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Chapter 288 - Jurassic Valley (XLV)
🕑 Added 2025-06-20 00:00:05 +0000 UTCAs they reached the village, the sun was already down.
Flickering bonfires lit the winding paths, casting dancing shadows over the uneven stone and dirt. Warm hues rippled across fur, scale, and hide as the beastmen gathered in circles—laughing, eating, and drinking from large, polished horns.
As they passed through, Ayu received wave after wave from the locals.
Alonso, meanwhile, found himself slowing down, curiously studying the life unfolding around them.
The beastmen were quite the sight at first glance—some covered in thick fur, others with scaled hides that shimmered under the firelight. Long tails curled lazily behind them, and a few bore fangs, claws, or even horns sprouting from their temples. It should have felt chaotic, strange, maybe even dangerous.
But… it didn’t.
Despite the wild features, the village had an almost festive air. There was no fear in their eyes—only laughter, pride, and a raw, unfiltered sense of belonging.
Children hopped between the huts, sparring with wooden sticks. Their movements were sharp, tense—shockingly fast for their age. The adults simply roared with laughter, clinking their makeshift jugs and shouting encouragement.
The scent of smoke and roasting meat filled the air, mixed with something fermented—bitter and thick. Alonso took in a cautious breath.
The smell reminded him—vaguely—of beer.
He turned slightly, raising an eyebrow at Ayu.
“What are they drinking?”
“It’s called braluc. Tastes like burning bark soaked in regret. Strong stuff—but it gets the job done.”
Interesting.
“So, is this some kind of festival?” he asked.
Ayu tilted her head for a moment, then laughed.
“This?” she said, waving a hand at the chaos. “Nah. This is just another night.”
Alonso blinked.
“You’re serious?”
“Wait till you see them when something actually happens. Then… it gets really wild,” she said with a grin.
He shook his head, still trying to process the rhythm of the place. It was so different from the Ajnal—or anything he had seen before, for that matter. Heck, it vaguely reminded him of sports pubs back in Melbourne!
“You seem quite popular here.”
“Popular?” She laughed. “Yes, you could say that.”
And judging by the way the beastmen shouted greetings, clinked jugs in her direction, and made room wherever she walked, Alonso suspected that perhaps ‘quite popular’ was an understatement.
They approached one of the larger bonfires, where a wide circle of beastmen sat sprawled on thick pelts and smooth stones. A burly male with braided fur and jagged fangs noticed Ayu and waved at her.
“If it’s not Ayu! So, this is the famous Alonso?” he called out, voice deep and cheerful.
At the mention of his name, the others turned toward him. Dozens of sharp eyes locked onto him at once, and for a brief moment, the air quieted. The chatter died just long enough for Alonso to feel the weight of their attention.
He remained composed, smiled, and sent a quick pulse toward Ayu.
“What am I supposed to say now?”
Ayu smiled mischievously, replying with a pulse—an image of him doing a backflip, landing in a flashy pose.
Alonso exhaled through his nose. This girl…
Not even going to introduce me properly, huh? But ‘famous’? So she’d been talking about me. Somehow, that felt… nice.
He stepped forward and raised a hand in a respectful beastman gesture—palm forward, then to the chest—before giving a small bow of his head.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” he said evenly.
There was a moment of silence—then a massive hand smacked him on the back, the impact echoing like a drumbeat through the air. Alonso hadn’t even seen it coming, which alarmed him quite a bit.
“Why’d you refuse our invitation earlier, lad?”
Invitation?
Alonso turned and recognized the speaker—a middle-aged beastman he’d briefly encountered before being intercepted by Makoh.
“Oh, about that... just didn’t want to cause any misunderstandings,” Alonso said, keeping his voice calm.
“Misunderstandings? Eh, fair enough,” the beastman chuckled. He walked over to the circle, grabbed a polished horn filled with something dark and frothy, then turned around. “Well? What are you waiting for? Sit.”
Meanwhile, Ayu had already made herself comfortable. She’d dropped down into the circle with zero hesitation, folding herself into a lazy sprawl, her legs propped up over a thick, furred tail someone had left coiled on the ground. She looked entirely at home—grinning as she shamelessly stole a roasted chunk of meat from someone’s plate like it belonged to her.
