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

While the gryphons were an inconvenient enemy, they were certainly not a difficult one. Frustration and hunger led the flight to make stupid survival decisions in the hopes of consuming one single cub as a consolation prize.

Unfortunately, threatening the kjerrborn's cub was the primary manner in which one could shift the passive, generalist omnivore that primarily consumed fish and plants into its aggressive, persistence predator stance that allowed it to survive harsh winters in the Staargraven.

Gryphons were ambush predators, built for short bursts of combat typically begun from a stealth position – or high enough in the sky that it could be considered stealthy. They trusted in their instinctual ability to overwhelm the kjerrborn, wear it down with continuous attacks, and then chase it away.

The sixth and seventh gryphon chose to flee after the rest of the flight met a brutal end.

The cub remained hidden and safe while the kjerrborn pursued. The night did not deter the kjerrborn; they had poor eyesight and relied heavily on smell and hearing for hunting.

One bleeding gryphon – wing broken and exhausted after expending its small reservoir of energy – was easy to track down and end.

It took until daylight to find the final gryphon, perched high in a tree and attempting to rest. The kjerrborn was willing to climb after it, tree creaking as it bent under the giant mass of fur and muscle scaling slowly.

In a panic, the gryphon fell out of the tree; the kjerrborn leaped down after, size and bulk preventing injury.

Soon, there were no more gryphons in the Claylake Post [ territory ].

—

When Hallvar first turned into the fish hawk, there was no room for human logic. The attunement period was 24 hours, and a good chunk of that time was spent fishing and eating and relaxing.

Doing fish hawk things despite the pressing political hell Hallvar was unwittingly part of.

The current timer was set at 60 days, with less than 12 hours currently consumed. It would take a week at minimum until human thoughts could push their way past the beast mind.

The first earnestly human thought that Hallvar had was, "well, this is nice."

It was raining and the trio of beasts were settled under a thick canopy of evergreen trees somewhere in the north of Amnasín. The only sounds were the rain and the cub's soft, contented snoring.

Hallvar was certain that beastmasters were not supposed to feel such kinship with their beast companions, but Hallvar wasn't exactly a normal beastmaster.

They sniffed the cub – verifying her identity and health – before carefully grooming the back of her neck with their tongue.

It was weird to feel so parental. Not unwelcome, just odd.

They recounted the events of the week, able to apply their own thoughts to the memories now.

—

In the hours following the fight, they wandered out of the [ territory ], following their nose. Hallvar had a few unimportant injuries from the gryphons, most prominently a talon slash across their muzzle, but the cub was in much worse condition.

She clung to the kjerrborn's back, taking advantage of their massive size to rest as they sniffed for food.

The ecologist part of Hallvar was absolutely fascinated by the new information this kjerrborn instinct provided, as it wasn't denoted in any of the books Hallvar read on beasts.

There were theories about why the kjerrborn were so large compared to their preferred diets of fish and plants. They were seen munching on any variety of fish, largely but not exclusively from inland water sources. Plants could be greenery, certainly, but fruit and vegetables were within the normal kjerrborn consumption too.

These were reasonable food sources, however, they didn't account for the fat or protein required to grow so large. Or the magic, if that was an option.

Yet... the kjerrborn followed a woody scent on the wind, a smell that Hallvar couldn't name. It wasn't sweet or sour or really anything. It was just… Thing.

Many miles later, Hallvar learned what Thing smell was.

The vetta tree, specifically the smell of the root.

Kjerrborn tusks were for digging, designed to furrow under and wrench the vetta roots out of the ground efficiently and easily.

The cub was skinny, not having eaten properly in a few days, and injured by the gryphons. She practically pounced on the first root presented to her, tiny teeth stripping the bark loose and gnawing it like the toughest jerky.

The kjerrborn dutifully dug up the remaining roots before settling down with the thin tree itself, treating the trunk like an oversized chew toy.

Within the hour, the stray mark across the kjerrborn's muzzle was healed and the cub was free of injury, chewing on her second root.

This answered the question of why the vetta tree was so rare – if kjerrborn could smell them from miles away, no wonder it was a matter of luck for humans to stumble upon one.

—

Before their rest, Hallvar remembered fishing in a river, batting fish out of the water and onto the shore. The cub snatched up the slippery fish and Pipkin feasted on minnows and insects at the edge of the water.

