novelraw Chapter 55: The Battlefield Situation
Chapter 55: The Battlefield Situation
Fischer gazed at the name engraved on the handbook for a long time, but aside from learning the "codename" of the author who left this Demi-Human Girl Completion Handbook, he found nothing else.
The only thing he could confirm now was that there was more than one Completion Handbook, and their creator was definitely not from this world. Perhaps he could obtain more information from Caleb's Soul Completion Handbook later, but this would require Fischer to possess extremely strong soul energy. After all, others couldn't see these handbooks, and he couldn't ask Renée for help either.
The words Fieron left for Fischer before his death were also quite intriguing. As he was dying, Fieron handed over the handbook. At that time, Fischer wasn't the owner of the Soul Completion Handbook, yet he could see the handbook itself. Moreover, Fieron had warned him not to tear these handbooks apart, or they would be reborn elsewhere.
These magical artifacts were full of secrets, like legendary murals carved into stone walls.
Fermabah Dragon Court... Just how ancient was that history?
Hundreds of years? Thousands of years?
Fischer closed both Completion Handbooks, this time placing them separately—one on the left and one on the right—to avoid the previous repulsion effect.
Setting aside the questions he hadn't fully deciphered yet, he had already gained much today and decided not to continue further.
He turned to study the map. After leaving Fieron City, his final destination, Port Crete, wasn't far away. By carriage, it would take only two or three days at most.
Fischer stepped out of the carriage. Unbeknownst to him, he had been sitting inside for hours, and his injured body began aching again. He decided to get some fresh air. The dragonkin were all asleep, and the sun outside was gradually setting, painting the clouds an orange hue like tangerines.Seeing that they hadn't woken up yet, Fischer prepared to retrieve the supplies from Fieron City stored in the fourth compartment to make dinner. The supplies were locked in the fourth room, so the dragonkin hadn't been able to access them this morning and had simply hunted outside before roasting their catch.
Aside from supplies, the fourth room also contained weapons like firearms and cleavers. Fischer took out the meat he had bought, then fetched a campfire setup and a pot, intending to cook a Saint Nary-style dish for himself—not for the dragonkin.
The dragonkin only needed meat, but as a human, Fischer still required some vegetables and fruits in his diet.
After setting up the campfire for dinner, Raphaëlle emerged, freshly changed into linen clothes. The dress Fischer had given her earlier had gotten dirty, so she had just washed it. Given how hot dragonkin bodies were, she draped it over the sleeping Larr, knowing it would dry quickly.
Well, it was Larr’s fault for sleeping so soundly.
"What are you doing?" Raphaëlle glanced at the vegetable soup simmering in Fischer’s pot and instinctively frowned, seemingly reacting to the scent of greens in the air.
"Cooking soup. Vegetables provide nutrients humans need, though I’m not sure if dragonkin require them." As he stirred, Fischer suddenly remembered something and asked, "By the way, how’s your Nary language learning coming along?"
Raphaëlle sat by the fire, hugging her knees. She cleared her throat and spoke:
"Respected Mr. Fischer, might I have the honor of inviting you to dance? Your exquisite grace reminds me of lotus blossoms under the moonlight—so elegant, so beautiful..."
Fischer side-eyed the proud Raphaëlle and continued stirring the soup.
"Pronunciation: six out of ten. Vocabulary: nine. Grammar: eight. Common sense: zero."
"Hah? Why?"
"That’s what a man says when inviting a woman to dance. You’re a woman—you got it backwards."
"Who cares why humans dance? At our banquets, we prefer challenging people to duels."
"It’s custom. Try respecting it."
Though his words were blunt, Fischer was inwardly amazed by Raphaëlle’s absurd learning ability. Mastering a language to this extent in just over a month was truly impressive.
"Keep it up. You’re learning fast."
"I can read your writing now, but some pronunciations are still strange, and I’m not fluent yet..."
A faint smile tugged at Fischer’s lips, understanding her desire to prove herself. But just as he was about to respond, both he and Raphaëlle suddenly tensed, their gazes snapping toward the same direction.
"Who’s there?!"
The area was quiet, save for faint rustling in the grass. Raphaëlle sprang up and lunged into the bushes. A few seconds later, she emerged dragging a boy covered in fluffy fur, with a pair of spiraling horns on his head.
Her expression was odd as she addressed Fischer.
"It’s a demi-human child... a goatling."
The boy dangled fearfully in the air. His eyes locked onto Fischer by the fire—and the pot of simmering soup. The aroma made his throat bob, but terror quickly forced him to lower his gaze.
When Raphaëlle set him down, he immediately prostrated himself, stammering meekly:
"S-sorry... s-spare me..."
The language seemed unfamiliar to the goatling, his pronunciation clumsy.
Raphaëlle didn’t understand, but Fischer recognized it immediately.
"He’s speaking Schwalli. Probably a refugee from the war the Schwalli city lords started."
Studying the goatling boy’s lively eyes, Fischer recalled something amusing.
Many male Schwalli nobles had a taste for male companionship. Rumor had it they loved keeping young boys in their households. During their southern continent expeditions, slave traders discovered that shorn goatling boys were exceptionally charming, leading to a booming trade.
The traders hit the jackpot. Soon, goatling boys became the hottest trend among Schwalli nobles, with every household keeping one. They even hosted parties to show them off.
While all western humans despised demi-humans as livestock—to the point where even brothels excluded demi-human females—Schwalli nobles single-handedly shattered this prejudice. Whether that deserved admiration or not...
Fischer withheld judgment and simply ladled an extra bowl of soup. He switched to Schwalli:
"Where are you from? Is anyone with you?"
The boy just stared fearfully, too terrified to move. His hooves trembled behind him.
Clearly, he’d only learned a few human phrases to survive. Fischer placed the soup before him. Though wary at first, hunger overpowered the goatling. After a hesitant glance, he clutched the bowl and gulped it down, scorching his mouth but not daring to spill a drop.
"The demi-humans lost the war. It seems many are fleeing this way. We’ll leave at dawn and continue north."
Raphaëlle watched the goatling child chew the greens, then looked toward the distant sunset. Flocks of birds scattered in panic. Who knew what carnage lay at the heart of the battlefield?