Had the hunters already arrived in the New World?
What exactly did the Admiral and the Commander look like in their youth in the game?
As a dragon—and a dragon with great prospects for development at that—Asterion wasn't particularly dissatisfied with his current life.
At the very least, it was better than his previous life: days filled with repetitive, meaningless labor with no end in sight. This life was full of hope and fueled by the drive to struggle and survive.
However, even though he had adapted to this life of thinking from a dragon's perspective, whenever Asterion turned over the fragmented memories of his time as a human, he always felt a touch of nostalgia.
It was precisely because of this that he couldn't quite pin down his current mood.
Unease. He didn't know what kind of emotion he would truly feel if he actually saw a hunter. Would it really be anticipation? Or fear? Caution? Panic? Anxiety?
He wasn't even sure if he was truly looking forward to the hunters' appearance.
In the real world, hunters naturally wouldn't run around carelessly in such dangerous wilderness. They would use various methods to hide and camouflage themselves. Plus, compared to large monster species, humans were simply too small; it was perfectly normal not to find them.
Perhaps hunters were already active in the Wildspire Waste.
The thought made Asterion want to laugh for some reason.
To be honest, he was quite curious about how the hunters would evaluate him.
Hmm, right now... I'd probably just be rated as a mediocre Glavenus, right?
Shaking his head, Asterion walked toward the seaside, his mind wandering with wild thoughts.
The immediate vicinity was fairly safe. Although Leviathans occasionally appeared on the beach, those guys weren't nearly as formidable on land as they were in the water, so there was nothing to worry about.
The coastline of the Wildspire Waste was very long, but a large section of it consisted of sheer cliffs where waves crashed directly against the rock face, creating a deafening roar.
If one were to look down at the New World from high above, taking the landing point of the Old World hunters as the south, then Asterion's current position was the southeast of the Wildspire Waste.
After leaping over a series of towering boulders and passing through several canyons, Asterion finally arrived at a relatively open area. He could see the sea.
But the sea was no longer important. Asterion had seen something far more significant—a ship.
A wooden ship.
There was only one, but it was massive. It lay askew on the beach as if it had run aground, looking very battered. With Asterion's eyesight, he could even see a massive hole in one side of the hull—he didn't know if it had been smashed by a reef or blasted open by some Leviathan.
The hunters were right there, so close.
Eyes widening, Asterion stood in the distance and clearly saw many tiny figures moving like worker ants, constantly unloading items from the ship and piling them up near the cliff face on the shore.
The hunters had actually landed?!
And by the looks of it, they hadn't been ashore for long. Although Asterion saw that the hunters had set up tents, perhaps due to a lack of timber, they hadn't even managed to build a simple house yet.
That made sense. Thinking back carefully, Asterion remembered that the First Fleet in the game had used their arrival ship directly as the foundation for their base. It was only through slow expansion over the next forty years that it became the Astera Gathering Hub seen by players.
According to the old man at the Smithy in the game, they had mined in the Wildspire Waste for a full forty years; the foundation walls of Astera were built using the stone transported during that process.
Should one say, "As expected of Fanged Beasts"?
The hunters' stamina and vitality were somewhat excessive. A single hunter could carry a wooden crate taller than a person on their back and walk off, while a broken mast as thick as a person's waist only required two or three people to shoulder and move up the shore.
It had to be said that the members of the First Fleet, who shouldered the mission of tracking Elder Dragons and investigating unknown regions, were truly capable—unlike the subsequent fleets that specialized in construction or research.
For a moment, an indescribable panic and nervousness welled up in Asterion's heart. This panic was different even from the tension he felt when fighting dragons like the Jyuratodus.
The sounds of the hunters talking and shouting as they worked were already fragmented across such a great distance; he could only faintly hear bits of their voices.
In the end, he... turned and left.
After seeing the existence of the hunters with his own eyes, Asterion confirmed his true thoughts.
I am already a dragon.
