Chapter 23: Mountain Hunting Day.

As dawn breaks, the clear skies of yesterday give way to clouds.
Today marks April, and the new term’s opening ceremony, originally set for tomorrow, is delayed due to the hunt.
Students on break are stuck in Mou Honmani until the roads are deemed safe.

I leave the dorm casually to avoid Hernest’s suspicion, changing into work clothes at the beast shed’s locker room.
I equip a chest guard, arm guards, and greaves—leather gear more for falling off mounts than combat, but better than nothing.
At the shed, three hippogriffs and an armored dragon are already gone.
Why’s Zoldietta’s hippogriff missing?

Riding two Koketris to White Lily Dorm, I find Dokurobaru waiting, wearing a leather poncho over work clothes—an apron for potion-making, not armor.
Non-knight-course students like us make do with substitutes.
Of course, she’s wearing under-armor beneath.

“Sorry, I brought a lot…”

At her feet are a backpack and two sturdy, locked wooden boxes.

“Taking those?”
“Yes, Proserpine-sensei told me to, via that note…”

If Sensei deemed them necessary, we’ll bring them.
The boxes, though small, are heavy.
I secure them to the Koketris’ saddle racks, covered with waterproof cloth, since carts are impractical in the forest.

We head to the main gate, the designated meeting point, where Sanders-senpai’s hippogriff and Shusendu-senpai’s armored dragon stand out.
Shusendu, handling logistics with her dragon’s hauling capacity, pulls a large sled for rough terrain.

“Everyone’s here. Briefing time!” Sanders announces.

The academy fields nine units: six mandatory knight-course hunt teams of about ten seniors each, and three volunteer support teams.
The hunt’s setup places the army’s HQ south of Mou Viviana, with three primary bases—north, west, south—doubling as supply depots, using lumberjack and hunter cabins.
Paths to these bases allow sled or horse transport, so support teams operate between the town and primary bases.
Hunt teams establish secondary bases deeper in, working from there.
Beyond primary bases, no paths exist, so army soldiers carry supplies.
Dokurobaru’s assigned to a hunt team, so I must follow to a secondary base.

Each direction gets two hunt teams and one support team, working with army units.
Army officers lead bases, but Wannabe-sensei insists academy units retain command autonomy, following his orders when needed, otherwise acting on unit leaders’ judgment.
Sanders’ unit is assigned north, with Shusendu’s support team.
Bugzeed’s there too, with his Hihaki wyvern and a maid, looking like he’s on a picnic.
His wyvern can fly with riders, useful for messengers.

“Earl! Baron! Here to see you off!”

Just before departure, Kussera arrives.
If she knows…

“No worries, Sis rolled the Duke in a blanket!”

I scan for meatheads, but Kussera assures me Mujihidane, who was prepping weapons upon hearing we’re joining, got drugged at breakfast, immobilized, and rolled up by Zoldietta for a lecture.
Zoldietta’s ruthless despite her calm demeanor…

“You’re going because of the Koketris, right?”
“No other reason.”
“As Sis figured… She said take this.”

Kussera hands me what looks like a naginata, but with a shorter handle and inward-curved blade.
It’s a gardening scythe used by Zoldietta, from the gardening club, for pruning.
Ideal for clearing brush or branches while riding a Koketris, its blade has a sharpness-enhancing array, perfect for my low strength and high magic.

“Wishing Earl Mororin and Baron Dokuro a glorious hunt!”

“Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”

Classmates, learning we’re going, perform a western faction send-off ritual.
It feels like a death flag, but they believe it’s for victory and safe return, so I can’t stop them.
Westerners have weird traditions…

“Tell Zoldietta thanks for the scythe. I’ll return it.”

I plant a survival flag, hoping it counters the banzais.
Borrowed items returning alone might be a lover’s trope, so I’m probably fine.
Today, we join the army, reach the primary base, clear threats, and set up camp.

Passing the pasture where we were attacked, I spot six wyverns—winged forelimbs, long necks, and tails—used by dragoons for deep mountain monster surveys.
Only this pasture can handle their 10-meter length.
Their mobility makes it their base.

“Aray, nice work… Do this side too!”

