"Move, move, move!"
Seeing the Monoblos drawn away by Isis, Altaïr and Asa sprinted over to the injured.
The most severely wounded were the two crew members from the small Sandship that had been shattered by the Monoblos's horn.
One was slightly better off, suffering only a broken arm, and could at least stand.
The other had been thrown against the Monoblos's head crest when their ship was flipped. Several ribs were broken, and fragments had pierced his lungs, making it hard to breathe as he coughed up bloody froth.
This was not the sort of injury a couple of Potions could instantly fix. Altaïr felt his scalp prickle as he considered the safest way to carry the wounded aboard a ship.
Suddenly, someone cried out in alarm, "Cephalos!"
Altaïr and the others whipped around. Several triangular dorsal fins were skimming rapidly across the surface of the sand, closing in fast.
"Don't panic! The more you panic, the lower your chances of escape!" A stout man who looked to be in his fifties dashed to his overturned Sandship and fished several harpoons from the hold. "Just defend yourselves with your backs to the Sandship. Leave the rest to me!" Altaïr also drew his Carving Knife and faced the approaching Cephalos pack.
Unarmed, he'd been helpless against the Monoblos, but against a few Cephalos? With a bit of effort, he could handle them.
"Do as he says! We've got a skilled Hunter with us!" Asa grabbed a harpoon and shouted.
The men who'd grabbed harpoons, ready to fight to the death, immediately retreated to the Sandship at those words. Altaïr felt a little relieved by their response.
He'd been afraid they would panic and scatter. If that happened, there'd be no way he could protect them all.
The Cephalos were fast, reaching Altaïr in the blink of an eye. The vibration-sensing organs on the sides of their heads locked onto his footsteps, and the swiftest one lunged at him.
Altaïr locked his gaze on the target, preparing to sidestep and roll past its pounce, then slit its throat with his knife.
"Ruff! Woof!"
Right then, a blur of motion charged in with a roar and slammed the leaping Cephalos to the ground.
"Hibiki?!"
The massive Palamute tossed its head, flinging a Long Sword to the Hunter, then continued grappling with the Cephalos.
Altaïr caught the Khanga Rebellion with a hearty laugh. Now, he was confident he could take on more than just a few Cephalos. Even if that Monoblos came back, he'd dare face it.
The blade flashed from its sheath. In barely a dozen seconds, every Cephalos drawn by the scent of the wounded men's blood had been decapitated.
With a flick of his blade to shake off the blood, Altaïr turned his head and said, "Hibiki, go help Isis. It's too dangerous for her to face the Monoblos alone."
Hibiki, his muzzle drenched in blood, nodded his huge head and sprinted off toward the more perilous battlefield a hundred meters away.
Seeing the immediate threat neutralized, the older man who'd fetched the harpoons limped over.
"Hunter, sir, go do what you need to do. A few of our boats flipped, but they aren't damaged. We can push them upright and get moving again. We'll take care of getting the wounded to the support ship."
As he spoke, he tugged at the corner of his mouth, flashing a toothy grin. "Half my life fishing on the sand sea, ain't nothing we haven't seen. That guy's life isn't in danger. He'll pull through."
Beside him, another man, younger but just as sun-darkened as the old fisherman, grinned and chimed in, "Once we get the wounded settled, we're planning to rejoin the race!"
"Hehehe."
"Haha!"
The whole group burst into laughter, even making the gravely injured man, still coughing up blood, choke and sputter as if he could not help joining in.
For a moment, Altaïr didn't know what to say.
The people of the Great Desert, raised on sandstorms, had big hearts. Otherwise, they wouldn't fish in the wake of a supermassive Elder Dragon, turn it into a tradition, and even give it the name "Autumn Harvest Fest."
"Asa, you–"
"I'll help them push the boats upright first, then I'll come help you."
"Don't get in the way," Altaïr said exasperatedly. Their relationship was good enough that there was no need for pleasantries.
After all, the guy was only a 2★ Heavy Bowgun user. Leaving aside the fact that he, like Altaïr, had neither Armor nor weapon right now, even fully armed, he wouldn't be much help in a fight against a Monoblos.
"Nah, just say I went to help." Asa grinned at Altaïr with a wink. "This time it's honest-to-goodness force majeure. Even if I don't place, they can't blame me."
"You're still worried about getting scolded by your wife at a time like this?" Altaïr was resigned. "I'm off. Hurry up, the smell of blood might attract other Monsters."
"Got it, got it. Everyone, get a move on!"
—--
In the distance.
The battle between Isis and the Monoblos had reached a different kind of fever pitch.
The instant she charged at the Monoblos, a wild, deeply tempting thought rose unbidden in Isis's mind.
Hunt a Monoblos alone and claim the Crimson Horn!
To any Hunter, the Monoblos is a very special kind of Monster.
Hundreds of years ago, to protect his village, a Wyverian youth armed with a Sword and Shield fought a Monoblos for seven days and seven nights, ultimately slaying it.
To better protect ordinary people, that youth joined forces with several like-minded companions and established what would become the present-day Hunter's Guild, becoming known to later generations as the "Hero of Kokoto."
In that sense, the Monoblos stood at the very origin of the Hunter profession.
And precisely because of this, even today, the Guild has an unwritten rule that Monoblos Hunts must be undertaken alone.
Her father's hometown was Kokoto Village. When she was a child, her father took her to visit the Village Chief of Kokoto, who was the legendary Hero of Kokoto.
Centuries had passed, and the modern-day Hero of Kokoto was now a confused, withered old man, making it hard for her to connect him to the legend. Because of that, the story of the Hero of Kokoto never felt quite real to her.
Her father's story, however, felt very real.
Rumors among the locals claimed her father had once beaten a Monoblos to death with his bare hands, but she knew that was just exaggerated hearsay.
Just a couple of days ago, when Altaïr had practically pinned her to those texts and made her memorize them, she'd learned from those very notes that it had been a truly grueling battle. A single mistake, and she would never have existed in this world.
Besides, her father had already been in his twenties when he successfully Hunted that Monoblos.
If she could Hunt a Monoblos alone now, would that mean she had surpassed her father in some way?
Born and raised in the shadow of her parents' legacy, could she finally prove herself?
Such wild thoughts sprouted deep in her heart, but the moment her gaze focused on that crimson lone horn drawing ever closer...
Her eyes cleared instantly. This damn thing was not an opponent she could handle alone right now! Reason snapped back, and Isis prudently fired a Flash Pod from her Slinger, stunning the Monoblos mid-charge and slipping clear of its deadly horn.
Isis's choice made Clawdia, who arrived a moment later, let out a long sigh of relief.
Isis was indeed monstrously strong, capable of wrestling a Rathian without being overpowered. But if Isis had truly chosen to meet a Monoblos head-on when it had enough distance to accelerate its charge attack to maximum speed...
If she was lucky, she'd be sent flying. If she was unlucky, she'd be skewered shield and all, impaled upon that majestic single horn, adding yet another shade of scarlet to that Crimson Horn.
Though her timely decision had spared Isis the worst possible outcome of an instant defeat, that didn't mean the danger was over.
The truly difficult battle was just about to begin.
The Monoblos, having expected a frontal clash but instead receiving the "cheap trick" of a Flash Pod, recovered from its dazed state. Spreading its massive wings wide, it raised its head to the sky and let out a furious roar.
Its dull yellow eyes became shot with blood, and the bony plates covering its head and neck, lined with thick veins, turned a bloody, crimson red.
The rogue knight roaming the Great Desert was enraged.
(Translated by yourtl.app)