Because of this, Asterion had absolutely no intention of going over to greet the hunters or attempting to communicate right now.
One didn't need to think hard to know what would happen if a Glavenus suddenly appeared in front of the hunters. The First Fleet wasn't here to study ecology; at this moment, they didn't even know how big the New World was, likely thinking they had just landed on a slightly larger island.
Nor had they made the decision to settle down and research here for the long term. The First Fleet, having just landed in the New World, still held the mindset that they had simply accepted a Guild quest—finish it early, go home early.
Therefore, they would very likely actively eliminate dangerous monsters near their camp for the safety of themselves and their companions. Given the special nature of their mission, the Guild had already granted them immense autonomy.
Regardless of whether the hunters would refrain from hunting a juvenile dragon out of respect for ecological balance, or if they would capture him merely for research...
The most important thing was that Asterion would never entrust his life to the hands of others, to be decided by their whims.
I am an existence destined to become a taboo.
—As a dragon, Asterion had his own pride.
So, return for now.
Wait a bit longer, observe a bit more.
Now that the hunters were here, he had to have a corresponding response... The Kulu-Ya-Ku brothers really had to be careful now.
"Prioritize moving the food! Pile it all under the cliff! Be careful! Don't let some weird monster steal it, or we'll all go hungry!"
"You, you, you, and you—you four are Great Sword users, right? I have a task for you. Take a few people and flatten those rocks over there. Before the Commander and the others get back, this place needs to look at least a little like a base!"
In the temporary camp set up by the hunters, a man with a mustache split in two was constantly directing the comings and goings of hunters sorting and stacking various supplies unloaded from the ship. He wasn't tall; in fact, he was a bit short.
"Huh? Us? Use our Great Swords?"
The people called out by the mustached man stared wide-eyed.
"Don't be stingy with your weapons in an emergency like this. Are those rocks harder than dragon scales?" the mustached man said grumpily. "Hurry up, we still need to set up the camp's defenses. It'll be trouble if some monster rushes us."
"Alright, alright." The hunter carrying a Great Sword shook his head helplessly. He looked back at the ship behind him and said, "It's a pity. To think our Star ship has to be taken apart like this..."
"I told you not to be petty," the man grinned. "You can see for yourself, this is a wasteland lacking in resources. Every bit of material has to be utilized to the fullest—we'll have to rely on you guys to hunt those monsters deep in the waste later, otherwise the few materials I have on hand won't be enough."
"Oh! Leave it to me!" The Great Sword hunter slapped his chest readily, guaranteeing it. "By the way, Chief, can you give us a discount when the time comes?"
"Of course, no problem! So get moving now—hmm?"
The man with the split mustache—more accurately, the Tech Chief of the First Fleet responsible for repairing, maintaining, and forging weapons and armor for these hunters—suddenly turned his head to look toward where Asterion had been.
"What is it? Is there danger?"
The Tech Chief's action drew the attention of a hunter in the distance. He was wearing a full set of Rathian armor, wrapped tight from head to toe. On his back, he carried a Long Sword also crafted from Rathian materials, and the banner of the First Fleet was draped diagonally across his chest.
Undoubtedly, with the two leaders of the First Fleet absent, this hunter was the one responsible for guarding the camp's safety. His combat power was formidable; people called him the Sword Master.
For a group like hunters, rather than being called by their real names, they preferred to be addressed by their titles—because these titles were an affirmation of their past life's achievements.
"No, perhaps I was mistaken." The Tech Chief shook his head in confusion.
For a split second, he felt there really should have been something there... Hope it's not some unknown monster.
The diligent hunters built a safe base for themselves, adding a new species to the New World's food chain. But it didn't matter; for the diverse and complex ecosystem of the New World, the addition of hunters wouldn't affect much.
It was just part of the cycle.
But for Asterion, the significance of this matter was somewhat different.
"Roar, roar roar roar?" (Did you understand everything I said?)
Sitting on his haunches in front of the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother, Asterion spoke with a serious dragon face.
