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MHD Chapter 135: Sorry, No Scale for You
🕑 Added 2025-08-21 18:08:50 +0000 UTCWhen the flame finally burned out, the once swampy land had become cracked and parched. Smoke curled from fissures in the earth, and upon the surface, aside from a few carbonized fragments of fin, nothing else remained.
The Jyuratodus and Barroth that had been locked in fierce combat in the distance suddenly halted their movements, as if they had come to some unspoken agreement. The Jyuratodus pulled back, darting swiftly into the deeper waters, while the two Barroth, eyes bloodshot, bellowed in the direction of the retreating piscine wyverns before rushing toward the shallows without even sparing a moment to catch their breath or tend their wounds.
Logan’s blast of flame had, in fact, saved their lives. Otherwise, they would have perished either in the Jyuratodus’ deadly constriction or to the infestation of its larvae invading their bodies.
Once the cats dragged the wooden plank to the shallow waters, a sharp whistle rang out. From the reeds around them burst forth a group of Kestodon, charging to the call. The cats quickly fastened ropes to them, and the beasts hauled the plank toward the shore.
Indeed, these cats were the Wildspire Waste Grimalkynes who had recently joined the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe. Because of their intimate knowledge of the Wastes and their methods of taming Kestodon, they had been assigned here, to this hunters’ camp far from their settlement, with the task of handling rescue operations using carts.
It wasn’t a matter of exclusion. The truth was that the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe simply lacked the numbers. But the cats from the Wastes, raised in a barren land since birth, struggled to adapt to tending Fire Wyvern hatchlings or cleaning out the nests and other such chores.
On top of that, the Research Commission had long hoped for the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe to spare some paws to help them with surveys of the Wildspire Waste. After much discussion, the arrangement had been made: the Wildspire cats would serve as guides in the Wastes and take charge of rescue cart duties.
When the hunter was finally dragged safely ashore, the rescue mission was complete. Logan did not linger in the slightest. He did not, like the ordinary Fire Wyverns, leave behind a scale as proof of identity for the Commission to later deliver his reward.
Instead, he turned immediately and took off, soaring over the heads of the hunter and the cats. His sudden appearance startled the wingdrakes ferrying reinforcements who had rushed here upon receiving the rescue signal, nearly causing the hunters hanging from their talons to stage an accidental midair crash-landing.
“It… it didn’t leave a scale?” The field researcher, who had already prepared to receive one of Logan’s scales, was stunned when the wyvern broke convention and departed so decisively.
“Uh, we don’t know, meow,” the Wildspire cats answered with some confusion. Their time within the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe was still far too short; they hadn’t even learned to recognize all of the Fire Wyverns in the flock yet.
Of course, they all knew Logan’s appearance—thanks to the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes spreading his reputation far and wide. Those cats seemed almost evangelical, intent on preaching to every cats of the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe.
They wanted the great Fire Wyvern Boss to be more than just the faith of the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes. They wanted every cat of the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern tribe to revere the “Fire Wyvern Boss”!
As for why Logan left no scale behind—come on. It wasn’t as if he needed that small amount of reward. And as for his scales…
Because the Huntsman had now become a “special hunter” directly under the Commander-in-Chief, he spent his days stationed at the stronghold. When idle, he often passed the time polishing his greatsword.
Everyone in the Research Commission knew that this weapon—comparable to one forged from mythical materials—had been crafted from the scales of the Ancient Forest Fire Wyvern Boss himself. Later, at great cost, they had even managed to purchase some of Logan and Aki’s recently shed scales from the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes.
Using these new scales, the Huntsman’s weapon and armor had been upgraded once more.
The armor he now wore shimmered green with golden highlights, while his greatsword bore crimson patterns streaked with silver. Its sharpness held steady at white, making hunters drool with envy.
From then on, equipment crafted from Logan and Aki’s materials became the most coveted among the hunters of the Commission.
