This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Three days later, the fort no longer felt like a war-torn ruin.

It felt like a construction site that had been hit by a festival; a strange mix of frantic rebuilding efforts and people jovially running around.

And many of those running around strangely kept diverting their paths to pass by a certain location… an unassuming corner of the southern region that only contained some chalkboards.

The chalkboards leaned against half-rebuilt walls, covered in dense columns of names, numbers, and hastily crossed-out times. Dozens—sometimes hundreds—of new names were added every hour, old ones crossed out or erased just as quickly. This was where the next group of individuals to be awakened was announced.

And everyone knew it…which is why these ordinary-looking chalkboards had been like a rare attraction in the zoo.

At first, the rebuilding efforts around the fort slowed to a crawl. Workers kept drifting away mid-task, tools forgotten as they wandered past the boards “just to check” if their names had been added. Entire crews would mysteriously converge in the same direction, productivity dropping every time a fresh name was written in chalk.

Eventually, the supervising beast tamers gave up fighting it.

Each construction site was assigned an official board watcher—one person whose job was to check the chalkboards at the top of every hour and report back.

With this new unofficial role, hammers stayed in their hands. Walls went up again. And every few minutes, someone could be heard asking a little too casually, “So… anything new?”

Somewhere, someone was ringing a bell every time an awakening finished.

It rang often.

Kain stood near the center of it all, arms folded, watching controlled chaos unfold with a faintly amused expression.

Three days ago, people had stared at him like he was either a saviour or a lunatic.

Now, they stared at him like a supervisor who might—or might not—call their name next.

He was no longer carving arrays himself.

Not most of them, anyway.

By the end of the first day, he and Serena had been replaced by Liang Wenhao, Shen Yulan, and a handful of other steady-handed tamers. By the end of the second, those people were teaching others. By the third, entire teams had formed—some preparing ink, others cleaning the tools, others managing volunteers and recovery.

Kain had drawn the awakening array a handful of times.

After that, he supervised.

Occasionally corrected.

Sometimes stopped someone mid-line and said, “No. That angle will cause instability.”

Once, he added, “Also, you’re holding the needle backwards.”

The would-be array drawer froze, staring at the tool as if it had betrayed him.

“Question…” he asked hoarsely. “Has anyone ever died from this awakening array?”

Kain paused, considering, while the listening unawakened who was being drawn on at that very moment was shivering in fear.

“Don’t worry, nobody has died…yet. And if they were to, it would most likely be in the form of a sudden explosion, they likely would feel no pain upon their death.”

That answer had not helped.

————

How those given priority for awakening was determined should go back to three days ago. Before those chalkboards were erected. Not long after Kain demonstrated his ability for the masses.

That day, lines had appeared everywhere, labelled clearly for registration:

>COMBAT EXPERIENCE

>MEDICAL / SUPPORT

>NO PRIOR RELEVANT EXPERIENCE

The third line was the longest.

And the loudest.

That was because everyone believed they belonged in the first.

A woman with rolled-up sleeves gestured animatedly at a coordinator—one of the beast tamers placed in charge of ‘Operation Awakening’.

“I once stabbed a wild boar with a kitchen knife. It was charging my cousin.”

The coordinator didn’t look up. “Did it die?”

“…No.”

“Next.”

A thin man stepped forward quickly. “I carried arrows for the guards during one of the northern skirmishes two months ago!”

“You fired them?”

“No, but I was very close to danger.”

“Next.”

Another man raised his hand. “I wrestled my neighbour during a dispute over land boundaries.”

Shen Yulan, one of the lead coordinators, glanced over. “Did he have claws?”

“…No.”

“Next.”

One elderly man tried to squeeze forward, leaning on a cane. “I shouted encouragement during the siege.”

Liang Wenhao blinked. “From where? The comfort of the unbreached southern district?”

“…”

Liang Wenhao shook his head, already making a mark on the board. “End of the line.”

A collective groan followed as several people were redirected.

But after the hard lessons of their predecessors revealed that protest would get them nowhere, they all left without complaint.

Liang Wenhao could only roll his eyes. These people had no idea just how hard becoming a beast tamer would be on them. Even if given the chance, not everyone could make it through the pain…

——————

The awakenings themselves were brutal.

The screams carried across the square, sharp and unmistakable, followed by gasping breaths and the smell of fresh ink. From the beginning, Kain had been firm on one point: those who wished to become beast tamers without an innate affinity had to endure the pain in full.

Painkillers dulled perception, weakened the connection to the awakening array, and disrupted the delicate link to Pangea. A weakened connection resulted in an inferior contract and significantly reduced the amount of time a soul fragment could safely remain on the other side.

That outcome was unacceptable.

Most people endured it, gritting their teeth and screaming themselves hoarse. Some, however, could not.

On the second day, a young man—lean, well-built, and clearly accustomed to his longbow—collapsed midway through the tattooing process. It was not an injury that took him down, but the sheer intensity of the pain. His heartbeat stuttered and his breathing faltered, and a nearby healing tamer barely managed to stabilize him in time.

After that incident, Kain sighed and amended the rules.

Painkillers were permitted, but only when absolutely necessary, and only for key personnel whose skills were deemed essential despite their inability to withstand the process unaided.

The compromise proved effective. Collapses became rare, and the awakenings proceeded more smoothly.

By the third day, the square looked different—not merely because of the crowds, but because of the creatures now moving among the rubble. Beasts no one had ever seen before hauled debris aside, reinforced damaged walls, or sniffed at the ground with unsettling precision. Some glowed faintly, others shimmered, and one small creature had to be stopped repeatedly from attempting to eat nails.

Veteran tamers watched with complicated expressions, a mix of pride and envy flickering across their faces.

Although the new recruits could only contract one creature, they’d heard Kain explain that they were resistant to abyssal contamination. But even more, they could sense that their speed of cultivation was far faster than their own. In no time, they may be surpassed by the people they had needed to protect.

Patrol coverage stabilized. Supply routes reopened. Underground ambush detection improved dramatically.

For the first time since the assault, the fort was able to breathe again.