"Guga?"
Also sitting on its haunches in front of Asterion, the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother tilted its head, its cry pure and innocent.
"Roar roar roar roar roar!" (Not big dragons! And not something I can't beat! But it will be very dangerous if you run into them, understand?!)
"Guga!"
"Roar roar roar roar!" (They will eat you, make clothes out of your skin! Make weapons out of your bones! Just like my tail!)
As he said this, Asterion scraped his tail against the ground with a sharp shing-shing sound.
"Guga!!!"
The Kulu-Ya-Ku brother immediately revealed an expression of shock and panic—it was a wonder how that bird face managed to make such an expression.
"Roar roar, roar roar roar roar!" (Anyway, from now on, whenever you go out, just come with me. I'll protect you!)
"Guga!!"
Seeing the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother looking overjoyed, Asterion couldn't help but sigh.
As the dragon who had the greatest and most important impact on his dragon life, Asterion simply couldn't imagine a scenario where the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother was eaten by other dragons or killed by hunters.
He would go mad.
Even though the current Asterion no longer needed the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother to steal eggs to feed him, given the gratitude for saving his life and the friendship built over their long days and nights together, the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother had long since become indispensable family in Asterion's heart.
Both dragons had to survive, and survive well.
It took a lot of effort for Asterion to make the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother understand that he couldn't run around randomly. Until the hunters' mental state and logic of action were clearly confirmed, the Kulu-Ya-Ku brother had to stay by his side.
And so, a strange scene appeared in the Wildspire Waste for a time: a Glavenus that appeared to be a juvenile, yet possessed a body size far exceeding that of a juvenile... was followed by a cheerful Kulu-Ya-Ku wherever it went, whether hunting or drinking water.
The Kulu-Ya-Ku was always chattering away, while that Glavenus showed none of the species' usual coldness. Instead, he occasionally used his tiny foreclaws with a look of resignation to gently push the Kulu-Ya-Ku away when it got too close.
Needless to say, the hunters who had already begun exploring the Wildspire Waste naturally noticed this bizarre scene.
The Kulu-Ya-Ku was not unique to the New World, and neither was the Glavenus—it was precisely because they already had a certain degree of understanding of these two creatures from the Old World that the hunters found this phenomenon even harder to comprehend.
What was going on?
Did the Glavenus change its nature?
What happened to being cold-blooded with a high aggression drive?
And wasn't this Kulu-Ya-Ku being a little too bold?
There weren't many scholars in the First Fleet; they had only boarded the ship to satisfy their own curiosity and help the accompanying hunters solve knowledge-based problems.
But even they couldn't provide an answer to this strange phenomenon, only tentatively explaining it as a unique symbiotic relationship formed under accidental conditions.
As for how they were symbiotic, and what each side did for the other, that remained to be studied.
According to the conjectures of a few scholars, this Glavenus might be diseased. The evidence was the sparse plating on its body, looking as if a second layer of shell had grown over the original layer, but unevenly—some parts high, some low—looking a bit grotesque, with large and small unidentified spots covering its body surface.
Perhaps the Kulu-Ya-Ku following it was there to solve this problem.
In any case, this situation was likely a special case even within the Glavenus population.
—Scholars had quite vivid imaginations; this was just one of the theories they proposed. There were plenty of other, even more outrageous ones.
As for Asterion, during his hunting life in this period, he had already discovered quite a few footprints indicating that hunters were starting to appear in the Wildspire Waste.
It couldn't be helped; the flower field swamp area was simply too close to the hunters' base. It had ample water sources and was home to a large number of Apceros, providing a safe food source for the hunters.
Putting aside Asterion, this anomaly of a Glavenus living by the water, most of the dragons that appeared here weren't battle-crazed maniacs, which guaranteed the safety of the early exploration.
It was just a bit too noisy.
The Glavenus's sensitive hearing allowed Asterion to hear those hunters digging for stone or mining veins in the waste from a very long distance.
Clang, clang, clang.
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