The 5th Hero is a Beast [Queer LitRPG Isekai]

After last night's startling revelation, Hallvar still had to go to work.

Sure, it wasn't a shift at a retail chain or the drudgery of a barista in a shop full of Karens, but… it felt like it in this moment.

How did Hallvar go back to normal functioning after knowing that they'd accidentally befriended a dragon?

The rationalization was going fine, as it was the same rationalization about befriending an ex-assassin or losing a finger after dethroning a king.

It was going fine until it wasn't.

All at once, the anxiety about a dragon was the last thing on Hallvar's mind.

The derealization was the worst part, in Hallvar's opinion. It made everything feel so stupidly movie-like, as if they were viewing this moment as a projection on an enormous white wall, popcorn in hand.

If only.

They slowly turned their hand over, looking at their fingertips, their talons, as the blood dripped off. It was drying already where it ran thin. Tacky to touch.

Hallvar felt incredibly stupid and... and trite as they went through the motions, years of television and movies queuing their actions as much as their human instinct did.

Look at blood on hand. Feel nothing. Look at the corpse on ground. Oh. No, still numb. Shock, adrenaline, something.

It happened so fast, Hallvar thought blankly.

They repeated the phrase in a sarcastic mind-voice, coping with killing another human by pretending this was a B-grade movie with a bad script.

The walk from the capital to the [ territory ] was an easy one. There was a road Hallvar could follow, and they did for the most part. But of course, they took a detour, went down that metaphorical dark alley where they could become a target for crime.

Picking fucking flowers with Pipkin.

She didn't sound an alarm, too distracted by hunting grasshoppers in the tiny meadow. She heard a human moving about and presumed it to be her beastmaster, not a stranger.

Hallvar was crouched when they heard something behind them, mind full of thoughts of quests and dragons and beastshaping plans.

The vague feeling of threat had been steadily increasing as they left the capital, but what was a background concern -- maybe just wild beasts or simply the danger of nature? -- suddenly spiked once there was a sound nearby.

The hero dodged to the side, expecting a lunging beast but feeling a sting at their ribs.

It was a human with a dagger, dressed in browns and greys like they were camouflaged as a normal adventurer.

The physical struggle wasn't even that impressive, honestly. Amateurish was the sassy descriptor that Hallvar's trauma-altered mind suggested.

It was hard to find the attacks anything but miscalculated and ill-timed when Hallvar was used to getting consensually stabbed by a one-armed speed demon. And Viktor had recently begun to use a few of the lesser afflictions, just to add a little spice and variety to the unwanted skirmishes.

This attacker was… still scary. Still a force to be feared, like any weapon-bearing individual. Kiran drilled the sentiment early on that anyone wielding a weapon, no matter the skill level, was a serious threat.

The version of Hallvar that was chomped by the giant salamander beast would have pissed themselves at the sight of an assassin.

This version, the one that was idly picking flowers with their pet bird-squirrel? Didn't think much beyond an unimpressed "too slow" and reacted according to their training.

Unfortunately for their opponent, the first opening in their guard resulted in a slashing swipe to their neck.

The assassin was dead before Hallvar even noticed the poison counter in the system's display. They had a potion on hand, which would heal the cut, but for the poison...

Hallvar thanked their luck that one of their fetch quests involved gathering supplies for the herbalist. Antidote-making herbs were common. It wouldn't be as tasty or fast-acting as a crafted antidote, but… it would work.

The hero pulled themselves together before scanning the surroundings, looking for a series of flora.

Lichen, off-white, kind of looked like turkey tail lichen from their home world. Dead log 30 feet away.

What luck.

Then a type of wild sage, fuzzy leafed with tiny blue flowers. It was in the wildflower patch. Of course it was.

Pipkin was now on Hallvar's pauldron. She was incapable of showing concern on her birdy face, but the akergryph did watch the human's actions intently.

Hallvar popped both flora into their mouth and chewed, tastebuds confused at the bitter, earthy, wildness of it all.

They were missing an ingredient, but the system provided a counter-counter, if you will. A timer to indicate how long it would take for the partial antidote to counter, or stop, the poison entirely.

Hallvar would lose health in the meantime, but the timers were mismatched, meaning the partial antidote would eventually work.

Great.

Okay, dead person.

It was funny in retrospect that Hallvar had greater difficulty with the weird ostriches than they did with a human assassin. Hallvar the alleged Hero, trained to counter assassin attacks, getting thrown on their ass by the confusing antics of a giant bird.

Right. Respect for the dead be damned.

