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MHD Chapter 138: To Rise or to Perish
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 06:55:38 +0000 UTCFor Logan and Aki, their small moments of intimacy were just a minor part of daily life.
As time passed, the Fire Wyvern pack gradually noticed something unusual. They realized that when several of them gathered together, their stamina seemed to drain less. Group hunts became less exhausting, and after battles, the flames they breathed carried noticeably greater power.
It was as if each of them were a node. When enough gathered close, they wove together a network, and within that net’s range, they received these enhancements.
Among the Fire Wyverns of the Ancient Tree, only a few matters could command their full attention—and strength was always foremost.
So when they discovered these benefits, even the aloof Azure and Pink Fire Wyvern pair, and at times even the Flame Rathalos, began occasionally joining group hunts. They simply wanted to feel that strange sensation—expelling a breath of flame with the effort of one, yet seeing it carry the force of 1.2.
Logan himself had once passed through a hunting ground and stumbled upon several Fire Wyverns in the midst of a coordinated hunt. From the small domain surrounding them, he had felt the surge of fire-aligned energy, an amplification that made their breaths burn brighter.
“Could this be… a kind of group field?”
The thought crossed Logan’s mind. Whatever the case, it was a good thing for the Fire Wyvern pack.
Spring, when all life revives, should have been their season of breeding. But since they were no longer in the Ancient Tree, none of the wyvern families chose to bring forth new offspring.
Even the “concubines” who had followed after the migrating pack knew better than to press the matter. They gave up their earlier intentions, coming only to reunite briefly with their mates, easing the ache of longing.
...
Toward the icy reaches of the New World, atop the seaside cliffs of a great canyon, a four-legged, winged wyvern came crashing down upon the rock face.
Its body was sheathed in black chitin like camouflage, its head shaped like that of a venomous serpent—sightless, with a pair of folding antennae rising from the crown. Its wings were broad beyond measure, the massive crimson talons upon them grotesque in form, and its long tail bristled with spines.
The creature appeared utterly wretched, wracked by a torment beyond words. That inky armor, matched with such a hideous visage, made it seem like a stain upon the world itself, chilling the heart at a glance.
“Roar… roar… roar~”
A trembling, muffled growl escaped its mouth. As its body strained, the scales covering nearly a third of its right side began to creak with a grating screech.
A cloud of black scale-dust scattered from its wings with every heave, slowly swirling into a vortex that enveloped it.
Time dripped by. Upon that barren cliff, devoid of all life, the abyssal howls of the beast echoed, steeped in agony.
At last, with a series of sharp cracks, the dark vortex stilled.
From the black mist wrought of scale-dust stepped a creature whose forelimbs gleamed in platinum. The right side of its body and its wing membrane had turned the same metallic sheen. One emotionless eye fixed its gaze upon the far side of the precipice.
Each painful molt was a trial of death for the Gore Magala. Only by succeeding could it gain tremendous growth in power, with both its body and the concentration of virus within undergoing a qualitative transformation.
Of course, the price was absolute—if the molt failed, what awaited it was nothing but death.
It needed energy. It needed an environment safe enough, hidden enough, and complex enough to ensure the smooth completion of the next two crucial molts.
Born from the corpse of a feeble monster, its starting point had been far weaker than that of others of its kind. Because of this, its nature had grown all the more cautious.
If it could hunt under cover of night, it would never show itself in daylight. If it could chase down a prey already gravely wounded, it would never bother to pursue a healthy one. Even when spreading the Frenzy Virus, it would carefully select a weak and vulnerable area—doing everything possible to ensure it could safely reach this final stage.
Yet who would have thought that in that very region, one of its kind had already been fortunate enough to reach the final molt? From its perception, the other’s chance of success was extremely high.
So, to break free from the suppression that would have left it unable to grow further, it had decisively followed that blazing source of energy away from its dwelling. Like a headless fly, it had drifted across the sea for so long. At last, guided by its sense for life energy and by that mysterious pull, it had arrived here, just before this molt.
