sliced open by the sharp knife-like surface of the rock. And it is in the midst of hundreds of wolves who are waiting to tear him into a lump of flesh without giving him time to recover his position.

 His feet were dark, the rocks jagged and smooth, and his boots were slick with wolf's blood.

 But he is unfazed. He does not even loosen his reckless footsteps to check his footing, but continues to run with great speed, as if he were a runner running for the laurel crown on a level playing field where he knows the terrain and the geology.

 There was not the slightest hesitation in its step, not even the slightest fear in its leap. It was beautiful - as if a huge but lithe and swift-footed jaguar were running through it, it retained its fearsome, wild, mythical beauty.

 He ran and the wolves ran. It was now a race to the death between the killers and the killed, between the hunters and their huge prey, but it had begun to take on a strange, even pagan harmony, as if it were not a race at all, but a giant champion and his army, or a missionary saint and his flock of followers. It was a strange and pagan harmony.

 So much so that they - the giant Leopard-headed demigod and the hungry wolves that dwelt in the rocky mountains - resembled each other. Guin's breathing and the wolves' breathing intermingled and mingled. Guin's footsteps and the wolves' footsteps were intermingled, and intermingled, and intermingled. Soon the rocky terrain came to an end. The road was uphill all the way. Iris, the goddess of the moon, walked through the sky without a break, making us wonder if she was also a contestant in the race between life and death.

 Guin's breath was white even in the night. The sound of his breath was interspersed with the howls and menacing snarls of the wolves approaching from behind. Guin was looking for a place where the wolves could be swept away. A rocky outcrop that narrows abruptly, a valley entrance blocked by a huge boulder, an overturned tree, it doesn't matter. Slowly, an idea began to take shape in Guin's mind.

 But there was nothing to be found. On the contrary, his eyes saw a scene in which this rocky plain, which had been soaring up and down, had finally come to an end, and a gentle, bare, black ground had spread out. Perhaps he was approaching the summit.

 It was hardly a relief. For, in such a place where the rocks were sparse and there were no trees in sight, there was no shortage of shelters to hide behind. But when it came to a gentle uphill climb with no obstacles, the desert wolves would begin to show off their outstanding agility and lightness of body that had enabled them to run through the desert of Nosferus.

 There was no way to return now, and there was no sign of salvation in the future, and he had finally broken the dagger that protected him just now.

 No matter what kind of warrior or hero he was, he must have made up his mind and started to chant the name of the guardian deity, just waiting for the hand of heaven to save him.

 However, Guin's glowing red binoculars remained completely expressionless and emotionless. The leopard's head is not capable of expressing joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure as it wishes. But that's not all.

 Something--something that makes us human and therefore human--seemed to be completely absent from this leopard-headed monster, this super-warrior who at certain moments seemed to be nothing more than a beast itself. It may have been the fear of death, the most human emotion of fear of the unknown, which is naturally different from the survival instinct.

 It was as if the word despair did not exist for him. In such a desperate situation, the leopard-headed warrior did not hesitate or flinch, but continued to run towards the end of the rocky terrain, as if there was always a lifeline hanging there.

 His foot falls with a thud onto the soft ground. There's no more spiky rocks to stop the wolves from getting there.

 As soon as he jumped down from the last rock to the ground, Guin showed a terrific start and unfathomable physical strength, and started running at a great speed.

 His leather cloak fluttered. The hems of his cloak and the heels of his shoes were torn to shreds by rocks and wolf fangs. Chest heaving wildly, Guin ran.

 But this time, this time, the wolves had an advantage. The wolves were originally thick-skinned quadrupeds suitable for running on the plains. At length the wolves were separated from Guin on the rocky ground, and for a while they ran around him like a pack of dogs galloping around their master. And then, just as if they were carnivorous fish crowding around a cow, a dozen or more of them sprang at Guin, trying to bite into her shoulders, legs and arms with their fangs.

"Gwah!"

 Guin barked again. If he were to be pulled down here, it would be the end. The number of wolves chasing him was many times greater than at first, and if he slipped here, even his own body would be hidden beneath the furry goblins.

 Guin knew it. He held his ground and held on. Now he had no time to search for an advantageous position against the wolves that came at him from all sides. Guin's entire body, twisted like a rope, was filled with tremendous muscles that repelled the wolves' fangs.

 At the same time, he grabbed the heads of the two heads that had come to his throat, one on each side, and with terrifying strength, he crushed them and tried to break their necks. A horrible moaning sound and the ranting of his companions, who were howling around him, overwhelmed the area.

 But what a struggle it was, far from the human world. Neither the Leopard, like a champion, which stood in the midst of a mob of soldiers, nor the wolves which howled at it, knew how to seek pity from the other, or how to paralyze the enemy with words. Neither mercy nor compassion, nor handiness, nor giving up, have they any part in it.

 Even in this predicament, Guin had not uttered a single word of Janus' name, nor had he even looked to the sky for help. The light in his eyes could be extinguished only by the most physical and deadly blow to the idyllic heart. As much as he knows no despair, perhaps he does not continue to fight, panting with the hope of surviving. He could see nothing but the battle in his eyes. He was a giant blind fighting machine himself.

 But even so, this enemy was too overwhelmingly numerous. Even he, who seemed to know no fatigue, was finally beginning to breathe heavily in the face of the wolves who came to him one after the other, knocking him down and stepping on his friends, breaking his neck and dodging his dead body.

 His own blood, not the wolf's, began to flow from his shoulders, his calves, and his arms. He was surrounded on all sides, all of which he could not dodge, and the wolf's fangs bit into him once every two times.

"Gaaaah!"

 He howled. A roar of frustration and anger that came from within.

 At that moment, an agile animal, which had dodged his companion's body, suddenly gobbled him up in his throat!

"--!"

 Guin puts his hand on it to pull it off. For a moment, his back is unprotected.

 Then he staggered backwards as if he'd been hit from behind with a poker!

 The biggest wolf he'd ever seen leapt at him with all his might, tearing at his back and pouncing on him!

 Guin tried to regain his footing, but he could not support the weight of his back and forth.

 He dropped to one knee in disappointment!

 The wolves were waiting for him. Immediately, foaming, slobbering mouths came at him from all directions.

 Oh, Guin--!

 And yet, he is not allowed even the repose of despair.

 His eyes are glassy with the countless agonies of death.

 Its body did not stop fighting, and it flailed wildly, trying to rebound its fangs.

 And then--

He has appeared.