Alonso settled down beside her, a little more stiffly. The beastmen around the fire continued chatting in their native tongue—rough, rolling syllables—though he picked up pieces here and there.
“Outsider...”
“Skinny arms...”
“Tired eyes...”
“Ayu’s mate?”
He did his best to stay relaxed, but couldn’t help glancing sideways at Ayu. She was already smirking, clearly enjoying every bit of it.
Then, one of them—a lean, sharp-eyed female with small ivory horns—reached behind a log and pulled out a heavy jug shaped from a hollowed beast horn. She passed it to the middle-aged beastman, who offered it straight to Alonso with a wide grin.
“Here, lad, grab a drink,” he said in his thick voice.
Alonso took the jug, surprised by its weight. He raised it to his nose—and immediately recoiled.
The fuck…?
It smelled like thick iron and rot.
He stared inside. The liquid shimmered dark crimson under the firelight. Blood?
He glanced sideways. Ayu was watching him with visible amusement, her cheek resting on her palm.
“Tradition,” she said innocently.
Then the fire circle went quiet. No one spoke. Every beastman stared—waiting.
Peer pressure here is no joke…
Alonso sighed inwardly as he held the jug a moment longer. Not the worst thing he’d tried... probably.
He lifted it, tilted his head back—and drank.
The taste hit like a punch to the throat. Thick, metallic, spiced with something that felt like bark and burning pepper. His eyes watered, his gut twisted, but he kept drinking until the jug was empty.
He lowered it and let out a breath like steam, trying not to gag. He kept his expression as steady as he could manage.
For a beat, there was silence. Then—
Laughter exploded around the fire.
One of the beastmen clapped him on the shoulder—hard enough to jolt his entire frame.
“Nicely done, kid!” someone shouted.
Ayu smirked and leaned toward him.
“If it helps, I went through the same.”
Alonso coughed once, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and muttered, “Doesn’t help.”
The conversation continued, and Alonso learned some names—starting with the one who gave him the drink: Grahn. According to Ayu, he, like the other Elite Beastmen around, were stronger than her and only second to Makoh.
Later on, Alonso was offered a braluc. Tasted like shit, but at least it wasn’t fucking blood.
Still, the real surprise was the effect. After just a few sips, he felt a light dizziness—not overwhelming, but definitely noticeable. That alone shouldn’t have meant much... except his body was no longer supposed to be affected so easily by external substances. Which raised an unsettling question—
What the hell is this braluc actually made of?
Whatever it was, it hit in the right way. Slowly, he started opening up, joining in the talk more freely. The conversations grew louder, more animated. Felt almost like a bar trip with Ayu’s friends.
But then—
A loud boom.
Followed by another.
A deep, pulsing thum-thum echoed across the village.
Drums.
The shift was immediate. The mood quieted. Voices dropped. Even Ayu stopped mid-sip, eyes sharpening. The laughter faded, replaced by a low, thrumming tension.
Grahn stood up, cracking his neck with a slow, deliberate motion. The light from the fire glinted off his fangs as he glanced toward the center of the village.
Alonso turned to Ayu.
“What’s happening?”
She didn’t look at him—just grinned slightly and said, “This is the good part.”
Grahn stepped away from the bonfire, joined by two others who emerged from different fire circles across the village. Together, the three walked toward a large open space at the village center, where the firelight flickered higher.
They each picked up a long, thick bone—carved and worn with age—and dipped them into buckets filled with a dark, reddish substance. Blood, maybe... but thicker. Probably mixed with something else.
Then, in complete silence, they began to walk in wide arcs, the bones tracing dark red lines across the ground.
Slowly, a wide circle took shape.
A circle of blood.
Afterwards, Grahn and the others threw their bones to the side. The other two walked off without a word, leaving him alone in the centre.
Grahn rolled his shoulders, and turned toward the gathering crowd. His voice, when it came, echoed across the firelit square—low, rough, and full of energy.
“Brothers! Sisters!” Grahn roared. “Tonight… the blood runs!”
A wave of cheers erupted around the fires—howls, roars, fists slamming into chests.
He waited, grinning wide, fangs glinting in the firelight.
“But tonight—” he growled, pacing the edge of the circle, “—tonight is no ordinary night.”