Now, the akergryph was curled up somewhere on the kjerrborn.

She was not cub, but she was… a companion, part of the herd. Even if she soundly rejected grooming from the kjerrborn, whose nose was twice the size of her head.

They settled back down to rest. Their human mind sped through topics like flash cards, tossing each one away as the kjerrborn mentality refused to budge and let Hallvar think.

Worrying about Grim and the party? Humans with human problems. The lingering existential crisis of killing a human? The kjerrborn didn't mourn killing the other beasts. How long they were gone, would be gone? Time was irrelevant. Winter was on the way. There were more important things to do, like fatten up.

That was why fishing was so relevant. The cub was on the cusp of juvenile delineation, almost capable of acting on her own, but still reliant on an adult for the majority of her food.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

In the absence of human recognition, the kjerrborn spent a lot of time at a favored river, one in the deep forest between [ territories ] and cities.

They hoped the cub would learn to fish; she certainly tried. Her reflexes were delayed, but her aim got better with every effort.

It was difficult to adjust to the new senses. Hallvar remembered their human mind stirring at a familiar smell, but when the kjerrborn looked toward the source, all they could make out was a human shape in the far distance.

It didn't approach, instead sitting on the bank of the river to watch.

The kjerrborn felt no alarm. Despite the human being a mere shape of grey, tan, and brown, it seemed their sub-human eyesight was not as much of a detriment as it could be.

They returned to fishing, only looking back at the human when one of its movements flickered light toward the kjerrborn. Some kind of metal object. Tall, like a big stick.

The kjerrborn stood up on their hind legs. Hallvar was intrigued to remember that motion, as it wasn't a threat, but a movement made to assess the situation better, to angle their nose and ears toward the point of interest.

With keen hearing, they could tell the human moved slowly, footsteps careful; the human shape disappeared into the forest shortly afterwards.

The beast-mind allowed Hallvar to ruminate on this interaction as they rested under the evergreen tree.

It was interesting how differently the kjerrborn thought of humans, compared to how humans thought of the kjerrborn. It was like seeing a cat in your neighborhood. Neat. But not a threat.

The human by the river reminded Hallvar of Guillaume, the long metal stick as hir spear, but given how the human backed off – and that it had grey hair, not Guillaume's blonde – it couldn't be the hunter.

It could be a spear. Plenty of people probably spearfished, although a net was definitely a more common practice.

Kiran did it, if Hallvar remembered right. She really like fishing in the river by her–

The kjerrborn lifted their head suddenly, looking in the direction of the earlier fishing spot.

No. That couldn't have been Kiran, right? Hallvar thought for a moment that the smell of the human was familiar, but they chalked it up to humans having a human-smell, not… actually familiar.

That would put Hallvar… northwest of the capital, a bit west of Claylake Post. Well, more north now, since they traveled away from the river by a fair distance.

What Hallvar could do with this information, they didn't know.

With the thoughts of fishing fresh on their mind from the night before, the kjerrborn returned to the river with the cub and the akergryph. Teaching the cub was vital, and there could never be too many fish.

The cub was… The human-mind conjured up a list of descriptors – sweet, rambunctious, daring, affectionate – but the kjerrborn simply stated that this cub was theirs, a sentiment full of possessiveness.

She snapped her teeth shut on air after trying to swat a small fish out of the river, wanting to bite her next meal but forgetting that her stubby tusks were in the way. She needed to use her body weight more, to fling the fish toward the rocky banks instead.

While the kjerrborn lay in the sun, the akergryph investigated their fur for bugs, content as she munched on the irritating critters that got trapped in the beast's thick fur.

Pipkin was never starved for meals when her beastmaster was a human; however, the little akergryph was pleased to be around such large beasts who had lots of fish leftovers to spare. The shreds of fish muscle on the bone were nothing to the two kjerrborns, but everything to the akergryph. Juicy, fatty everything.

She pounced on a dragonfly that hovered over the resting kjerrborn, a gleeful squawk escaping her as she scarfed down the insect.

The splashing of the cub stopped suddenly; the kjerrborn flicked their ears forward to listen, but only heard the running river water... and something shuffling in the distance. Something big.