The air brimmed with overflowing vitality, making every cell within the Gore Magala’s body—no, within the Chaotic Gore Magala’s body—tremble with elation.
Suppressing its instinct to unleash the Frenzy Virus in a sudden wave, it slowly stepped toward the cliff’s edge.
Now, with one eye successfully formed through molting, it no longer relied so completely on scale-dust to perceive its surroundings.
Every molt of a young Gore Magala was fraught with peril. But these final three or four molts—those that would transform it into Shagaru Magala—were the most critical of all.
At this moment, within the Gore Magala’s body, the terrifying power belonging to Shagaru Magala had already begun to awaken. Even if it did nothing at all, the inability to perfectly control that power would still leave it in excruciating pain.
Years of cautious survival had taught the Chaotic Gore Magala one thing: the more critical the moment, the less it could afford recklessness. No matter how immense the strength now coursing through its body, it could not relax its guard. For any Gore Magala, completing the final molt meant success.
And yet, so many of its kind had fallen at these last few steps—undone by the very surge of newfound, dreadful energy that dulled their vigilance.
Molting was already perilous enough. It could not afford to do anything that might draw the notice of formidable enemies and see itself strangled in the cradle.
Steeling its resolve, enduring the torment of the raging force inside, the Chaotic Gore Magala reabsorbed the Frenzy Virus it had released during the molt. Then it spread its massive wings and took flight toward the distant Coral Highlands.
There, perhaps, it might find a place where it could safely endure this final year.
If the molt succeeded, it would become the new Shagaru Magala.
If the molt failed, then its corpse would “coincidentally” tumble into the Rotten Vale beneath the Coral Highlands, and the vast life force within its body would serve as nourishment for the growth of the New World.
Unbeknownst to all its inhabitants, a terrifying uninvited guest had arrived in the New World. But whether as Gore Magala or as Shagaru Magala, its fate—in both New World and Old—seemed long since ordained. From the very beginning, its end had already been written.
...
Time slipped by, and another year had passed.
At a branch of the ley lines, a massive wyvern, stretching a full 26 meters in length, drew in the flames burning fiercely across its body. Its long, powerful tail idly struck the magma, scattering sparks into the air.
The dripping magma, however, left not the slightest trace upon the crimson scales that shimmered with a metallic silver sheen.
[Current Molting Progress: 62%]
In just over a year, Logan’s molting progress had, under the blessing of Symbiosis, reached an encouraging level. Yet, perhaps because his body was nearing the end of its growth phase, the speed of the molting had slowed somewhat.
Logan, of course, did not let this trouble him. He could clearly sense that the energy within him had reached a critical stage, beginning to accumulate in preparation for the transformation from quantity to quality.
Once that qualitative change took place, the energy would completely reshape his body, allowing him to achieve the final leap in the level of life itself.
This period was of utmost importance to him. Indeed, whether it was someone like Logan, striving for greater strength, or like the Black Flame King of the past, seeking to break through the limits of lifespan, this step was one that could never be avoided.
Success would naturally bring joy. Failure, however, would exact a price far heavier than one could easily bear.
One could say that once this hurdle was crossed, the path ahead would not only quicken but become entirely unobstructed. All that remained would be to wait for time to carry the transformation to its natural completion.
Over this year, Logan had unexpectedly been called to action twice. The rewards from his previous hunt had not even been spent before his boss sent out new commissions.
For Logan, it was a rather novel experience.
Perhaps it was because they knew his “energy-sensing trial card” had not yet expired, but both times, there was no sense of urgency in the summons. It was almost as though it didn’t matter whether he went or not.
Yet for the monsters of the Monster Hunter World, such commissions might be nothing more than obligations. For Logan, however, they were real opportunities for growth and benefit.
So even without any pressure, he still took Aki and the Flame Rathalos to the destination at once, swiftly resolving the incidents.
Perhaps his strength had advanced significantly, or perhaps the missions themselves had simply not been difficult. In either case, both times he was able to eliminate the target with ease, without needing help from Aki or the Flame Rathalos, and with scarcely any effort.