He turned sharply.
“We’ve got a guest. A soft-foot. From the West!”
Laughter rumbled across the gathering.
Alonso sighed inwardly, while Ayu smiled at him. Here we go.
Grahn raised a hand.
“But not just any guest.” His voice dropped low, then climbed like thunder. “This one walks with our Ayu!”
The cheers came harder this time. Howls cracked the night air.
Grahn’s voice turned sharper.
“She names him her mate. Her chosen. Her life bond.”
A silence fell. Eyes shifted. The air grew heavier.
Grahn bared his teeth, pacing back toward the center.
“So—what do you say we welcome him as he deserves?”
The crowd roared in approval. Horns were raised and braluc spilled. Feet pounded the ground like a drumbeat of war.
Alonso sent Ayu a pulse. “Really?”
Ayu just tilted her head with a smile. “Just try not to die, okay?”
Alonso stared at her, unsure if that was sarcasm or not. In either case… all eyes were on him.
He exhaled sharply. Fuck it.
He stood and walked toward the arena. The pressure in the air felt real—like gravity itself had thickened. And his head was still a little foggy from the braluc.
As he stepped into the ring, he locked eyes with Grahn, who stood waiting, arms folded, grin sharp. Alonso stopped halfway, posture relaxed, body facing the circle, shoulder turned slightly toward Grahn.
“So… who’s first? You?”
Grahn’s eyes widened slightly—just for a breath—before he burst out laughing.
“Good. Good. That’s the spirit, kid.”
He flashed a smile full of fangs.
“But let’s not make this short.”
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
“If… you stay standing long enough—” A sudden pressure pressed down on Alonso, enough to make his fingers twitch. “—then I’ll play with you.”
Grahn turned toward the others, voice rising. “So—who wants to start?”
Dozens of beastmen took a step forward at once.
The energy shifted instantly. Friendly fire-circle chatter turned into a rising wall of growls, jostling shoulders, and heavy boots scraping against stone.
The crowd surged. Words flew in the beastman tongue—fast, sharp, pissed off. He caught a few repeats: “Me,” “mine,” “first,” and something that roughly translated as “shut the fuck up.”
One lunged, another shoved him back, and for a moment it looked like the whole village would descend into chaos—until someone forced his way through the pack with both arms, shoving competitors aside with brute force.
He entered the circle without a word, bare-chested and thickly scarred, twin curved daggers flashing under the firelight. His expression was blank, but there was a quiet fury in his eyes.
Alonso stared at him. Funny horns, he mused.
The guy looked strong, but…
He unsheathed one sword only.
Then a loud clap echoed, and the beastman charged.
Alonso felt his body just a bit too relaxed. That shit really hits hard. Whatever.
He leaned back, letting the swift slash whistle past his chest, then twisted his waist and slammed forward with the pommel of his blade.
The beastman shifted back, trying to avoid the strike—but Alonso grinned.
He let go of the sword mid-motion, his pulse accelerating it forward.
The weapon shot straight ahead, faster than before, and cracked the beastman in the temple.
As his opponent stumbled from the hit, Alonso crouched low and launched upward, driving a roundhouse kick square into his gut.
The poor bastard went flying, rolling out of the circle with a grunt.
Alonso stood up straight, his sword snapping back into his hand—though not before doing a fancy spin in the air.
The crowd went silent.
The beastman spat blood, scowled at him, but didn’t re-enter. He just walked off, fists clenched.
Alonso expected cheers. At least a howl or two. Instead, the tension in the air got worse.
The fuck do you guys want, huh?
A familiar pulse flicked into his mind. “Don’t take it personal. They just really hate people who use waves in combat.”
Seriously? What did they expect? That he’d play without it and get his ribs cracked?
Yeah, no.
He took a step forward, blade hanging loose by his side.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Come on, you furry bastards!”
The beastmen all rose almost in unison, fury in their eyes.
Meanwhile, still comfortably seated by the campfire, Ayu burst into laughter as she sent Alonso another pulse.
“About that… I might’ve translated ‘Rashtats’ as just ‘bastards’ earlier, but it’s more like ‘unblooded mongrel born from prey.’ Basically the worst insult you can throw in their culture. So… good luck.”
