Famine 237: Homecoming

　　It had been four days since the arrival of the [Preliminary Selection].

　　Outside, the shouts and clash of battle continued without pause.

　　In the wind-blasted watchtower of the snowy mountains, the bonfire burned brightly. Snow Egret huddled in a corner near the fire, curled up into a small ball.

　　The snow mountain outpost was already remote, and now only a few C-class worlds remained nearby. The powerful teams had long since marched out, leaving behind only the weak players to clear out the low-level worlds.

　　Snow Egret was one of them.

　　He was a pale-haired, white-clad youth with large eyes. He curled up in his fluffy collar, looking as soft and round as a snowball.

　　He was a beastkin warrior; his beast form was a long-haired white ragdoll cat, plush and fluffy. His temperament matched his animal shape—gentle, docile, soft and sweet, without much temper, and lacking in assertiveness.

　　To call him a “warrior” was perhaps too generous. He had no combat ability to speak of. Even after beast transformation, he was only good for running fast and being small, better able to perch on someone else’s shoulder without being a burden.

　　Over these nine years, he had survived entirely thanks to the group, and especially thanks to his taciturn, mature lover, Shen Qing, who protected him.

　　The snow mountain outpost had existed for some time now. People came and went, but those who still remained were an old band of survivors. They had once been refugees on the Bone Ferry, and after the Farm took them in, they survived together, eventually ending up here, living out their days in this lonely tower.

　　Those still here weren’t heroes or legends. They were an easygoing, unambitious bunch—companions used to each other’s presence, thinking only of living quietly, eating, petting a cat, and waiting for work to end, day by day.

　　Snow Egret was gentle and obedient, easily liked; good-looking, fluffy, and adorable. No one minded taking care of a beautiful child.

　　“Little Kitty,” “Group Pet”… He had many nicknames, all spoken with fond teasing. Snow Egret never got upset, only blushed and smiled, shrinking closer into Shen Qing’s embrace.

　　Shen Qing was not talkative. He only curved his lips in a faint smile, hiding the little cat behind him.

　　Shen Qing was formidable—perhaps the strongest in the outpost. He was Snow Egret’s boyfriend, his beloved, his protector, his reason for living, and the best person he knew—seemingly capable of anything. As long as he was with Shen Qing, Snow Egret would always be a carefree little cat.

　　But now, Shen Qing lay by the fire, covered in blood, unconscious.
　　The towel on his forehead was soaked with blood and sweat, and Snow Egret changed it every ten minutes—but the blood seemed endless.

　　So many had died. Too many. The smell of blood hung heavy.

　　The others too had just finished their shifts, all spattered with blood. Some were too exhausted to lift their heads, while others panted, arguing wearily around the fire:

　　“It’s been three days since we lost contact! No one’s coming, the caravan must have died out already… What the hell are these things? How long will this last? How much longer do we have to bear it?…”

　　A long-haired man wept, pessimistically, “It won’t stop… We’re finished… Now all our Buffs have run out. How can we hold on…?”

　　Someone responded immediately, “Don’t be so defeatist! We won’t die! With the Farm’s watchtower defenses, we can still hold out a while.”

　　“But—supplies are only enough for one more day…”

　　Wide-eyed: “No! That fast? What about the outpost’s stockpile?”

　　“Did you forget? The tower is too small—storage is five hundred meters away in a snow cave, and the way is swarming with shadows.”

　　“I had some nutripaste put aside, but now it’s all gone…”
　　Someone said, unwillingly, “I’ll go to the snow cave…!”
　　Others shook their heads at once: “You’ll die out there. With so many shadows, do you have a chance? We’re not the vanguard—people like us will only die for nothing.”
　　“I’m so hungry…”
　　“……”

　　Some were irritable, some resolute, some in tears.

　　Snow Egret sat silently to the side, changing Shen Qing’s towel, listening quietly, as he always did—polite and silent.

　　They argued for a long time. Finally, the leader took a deep breath and, his voice thick with the taste of blood, came to a decision: “We must start rationing. From this moment.”

　　“From today on, each person gets one sandwich per day. The wounded and the non-combatants—two share a single loaf. Stretch it as far as we can, and we can survive four days.”

　　“Any objections?”

　　The others lowered their heads in silent agreement.

　　Suddenly, a mournful voice pierced the silence: “It’s not enough for four days.”