Wasn't this something they made fun of tabletop gamers for? Hallvar vaguely remembered a joke thrown around in their biology seminars after overhearing some dragons and dungeons players.

'We loot the corpse.'

There was no rolling for luck, just Hallvar awkwardly looking for a coin purse, for any signs of humanity, of purpose.

A nondescript coin purse with a few coins. Not that Hallvar needed it, really.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

A braided thingy, like a bookmark made of multicolored threads with knots. Maybe a good luck charm?

The dagger and a sheath. Its twin on another belt. Maybe Hallvar could sell these or give them to Ikraam. They looked half decent. Was it rude to regift your potential assassin's weapons?

Hallvar avoided looking at the person's face much; the slack jawed mask of death posed a few inches above a ripped throat was a lot to take in.

They had some similarities with Viktor. Not physically shared traits, but that if they were put in a crowd, they would easily blend in.

Ethnically distinct, with the darker skin tone that tended to come from the neighbors – the Qhai Republic or Kovatelli.

But a generic appearance. Hairstyle was common. Clothing was common. Were assassins picked specifically to blend in? Was there an organization out there finding the most common-denominator people and training them to be killers?

Hallvar kicked a rock with their shoe, shock wearing off, replaced with annoyance and anger.

This was supposed to be a normal day. Could they not have a normal day?

Yesterday Hallvar learned about old grandpa dragon playing checkers with their life, dangling a carrot in front of the hero and saying it was good for them.

And now this? A fucking assassin?

Viktor was right, and he would gloat the whole fucking time as soon as Hallvar told him. The guildmaster would say nothing, take this information in stride, but Hallvar would know.

A single glint in that man's eyes and Hallvar would fucking know.

Told you so. Silent, unspoken, but there.

Fuck it.

Hallvar kicked another rock, which turned out to be a dirt clod that exploded on impact, throwing dirt and sand everywhere.

"Pull it together," Hallvar grumbled aloud.

They sighed, knowing that the frustration and anger would fade to reveal worse emotions. Fear, sorrow, regret.

They weren't angry at Rodu. Or Viktor.

It was— a lot. It was a lot to handle.

Without further bitching, they continued on the path to Claylake Post, stopping once at a stream to clean off the dried blood on their hands, using a spare cloth to wipe more off their armor and face.

Somehow, they missed noticing the blood spray. Had that been such a natural thing that they just ignored it?

Did therapists exist here?

Hallvar would have to ask Stella, who would probably volunteer to be a listening ear. Could they confess to her about… about murder? That they murdered someone?

Viktor murdered a lot of people. So did Rodu, as a dragon he waged war. Had… Stella killed anyone? Grim? Ikraam?

By the time Hallvar made it to the inn, they had a knot in their stomach and more questions than answers.

They made sure that Pipkin was fed before renting a room and taking a much-needed nap. If Grim wanted the beastmaster early, he could come find them.

---

The party met for dinner, packed and ready to head out once the sun began to set. The quest involved hunting a nocturnal beast, so they had time to kill before going to work.

Rajiv was the life of the tavern, as was usual. He chatted away as Dagmær interjected behind her handfan, as if the lacework covered more than her beaded veil and intricate mask.

There were a few more guild members joining this quest, simply because of the threat of nightfall. People Hallvar didn't recognize.

They were nice to the hero, of course. They mirrored Grim's friendly introductions, but Hallvar claimed to be sick. They felt it.

The beasthunter was present too. The threat radiated from Guillaume, who was nothing but polite as ze captivated hir audience with the tale of the kjerrborn queen.

It was dead. The claw Guillaume had tucked into hir belt was around eight inches in length. Massive, meant for both fighting and digging.

It made sense. The kjerrborn looked like a badger as much as it did a bear, and badgers loved to dig.

The kjerrborn pelt, according to Guillaume, was worth as much as full plate armor. An unrefined material that earned the Beast Hunter four silver heads and twenty-five targets.

The armorer could make as many as five full armor sets from the raw material, which would sell at a very high value, given that kjerrborns were naturally resistant to both magic and physical damage.

Ze continued, boasting about how ze hunted the largest non-magical beast, one that only specialized beasthunters could dare to target.

Hallvar zoned out about halfway through Guillaume's hunting accolades.

Maybe Guillaume did deserve the credit for being a great beasthunter, yet Hallvar didn't care.

They couldn't cope with socializing now, but thankfully the tavern did have liquor. Being sick was one excuse; drinking quietly was another.

The beastmaster kept catching Ikraam assessing them, watching Hallvar as if to check on their condition.

