How to Raise a Dumb Wolf - Chapter 100

As Salman explained the match, the beastfolk in the hall grew solemn and attentive. Sprawled or seated in every conceivable position, they stared gravely at the arena projected across the ceiling while the discussion continued. The match had not formally begun, but with both the cat emperor and Les on the field, they already had more than enough to talk about.

“So Les is already this grown. I’ve hardly seen him since he entered the army.” The rabbitfolk leader studied the human form of the young giant wolf at one side of the arena and sighed with emotion. “I must say, his appearance… has matured a great deal.”

“Les is an excellent warrior in the army.”

Salman puffed out his chest where he lay and offered the comment casually, considerable pride in his eyes. After all, he was Les’s friend, elder, and superior, and they shared a close relationship in the army. In particular, during the battle that had nearly decided life or death for them all, Les had voluntarily accepted the most dangerous mission—drawing away the darkfolk army, a task from which he had almost no chance of returning. From that moment, Salman had felt an indescribable fondness for him. One might even call it… respect and gratitude.

It was rather strange for a high-ranking officer to regard a subordinate this way, especially one more than a decade younger than himself, but Salman was not exaggerating. After a pause, he added, “Although he is still young… his future holds exceptional promise.”

The rabbitfolk leader nodded in agreement.

Yet most of the beastfolk remained more interested in Carter III than in Les. They appeared somewhat disappointed and dissatisfied with the emperor’s appearance.

“His Majesty looks more imposing in beast form,” one of them concluded.

The judgment won broad approval from beastfolk of every kind, and they all nodded. His Majesty was undoubtedly handsome in human form, but human forms differed less dramatically from one another and could not display the extraordinary, overwhelming grandeur of his beast form. It was inevitably a little inferior.

Suddenly, someone shouted, “It’s starting!” Every beast immediately fell silent and concentrated on the ceiling. But after holding back for only a moment, one of them could no longer resist asking, “Who do you think will win?”

For perhaps ten seconds, no one answered him. After a long while, someone finally began with hesitation. “Ahem. Peter, you know… His Majesty’s swordsmanship was unquestionably magnificent in his youth. There may not have been more than a handful of people in the entire country capable of defeating him. But so many years have passed in the blink of an eye. His Majesty is already forty-five and has not touched a sword for a very long time, while Major General Wolf is still so young, possesses an exceptional physique, and is the youngest major general. Salman just said it too—Les… that little wolf cub has outstanding talent.”

“Yes, yes. His Majesty is getting on in years, after all…”

“I truly respect His Majesty. Ten years ago, I would have believed unwaveringly in his victory! But now… well, young General Wolf does possess the greater advantage. That is only an objective assessment. It absolutely does not mean I lack respect for His Majesty…”

“Exactly. His Majesty has a transcendent memory, so his swordsmanship certainly won’t have grown rusty, but Major General Wolf only just returned from the battlefield…”

Watching every beast immediately agree despite the match having barely begun, Leonard, leader of the beastfolk, was heartbroken. “You! Where is the loyalty expected of Beast’s ministers? Can you call yourselves His Majesty’s most devoted subjects while speaking like this?”

“Then who do you think will win, Leonard…?”

“Nonsense! Do you even need to ask? Les, obviously!”

“Oh… wait. Why hasn’t Major General Wolf transformed into his beast form?”

Only after a surprised minister raised the question did everyone notice the anomaly. No one who reached the final stage of the World Tournament was ordinary. Moreover, the strength of both Les and Carter III was evident to all. Matches between elite warriors always became intense quickly. Though only a few minutes had passed, the struggle was already deadlocked and the atmosphere taut. Yet contrary to everyone’s expectations, Major General Wolf had not used the beast form or unarmed human combat at which he excelled. Instead, he too had drawn a sword he had not used in years—and was fighting Carter III with it!

Carter III had personally taught Les swordsmanship, guiding him hand by hand. Their sword forms were almost identical, but perhaps because of their differing personalities, the way they attacked was entirely different. Major General Wolf’s swordsmanship was simple and direct. His offense and defense were both exceptionally crisp and steady, and even when an attack failed, he did not hesitate for an instant, merely preparing the next movement with calm composure. His Majesty Carter III’s swordsmanship, by contrast, was far more fluid and splendid. Every flourish was beautifully executed and flowed as naturally as water, carrying the stability and ease unique to maturity. He did not seem fixated on victory so much as playfully testing the child he had raised to see how far he had grown.

Carter III was visibly thrilled that Les had chosen to fight with the swordsmanship he had taught him rather than some other method. Whenever Les delivered an especially fine strike, the emperor unconsciously raised an eyebrow in obvious satisfaction.

“Major General Wolf has cleanly evaded His Majesty’s flourish and is taking the opportunity to thrust! Ah… His Majesty successfully blocked with his sword! Their blades are locked! Major General Wolf is stronger, but His Majesty’s sword is exceptionally nimble. At present, His Majesty still holds the advantage. If this next strike can—tsk! What a pity! Such a pity!”