I’m stuck on the armored dragon’s driver platform with Shusendu-senpai, worked to the bone.
Planning to freeload without a unit, I underestimated her.
Noticing my “cool long tool,” she orders me to ride the platform.
The dragon, more dinosaur than dragon, has a platform three meters up.
Unlike horses or hippogriffs, we can’t duck high branches, so I use Zoldietta’s scythe to clear them.
The scythe’s array slices arm-thick branches effortlessly by touch, no strength needed—a perfect tool, as Zoldietta predicted.

Its coolness gets me roped into clearing brush for the campsite, mowing the water-adjacent area alone.
Seniors had machetes, but the army’s portable one-handed ones pale against the gardener’s efficient scythe.
Shusendu, straining her back with a machete, sees me mowing like a lawnmower, yells “No way!” and delegates all work to me while directing.

“Hardworking Aray gets to rest with the big sisters in the cabin!”

The cabin, used by dozens of lumberjacks or hunters, is spacious but cramped with supplies.
Only support team girls and Dokurobaru sleep inside; others use tents.
Somehow, I’m allowed too—probably because I’m with tiny Tarte, treated as a kid.

“If Aray stays in the cabin, I should too!” Bugzeed protests.
“No space for you. Aray worked hard, so he rests properly,” Shusendu snaps.
“Because he’s with a kid?”
“Idiot! Handle your own maid!”

The girls don’t object, but Bugzeed, an easterner like Shusendu, demands to stay.
Why join if he hates camping?
Shusendu, despite their shared faction, shuts him down coldly, confirming his factional ostracism.

“If you hate camping, go home! Your wyvern can make it before dark!”

The sun’s behind the mountains, but the sky’s light enough for Bugzeed’s wyvern to reach the academy.
He clicks his tongue, grabs his maid, and flies off, sulking.
What was the point of coming?

“Buchonarudo-senpai, you’re too reserved for a branch family,” Shusendu says.
“Sorry… My family told me to stay out of it,” replies a knight-course senior who watched silently.

Buchonarudo, from Bugzeed’s branch family, apologizes for the hassle.
Shusendu, a countess from a powerful eastern family, smirks wickedly, like Tarte plotting mischief.
Best leave it alone…

“Senpai, this isn’t right!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine! Aray’s happier this way, right?”

In the cabin, I’m placed among the support team’s big sisters.
Dokurobaru protests, but they coo, “So tiny, so cute!”—probably about Tarte.
I’m a goblin (male), after all.

“Clumsy-hug Dokuro-bitch sleeps on the edge!” Tarte declares.
“That’s harsh…”

Labeled “Dokuro-bitch,” Dokurobaru sniffles and sulks at the edge.
Seniors petting Tarte quiet down as she snores, avoiding waking her.
Shusendu’s face, close opposite Tarte, makes my heart skip, but as a gentleman, I’d never think improper thoughts… probably.

Day two of the hunt dawns under dreary clouds, rain looming.
We split into three directions to reach secondary bases while hunting.
The army forms eight-soldier squads: three hunt side-by-side, two handle supply transport.
Sanders negotiated to let the army hunt while students manage transport and base security, so we clear paths for transport squads.
The scythe shines again.

Light rain starts past noon, but we reach the secondary base—a basic shelter for lumberjacks or hunters caught in bad weather—before it worsens.
Smaller than the cabin, it’s sturdy, used for healing, so only Dokurobaru, an army nurse, and injured soldiers stay.
Today’s hunt clashed with a monkey troop, leaving a few soldiers with minor injuries and one snakebite victim.

Tarte and I prefer staying with the Koketris, using a waterproof tarp as a makeshift beast shed-tent, joined by Sanders and his hippogriff.
The mounts get along, so no partitions are needed, giving us space.
Rain intensifies by evening, but Sanders dug drainage ditches, keeping us dry.
With Tarte as a hot water bottle and feather blankets, it’s comfier than a tent.

“Is it okay to bring her?” Sanders asks, watching Tarte play under Illegal Pitch’s wing after eating an apple.

“She says she’s fine even if a dragon swallows her.”
“A dragon…? Are all spirits like that?”

Sanders glances at his thunder spirit, who shakes its head vigorously, pale, as if saying, “Don’t lump me with her!”