What was their condition? Gloomy? Uneasy? Suddenly unsure of their place in the world?

A few hours ago, Hallvar ripped another human's throat out.

Now, they were back to work. Another day talking to Grim's party.

Ikraam tried to check on Hallvar as they set out for the quest, but there really was nothing to explain. Hallvar didn't know how illnesses worked in Aestrux, but they fumbled around with more excuses, each one as implausible as the last.

The rogue didn't pry much further. It was clear Hallvar was preoccupied, but with what?

The hunt targeted a pair of quadrupedal bat-beasts with a name Hallvar didn't focus on. The beasts were large, pony-sized, and capable of injecting dissolving venom into livestock. They could consume a herd of livestock in a week if left unchecked.

They were extremely rare spawns, which was why ten adventurers were dispatched to handle the beasts.

Guillaume was not a fraud. Ze took charge of the hunt and ordered traps constructed, rope nets put into place to tangle the bat-beasts when they leapt away.

Hallvar wasn't a necessary addition to this group, which did nothing to help their wounded self-esteem. They were an extra body to play guard while the mages and ranged fighters took down the bat-beasts.

It was that easy. Guillaume knew what to do, and ze ensured that the others followed suit.

The return trip was joyful, or at least the others were.

Hallvar could smell the blood from the trophies – the heads of the bat-beasts, used to show proof of the kills – which didn't make their stomach turn as much as it made them uncomfortable.

Then they smelled the rot.

It was luck or fate or some cruel circumstance that led Hallvar's senses to be stronger during the nighttime, [ skill: chimeric ] activating on its own during the earlier combat.

The group faltered, bunching up and slowing down to observe something ahead.

Pipkin squawked from her perch, feeling uneasy in the nighttime, but especially with the smell of death in the air.

Guillaume used a spear and a bow as hir weapon. Ze stood proudly next to a corpse, posing with the spear like a warrior in a painting.

The body was all flesh, having been skinned for its pelt a few days prior. The fat was rotted, putrefaction set in. Flies and other insects buzzed around, even in the dead of night.

Before, when it was alive, Hallvar remembered approximating that the kjerrborn was at Hallvar's shoulder height when walking normally. Five and a half feet, maybe a little more.

Faced with this disgusting mess, Hallvar could easily say they were wrong.

They'd seen polar bears in zoos, fun displays to compare your height with the creatures. The kjerrborn was polar bear sized, and it was a female. A queen, not a boar.

Hallvar remembered all the times when the beast crossed paths with the hero. Passively observing each other.

They were omnivores. Built tough so that they could wander the continent, only deterred by dragons and beasthunters.

Not avoidant but assured in their durability and strength.

And now dead. For Guillaume to show off.

The emotions Hallvar was avoiding were redirected into mourning this kjerrborn. Anger, disgust, despair.

Where was the cub?

The question hit Hallvar like a brick hurled full force into their fragile psyche.

Guillaume didn't mention the cub tonight. Not once. So, where was it? Where did it go?

Was it unmentioned because Guillaume killed it and it was uncouth to eliminate the young? Or was it gone before ze hunted the queen?

Hallvar activated [ skill: chimeric ] once more, focusing on hearing. The cub was still young the last time the beastmaster witnessed it. Not able to hunt on its own. So, it wouldn't have gone far from its mother, if anywhere.

They could feel the muscles near their jaw and face move slightly as… as their ears angled, listening intently. Ah. Chimeric didn't simply mean magical enhancements. This was shapechanging on a small scale.

To Hallvar's dismay, they did hear a whimpering huff from the near distance. But they also heard other sounds.

"Stop," Hallvar said quietly.

Guillaume's continued explanation of the prized hunt slowed to a halt. "Does the sight sicken you? I know beastmasters can be more sensitive to–"

Ze was interrupted again.

"I need silence."

They got it, though it was an awkward one. The others looked between the hero and the hunter, their confused faces lit up with torchlight.

Ikraam was nearby. Their awareness caught the subtle shifting of Hallvar's ears, leading Ikraam to activate a searching skill.

"How many?" they asked quietly. "I can sense two."

"I don't know," the beastmaster said bluntly. "They're in three different directions."

Grim didn't wait for an explanation. "Weapons up!"

The group followed the command, unnerved at the lack of information.

Ikraam seemed to be watching something imperceptible. Probably monitoring a skill through the system.

The threat stepped into the range of the rogue's magical search, which made Ikraam swear in their native tongue.

"It's the gryphons. They've surrounded us."