This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

“Success? That creature is only white-grade.”

Kain dismissed the System Panel once he had a rough grasp of the lynx’s abilities, his gaze lifting to take in the disappointment written plainly across the 9-star tamer’s face—and echoed by the crowd behind him.

Outwardly, he shrugged. “White-grade for now. But not for much longer.”

The 9-star tamer’s gaze sharpened. “Explain.”

Kain gestured casually toward the lynx. “All creatures I summon come from a subrealm.” Kain reiterated the same cover story he’d continuously used to conceal Pangea’s true origin. “However, whatever cultivation they had before is suppressed when they form a contract.”

The lynx tilted her head, ears twitching and appearing extremely timid under the increased scrutiny, not at all reassuring those watching that she would contribute to the fort.

“But that doesn’t erase what they were,” Kain continued evenly. “It just removes the accumulated power. Their foundations remain intact, and those I awaken don’t suffer bottlenecks the way normal beast tamers do. As long as their contracts advance, their growth is several times faster than normal.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully. “With a silver-quality foundation like this lynx, reaching orange-grade within a few months is reasonable—assuming steady training and sufficient resources.”

The newly awakened man’s breath caught.

“Orange…?” he whispered. Even such a grade felt out of reach to him forever, not long ago.

“Yes,” Kain said. “Because she is only silver-quality, if she wants to go further, she’ll need to evolve. Those summoned with higher potential could potentially reach a higher level in the same amount of time.”

The 9-star tamer was silent for several seconds.

Then he looked at the newly awakened volunteer.

“What’s your name?”

The man straightened instinctively. “Zhao Ren, sir. Former mine leader of the eastern Froziac Ore Mines.”

“Mmm,” the 9-star tamer nodded. “I remember now. When you and the other miners were rescued—despite being unawakened and suddenly attacked by low-grade abyssals that slipped past the fort—you managed to fight them off and hold the mine until support arrived.”

Zhao Ren nodded vigorously. “Yes! Y-your Excellency! Although luck likely played a role, when the smallest abyssals broke through, someone had to hold them off. We used traps. Fire. Whatever we could.”

His voice shook with excitement now, not at all disappointed by the grade of his contract. “But if such a situation were to happen again, I shouldn’t be so helpless. I never thought—never in my life—that I’d have a contract. I thought that was something only chosen people had.”

The lynx glanced up at him, eyes bright. She too, seemed satisfied with her contractor.

A mine leader and a little ‘treasure hunter’, they were a match made in heaven. Even if not a huge offensive addition to the fort, they could play a role in supplying the fort with resources and also giving the fort a heads up if there is an underground ambush.

The 9-star tamer’s gaze swept across the gathered crowd—over the hundreds of ordinary people packed into the square, and the many more who lingered beyond the square, tending the wounded or working amid the ruins—before settling back on Kain.

“Before this battle,” he said slowly, “the fort’s strength distribution was already warped.”

His voice carried easily, measured and calm, but it drew attention all the same.

“At one end, we had vast numbers of unawakened civilians. At the other, we had mid- to high-grade beast tamers who stayed out of duty, stubbornness, or a sense of responsibility.” He paused. “The low-grade tamers—the ones with just enough strength to survive the journey south but not enough to ensure their survival here—fled long ago.”

A ripple of discomfort passed through the crowd. A few people shifted. Some avoided eye contact.

He looked back to Zhao Ren. “You didn’t flee,” he said. “You were unawakened, yet you fought. You held a mine against abyssals despite the seemingly hopeless situation.”

Zhao Ren flushed slightly, straightening his back.

“But,” the 9-star tamer continued, his tone sharpening just a fraction, “not everyone here would have that resolve.”

His gaze swept the square again.

“If you awaken them,” he said to Kain, “what stops them from leaving like all the other low-grade tamers before them?”

Several civilians flinched as if struck. One woman’s fingers tightened around the edge of her jacket as if she’d been caught thinking something she shouldn’t have. Another man abruptly looked down at the ground, jaw clenched and eyes looking around guiltily at having his unspoken thoughts laid bare.

Kain did not look surprised.

“That’s fair,” he said. “And I thought about that.”