The scream-like cries of the cub sounded out as the kjerrborn rumbled to their feet, scanning the river for threats. The cub raced behind the kjerrborn, still crying in fear.

In the distance, a human shape stood on the banks of the river. Behind it, a moving mass that smelled of musk, some territorial spray the kjerrborn didn't understand as a threat.

Why was the cub afraid of a human? The scent was… familiar, once more, but it was not the colors of the human Hallvar thought might be Kiran. Someone else, someone the cub recognized.

There was no need to stand, not when the kjerrborn caught the tell-tale movement of arms, signifying a drawn bow.

The akergryph and cub received commands, one internal and automatic to follow the cub, the other a guttural vocalization that said to run.

While a kjerrborn was not beast whose talent lie in agility or dexterity, it was still capable of moving quickly, not unlike a traincar that had to labor to reach top speed.

The beast lunged between the cub and the human, hoping to block any arrow.

The thwip of the bow sounded, soon followed by an impact against the kjerrborn's hide. Though successful, there was a price. The arrow did little damage against the kjerrborn – incredibly durable by nature, additionally augmented by Hallvar's endurance – but some new counter started up in the corner of their vision.

Hallvar wasn't in enough control to do anything about this effect, not when the kjerrborn was entering a rage.

They barrelled toward the human, gaining speed with each loping stride, but the human was quicker, dodging away faster than the kjerrborn expected.

Now closer, the kjerrborn could identify the strange beast smell and hear the hiss of the gronfaine. Another enemy.

The kjerrborn collided with the gronfaine, undeterred by the spiny armor, but just as the gronfaine was unable to damage the kjerrborn's thick hide, the kjerrborn had no real ability to strike past their enemy's armor.

A second counter started after a sharp pain near the kjerrborn's less-protected joint.

The human was moving once more. The kjerrborn bellowed out a warning, even as Hallvar frantically pushed thoughts against the mental block in place.

Gronfaine, hunter. This was Guillaume. Get out. Run.

Another match of tusks and armor. The kjerrborn and gronfaine were stuck rolling and failing to catch any exposed flesh.

Usually, this would be a better matchup for the kjerrborn, but not when there was a beasthunter at their back.

The kjerrborn slammed a massive paw into the gronfaine's head, stunning it and sending it reeling, stumbling into the beasthunter.

Now, Hallvar insisted.

So, the kjerrborn retreated in a loping sprint, following the scent of the cub and the system nudges toward their companion beasts.

–

Guillaume swore at hir beast, leveling a kick at it unsuccessfully as the gronfaine tried to right itself. The beasthunter was stuck underneath the gronfaine, numerous of its spikes embedding into armor, between armor, into flesh.

Nothing was broken, but the beasthunter was injured and angry at the stupidity of hir gronfaine. The beast shied away in fear as Guillaume yelled and limped to sit on a rock, prying a vial of healing potion from hir belt.

Recovery was a delay Guillaume did not want. Ze could hardly take on a kjerrborn of that size without full health. And the reports of a red kjerrborn spotted leaving the [ territory ] were too exquisite to ignore.

Every beasthunter worth their merit would flock to a rare-colored beast, until someone possessed its pelt.

And a male kjerrborn with an unusual color? That would not be a beast to scrap for armor, but one used in a mount, to put on display. The four tusks, the giant claws, the red fur.

If done properly, the sold kjerrborn would easily fund a year or more of luxury, and years of frugality.

Guillaume would be surprised if the Queen herself didn't ask for this potential mount, as it would go well in a gallery of Amnasín's finest beasts.

The beasthunter packed a pipe to smoke while ze waited for the healing potion to kick in, unable to pursue the kjerrborn with a limp.

In hir vision, the system highlighted a trail of kjerrborn prints exiting the mud of the river.

[ skill: chosen prey ] and [ skill: tracker's eye ] allowed Guillaume to monitor the kjerrborn's vitals – watching its health fade over time – while having a guaranteed path to finding the beast once more.

Kjerrborns were not tricky beasts. They didn't need to evade pursuit or hide their trail or lose predators.

Guillaume expected this hunt to be simplistic but laborious; the queen kjerrborn only fell as easily as she did because she was cornered, protecting the cub.

The beasthunter needed to corner this boar, and then...

A life with little worry for coin and all the glory a kjerrborn pelt could buy.