'...'
The uncle sat on a barren rock with sharp edges, assuming a strict meditative posture. His right hand rested loosely on his knee, while his left hand gripped a long spear, its tip embedded in the accumulated snow beneath the rock. The spear stood tall like a silent guardian, nearly as high as the rock itself. Its polished blade reflected a faint glimmer, shimmering in the freezing air. From time to time, frozen breath escaped from it, drifting like silent ghosts before fading into the void.
With each deep breath the uncle drew in, thin wisps of air slipped into his lungs, only to be released in a thick cloud of vapor. Across his body, faint lines of energy flickered, rising in a steady pattern from his feet to his head, disappearing at the edge of his form only to reappear again in an endless cycle.
The solemn silence of the scene was broken by hesitant footsteps. The poor soldier—the one who had borne the burden of the rat's success until now—approached cautiously. The uncle sensed his presence but did not move.
"Uncle," the soldier whispered, his voice trembling.
The uncle remained silent for a long time, leaving the soldier trapped in uncertainty, struggling with himself over whether to speak or stay quiet.
At last, after minutes that felt like an eternity, the soldier gathered the courage to speak.
"Uncle, a word has arrived."
The uncle slowly opened his eyes, then turned his head toward the soldier, fixing him with a cold stare. A shiver ran through the soldier's body. As he instinctively stepped back, the message slipped from his shaking fingers, beginning a slow descent through the air, swaying like a helpless autumn leaf, before finally settling in the uncle's open palm. He held it between his fingers, scanning the lines swiftly. His once-calm expression hardened into a deep frown.
'Just to put an end to this farce, I'll show you what it means to command my men, dog Hamim.'
The letter crumpled between his fingers before he tossed it aside, closing his eyes once more in an attempt to regain his lost composure.
The poor soldier retreated to his place, unable to do anything else. Tension had been building ever since the uncle and his group had arrived at the foot of the mountain. At that time, he had ordered all the soldiers stationed higher up to clear the way for the rat without interfering. Though the soldiers positioned along the long path had obeyed, the rat had never appeared.
Then came the previous message, revealing that Hamim had continued giving orders to direct the rat toward him. The uncle tried to steady himself, but his rising anger toward Hamim made it impossible.
A fierce wind howled, shaking the tree branches violently, as if time itself had quickened. The poor soldier returned, carrying another letter, his face now marked by fear.
"Uncle..." his voice wavered.
'So there is no rest for me,' the uncle thought, allowing the letter to drift into his grasp. His eyes widened as he read the news—one of the soldiers had discovered a sea of mangled corpses. From the description, the uncle immediately knew the culprit.
"The Rage Bears," he muttered twice before setting his spear aside. A feather and ink appeared out of nowhere, and with a swift motion, he wrote an urgent letter and sent it up the mountain. The new territory of the bears had been found.
The bears changed their locations once every year. Even with the detailed maps of the mountain ranges, finding them remained a challenge every single time.
Reclaiming his spear, his cloak billowed violently, trapping the wind beneath it and lifting his body off the high rock; he landed smoothly on the snow-covered ground without making a sound. He had no more interest in meditation.
He surged forward, the poor soldier panting behind him, until they reached a rocky ledge facing another on the opposite side, separated by a narrow stone passage. Soldiers were stationed on both edges, standing near their tents, weapons drawn, their expressions alert and ready for battle at any moment.
The uncle stepped toward a wooden table where a map lay covered in markings. His eyes traced the possible paths the rat might have taken.
"Uncle," one soldier reported, "we've learned that Hamim is positioned in the narrow pass. It looks like the rat fell into the trap and went to him."
"Then our presence here is pointless," another remarked.
"Weren't both Lady Zaba and Hamim ordered to return?"
"Perhaps Hamim ignored the order."
The group exchanged knowing smiles, hoping that was the case. Though they knew his punishment wouldn't be as severe as exile or death, the thought of him facing any form of discipline pleased them.
"Send word up the mountain to confirm if he is there," the uncle commanded. A soldier immediately rushed off to carry out the order.
The uncle studied the map, trying to understand why so many corpses had been found near the bears' territory. It seemed as if the rat had deliberately led them there—but how?
His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden cry from the poor soldier, who had just read a new message.
"Uncle! The rat has reached Fenra Village!"
Everyone frowned.
"Fenra Village? The end of the narrow pass? Wasn't Hamim waiting for him in the middle?"
"Then he climbed the mountain. Damn it! He wasted our time and ruined the pincer attack!"
"Curse him! He's a nuisance no matter what!"
"Another word!" a soldier shouted from a distance.
"What now?" the uncle muttered, focusing on the approaching soldier.
"Hamim… hasn't appeared at the High mountain yet."
Eyes widened. Sweat dripped down foreheads as if they had been struck by a wave of suffocating heat, despite the freezing air surrounding them.
A heavy silence followed. Each passing second formed new scenarios in their minds about what might have happened. It wasn't hard to figure out.
A broad smile flickered across the uncle's face before he quickly hid it. Eyes darted between the gathered warriors, each searching for someone to blame.
Even though they understood what this news meant, their minds struggled to accept it. Someone had to pay the price, but everyone had an excuse. In the end, Hamim was the one who ignored the orders—so how was it their fault?
This had happened many times before. The arrogant often brought about their own downfall.
The uncle's cloak fluttered again as he lifted himself into the air, making sure everyone could see him.
"Listen, all of you!" His voice rang out, echoing with a solemn weight that drew every gaze toward him.
"Countless generations have passed, and never once has anyone entered the Mountains of Rage and survived. But that cursed rat didn't just enter—he slaughtered our brothers and dragged our name through the mud in front of the humans. I don't even need to tell you about the stories that will soon spread, tales that will shame and humiliate us. And not only that—he did what we, the kings of these mountains, should have done. He killed the demon and took the blessings that were rightfully ours."
Veins bulged on foreheads.
"But that's not all," the uncle continued, his voice rough. "Who among you doesn't understand the value of the Gray Eye? Whether we like it or not, it stands before us as a symbol of our failure. It is our most precious treasure, and now it seems that cursed rat has made all of Baniaasif lose one of their greatest relics. But do you know what's worse than all of that?"
They exchanged heavy glances, struggling to grasp the scale of the disaster.
"All of this happened under our watch. History will record this disgrace, and we won't just be a laughingstock among humans on this mountain—we will be mocked by every mountain in the world."
Teeth clenched, jaws tightened, and an uncontainable roar of frustration threatened to break free from deep within.
"Do you feel ashamed?"
"Yes!"
"Do you feel humiliated?"
"Yes!"
"Then let me tell you something even worse—what if he escapes?"
Fists trembled. Minds spun with imagined mockery spanning generations.
"Will you let that happen?"
"Never!"
"Over my dead body and my descendants'!"
"Who does he think he is?!"
"I'd rather stab myself with Samir's dagger than witness such a day!"
"Then," the uncle said, his tone steadying, "prepare yourselves. He's coming."
His shout rang across the area, and the soldiers scattered, each rushing to their position.
The uncle stepped onto a rocky ledge.
"Send word to all soldiers along the long road. Tell them to move down immediately."
The order was carried out at once. From within his cloak, a wolf as tall as a man emerged.
"You get ready too," the uncle said firmly, patting the wolf's head.
At that same moment, Vio stood frozen, expression stiff, unsure how to handle the group of villagers blocking his path like a living wall, refusing to let him pass.