The beastfolk had always been a warlike race, and almost every large animal learned at least some fighting techniques. Even so, not every official and noble in the hall could understand this match. Salman, the beastfolk general most qualified to speak, therefore had to painstakingly explain it to them. At that moment, he could not help lamenting that the nearly perfect strike of the young officer he favored had failed to drive back their great emperor. He beat his chest and stamped his feet in involuntary regret.

In Salman’s eyes, Les’s thrust was a textbook example worthy of formal study. Yet Carter III’s response was even more seamless, nimbly dissolving the danger. Still, that perilous instant gave neither side an irreversible advantage. The outcome remained obscure as the two continued advancing and retreating in turn.

No one now believed His Majesty Carter III’s swordsmanship had declined after forty. The evidence was before their eyes. Not one of Major General Wolf’s movements was flawed, and even a more experienced commander could probably have done no better in his place. More surprising still was the realization that Les was so highly accomplished with a sword. Most beastfolk had mistakenly believed he had entirely abandoned the swordsmanship His Majesty taught him after leaving for Wold Warrior School.

It turned out he merely used it less often because a sword was inconvenient for a style that alternated between human and beast forms.

Their back-and-forth struggle continued for more than ten minutes. Salman’s explanations could not keep pace with their movements, and his mouth and throat unknowingly grew dry. Those beastfolk who had not lain down felt as though their necks would snap from staring at the ceiling. Every pair of eyes darted rapidly after Les’s and Carter III’s blades. Their reactions nearly mirrored those of the tense human spectators at the arena itself. Grave suspense filled every corner of the great hall. Suddenly—

When Major General Wolf attacked once more, nearly everyone craned their necks at once. Though they knew no amount of effort could bring the image on the ceiling any closer, they could not help themselves. Carter III narrowly retreated two steps, intending to evade, but failed! Major General Wolf seized the opportunity and pressed forward with a swift chain of attacks. As a descendant of the giant wolf race in his early twenties, Les held the advantage in height, youth, and stamina. His swordsmanship was somewhat rigid, but exceedingly practical. As Carter III’s strength gradually drained away, Les’s advantage became increasingly obvious.

Shing! Shing! Clang—shing! Ring—

Suddenly, silver-white sword light flashed several times across the ceiling. Before anyone could understand what had happened, Carter III had been driven to the edge of the arena by the child of whom he was so proud. His one golden and one blue eye widened in surprise—though rather than surprise alone, his gaze seemed to hold a complicated mixture of pride and joy. The next instant, Carter III smiled and lowered his sword.

Les paused, then lowered his as well.

Even the referee in the arena did not understand what had happened. From his perspective, someone of Carter III’s ability could plainly continue. After staring for a moment, he stepped forward to ask.

“…There is no need.”

Asked whether he wished to continue, Carter III smiled and appeared entirely calm.

“The outcome has already been decided.”

As he spoke, he patted Les on the shoulder. The circumstances made it inappropriate to expose their identities, so he said nothing more, but Les plainly understood him.

“What a shame…” Carter III withdrew his hand and muttered softly with a smile. “I had hoped to prepare several more victory flowers for Louisa…”

Les looked at him in confusion. Carter III seemed to have said something, but he had not heard it clearly.

Carter III waved him off casually. “It’s nothing. It has nothing to do with you. More importantly… go and receive your flowers!”

Les paused, then finally turned his attention toward the stands. He saw Aisha waving at him, and an indescribable surge of emotion rose within his chest. This victory was more exhilarating than any before it. The hot rush in his blood felt like defeating a powerful opponent for the first time as a student.

Les instinctively glanced toward the judges’ platform as well. Tina Killott looked… extremely displeased. Her expression was terrible. Even so, with extraordinary stiffness and tremendous reluctance, her face sour, she gave him an almost imperceptible nod before turning away. She gripped the shaft of the spear she always carried so tightly that it seemed ready to splinter.

A new bouquet of victory flowers was placed in Les’s hands. He collected himself, walked toward Aisha, and offered it to her.

Naturally, Aisha was delighted—so delighted that her thoughts went blank and she had no idea what to say, though she did feel somewhat apologetic toward her mother. Les presenting his flowers to her had nearly become a fixed feature of the World Tournament. People began whistling as soon as his victory was declared. Neither of them had attention to spare for that now. Aisha held the bouquet and hesitated for a moment, then reached down from the slightly elevated stands to embrace him. Les hurriedly extended his arms to catch her. The girl’s soft, sweet warmth surrounded him once more, and his heart involuntarily quickened. Lost in the warmth and softness beneath his hands, his resolve gave way, and he simply lifted her out of the stands…

Meanwhile, the ceiling of Beast’s imperial palace was still displaying the transmitted scene, and the watching beastfolk were in an uproar.

“That’s right! It’s her!” Salman shouted in excitement. “The girl I told you about—the one Major General Wolf stuffed into his fur in broad daylight!”