He raised one finger. “First—these contracts aren’t permanent in the way you’re used to.”

The crowd stirred.

“The creatures I summon retain a connection to their original subrealm,” Kain explained evenly. “That connection flows through the contract. If someone deserts their post, abandons their duty, or runs the moment things get hard—I can revoke it.”

A hush fell.

“Revoke?” someone whispered.

“Yes,” Kain said calmly. “Their contract dissolves. They revert to being ordinary people again.”

Several faces paled.

“And in case that isn’t clear,” Kain added, glancing pointedly at the harsh terrain beyond the fort walls, “an ordinary person doesn’t get very far out there.”

A few people in the crowd stiffened. One man opened his mouth.

“That’s—” he began. “That’s immoral. You’re trapping people. Keeping them hostage.”

Murmurs rose.

Kain looked at him.

Just… looked.

“Naturally, power comes with responsibility. You’re free to leave right now,” Kain said flatly. “No contract. No power. No obligation.”

He gestured casually toward the wasteland beyond the fort.

“Nothing’s stopping you.”

The man went quiet.

Others who had seemed ready to echo him hesitated under the weight of the surrounding stares of disdain. The murmurs of dissent died quickly.

Kain sighed inwardly.

‘Stick applied,’ he thought. ‘Time for the carrot.’

“There’s more,” Kain said aloud. “And this is where the advantages of these contracted creatures really shines”

The crowd leaned in despite themselves.

“The subrealm these creatures come from is… unique,” Kain said carefully. “Because the connection remains, those bound to them are highly resistant to abyssal corruption. And this resistance can even extend, to a far lesser extent, to their contractor”

That landed.

Eyes widened. Even some of the surviving beast tamers straightened sharply, expressions flickering with disbelief—and envy.

The square buzzed.

And even the hesitation many of them had upon seeing the painful process of awakening practically disappeared. Rather than dying, many were more afraid of becoming a monster themselves.

At this news, the 9-star tamer’s expression shifted, performing internal calculations.

“…How many?” he asked quietly.

Kain didn’t try to low-ball him. “As many as you need.” After all, even if Pangea suffered a disaster, there were still millions of creatures on the planet, and at most a few thousand unawakened in the fort.

Coupled with the difference in time flow on Pangea and the rapid reproduction rates of many weaker species, even significant population losses would be temporary; as the planet recovered from its wounds, their numbers would rebound quickly.

Silence stretched.

The square seemed to hold its breath. Especially those ordinary people who were eavesdropping and had been worried that it may never be there turn to awaken.

“You’re saying,” the 9-star tamer said carefully, “that you can turn all these ordinary civilians into beast tamers.”

“Yes.”

The man exhaled slowly, a sound caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

The fort would still struggle in the short term. Losses like these didn’t vanish overnight. High-grade fighters couldn’t be replaced instantly.

But numbers mattered.

As did the hope that a better future will come if they persist.

“I’m giving you full authority,” the 9-star tamer said at last. “You decide the candidates. I’ll assign some of my direct subordinates to support you, just let them know if you need anything.”

He paused.

“If this works,” he added quietly, “you may have just changed the fate of the entire eastern continent.”

Kain laughed softly. “No pressure, then.”

Kain felt a grin spread across his face.

‘Mission: Create a massive anti-abyssal army,’ he thought. ‘Complete.’

Once things are stabilized here, with the thousands of ordinary people to be awakened here, surely he could bring some with high potential back to the central continent…

But not everyone was celebrating.

Not far away, Aurem’s eyes narrowed.

He was not an idiot.

His missing general, the Black Tortoise, plus the occasional other missing underlings…

Patterns were forming.

And somewhere beneath layers of arrogance and simmering rage, a realization began to take shape.

This despicable ‘father’ was not only stealing his wealth.

He was stealing his people!

Aurem’s tail lashed, shattering a nearby stone wall, causing those watching him to flinch back.

“Grrrrrrrrr,” he rumbled.

Thankfully, the golden dragon didn’t connect the small lynx now standing at Kain’s feet with his own personal little treasure-hunter.

Otherwise…

Kain might find himself cast as the lead in a familiar tragic play—one where a ‘son’ rises to strike down his own ‘father’, just as in the old Greek myths.