It wasn’t that the Commission lacked rarer materials—there were still Rajang and Deviljho parts stored in the warehouses that surpassed Logan’s scales.
But those were untouchable. Even for research, the amount was barely sufficient. There was no way they would ever be handed over for hunters to forge gear.
In comparison, Logan and Aki’s materials could be obtained as long as one paid the right price to the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes. That was far easier than actually attempting to hunt a monster of such high ecological rank.
Thus, the very things other Fire wyverns flocked to—their star-grilled meats, secret potions, or the special venoms used to hone their own poison glands—were, to Logan, nothing more than routine tributes offered by the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes.
And that was precisely why he never bothered to follow the unspoken rule of leaving his scales behind.
...
The three hunters who had rushed in to support them struggled to steady themselves as the wingdrakes panicked. Seeing the Rathalos fly off without any intent to attack, they wiped the cold sweat from their brows. At this altitude, if they had been attacked, the fall would have been disastrous.
Although, according to the records, there had never been a hunter who died from falling.
But that was only because hunters usually fell deep into the mountains and forests—if they died, their bodies became monster fodder, leaving no remains to be found.
That was why the records only mentioned hunters dying in battle, but never from a fall.
At the edge of the swamp, the hunters managed to land safely. They saw the cats loading an injured hunter onto a cart, with four tamed Kestodon standing nearby. Alongside their envy, a spark of excitement burned in their chests.
It was said that the “Beast Training Unit,” jointly established with the Fire Wyvern Grimalkynes, had already shown promising results. The first batch of Jagras, strengthened through special training with medicinal herbs, was about to be released. With their stats improved across the board, ground operations and hunting expeditions would become much less dangerous.
No more need to envy that kid who rode a Canyne!
“How did you manage to get out of there? Was it thanks to that Rathalos just now? And why do the two of you look so downcast? It was just a minor survey mission. If you failed, then you failed. You’re veterans—don’t tell me you need me to help you adjust your mentality?”
The hunters who had come to support them looked at the scribe’s bowed head and dejected face. The hunter lying silently on the cart, clutching his wound, only deepened the impression that they couldn’t accept the failure.
Since the Investigation Corps had come to the New World, failed missions could fill an entire counter’s worth of records. Both of them were seasoned veterans—why was this one failure too much to bear?
“Wyvern scale.”
“What?” The scribe’s voice was so quiet that the supporting hunter didn’t catch it at first.
“I said—the wyvern scale of the King of Fire Wyverns. We didn’t get it!”
“What!!” The supporting hunter gasped, instinctively turning to look in the direction Logan had flown. By now, the Rathalos was nowhere to be seen.
“You’re saying the one who helped you just now was the King of the Ancient Forest Fire Wyverns? And he didn’t leave behind a single scale?!”
The scribe nodded, letting out a long sigh.
The hunter’s expression twisted at once. No wonder they looked so crushed. If that one had left behind even a single scale, it could be used to craft equipment, kept as a family heirloom, or traded for other resources. Any of those options would have been immensely valuable.
Everyone knew—the scales of the King of the Ancient Forest Fire Wyverns weren’t just rare treasures in the New World. Even in the Old World, their worth was sky-high.
“My condolences,” the hunter said, patting the scribe’s shoulder, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Of course—more than celebrating one’s own success, what really stung was seeing a friend stumble right on the edge of sudden fortune. Even knowing his attitude was wrong, he couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of these two losing out on a material worth countless research points.
“Get lost!”
Even knowing they meant no harm, the scribe couldn’t stand those smug grins and gave one of them a punch.
“All set, meow! Ready to depart, meow!” The cats mounted the Kestodon, reins firmly tied, with the cart hitched to the other end.
The group, having received the reminder, immediately shifted into a defensive stance to provide escort. As for the wounded hunter, he had already taken a Max Potion and downed a Mega Potion. Other than weakness and temporary loss of mobility, there was nothing serious. With some rest back at camp, he would recover.