　　It was the same long-haired man, still crying. He had done the math—his lips shook for a while before he spoke, “Even so, it’ll only last us a day and a half at most.”
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　　“We must concentrate all resources on those who can still fight.”

　　At once, every gaze turned to Snow Egret.

　　It hurt. Someone, unable to bear Snow Egret’s expression, was about to rebuke the long-haired man and defend him—yet the man shook his head:

　　“So, starting now,

　　His hands rested on his belly, where a gaping wound bled heavily, viscera faintly visible.

　　He, himself, would soon die.

　　He was not speaking of Snow Egret—but of himself.

　　A heavy silence fell.

　　Another wounded man struggled upright, raising his hand: “I—I’ll abstain from eating too.”
　　A girl with a broken leg, coughing, lifted her hand as well: “Me too… I can go without. Just—avenge me, Old Li.”

　　“Ha. From the moment the Hunger Game began, I knew I would starve to death. If I could spend a couple of good days at the Farm, it’d be worth it.”

　　For more than nine years, stumbling along together, they’d become a family. Even military training at the Farm, they all did as a group.
　　With one person speaking up, other wounded quickly joined in.

　　Some wounded still clung to life, their lips pressed shut.

　　But still, hand after hand rose in succession.

　　The leading player’s eyes grew hot, filled with tears he could not voice.

　　Until the wave of sacrifice turned to Snow Egret.

　　——

　　“No. I will eat until I am full.”

　　In the darkness, Snow Egret’s voice rang out, clear as crystal.

　　All conversation ceased.

　　Only the crackle of the fire broke the hush.

　　In full view, Snow Egret hung his head, gently replacing his lover’s towel. Gentle and obedient, just as always—a little cat.

　　Then he lifted his head, blue eyes reflecting the firelight, his words slow and measured:

　　“I must eat my fill, so I can run farther.”

　　……

　　Snow Egret’s beast form was a ragdoll cat: plush, white, soft and agile, able to run across the snow. It could leap to the top of a fridge, meow cutely, but had no real skills to speak of.

　　He looked painfully fragile—cuddly and easy to bully.

　　Which meant, when the watchtower shuttered its gates, and only those heavy gray walls remained, and Snow Egret found himself alone on the field…

　　The shadows would surely chase him.

　　Snap!

　　The ragdoll cat darted across the snowy night, a strip of red cloth tied to its tail—trailing a burning line across the white snow.

　　Around his neck hung Shen Qing’s necklace—a Farm gemstone that enhanced his agility, letting him spring and dart through the gaps between shadows.

　　Faster! Faster still!

　　Snow swept away into blackness, with only a few hallucinated sparks for light.

　　Behind him, more and more black shadows surged like a tide, nipping at his heels.

　　Swish!

　　A long-range shadow struck, but the ragdoll leaped, just clearing the attack and hurrying on.

　　Snow Egret’s fur quivered with fear. His paw pads, never made for snow, ached with every step, his lungs burned as blood welled up from his throat. But he remembered his lover’s blood, the red-rimmed eyes of the squad leader, the hands that rose one after another beside the fire.

　　Across the vast, snowy plain, the cat lured the shadows away, buying space for those left in the tower.

　　He could not see, but he knew—while the shadows pursued him, the leader and their most elite team had dashed for the snow cave, where food was stored in abundance.

　　How wonderful, Snow Egret thought. I wish I had a warrior’s strength.

　　He knew he would not make it back. His blood stained the snow beneath his paws, leaving trails of crimson. His fur was matted with snow and blood, each step heavier, his mind slowing with the cold.

　　At last, the fastest shadow caught his tail.

　　“—Meow!!”

　　He was yanked from the ground, his hind legs wrenched, flailing as blood and snow sprayed—red and white in the darkness.

　　It was over.
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　　Snow Egret thought his last moments would be filled with memories—his companions, humanity’s efforts—but at this fatal instant, his unambitious nature prevailed. Only a single, stubborn thought filled his mind, clearer and clearer—

　　He wanted to eat braised beef with tomatoes.

　　They said the Farm had secured both prairie and beef… It was so remote out here, he’d never had it.

　　So cold, Snow Egret thought hazily. He wished he could eat steaming braised beef with tomatoes, straight from the pot—held warm in his palms. If there was a bowl of rice to soak in the broth, sweet and sour and fragrant, that would be perfect.

　　Bloodied and limp, the little ragdoll gave up struggling.

　　“…Don’t…close…”

　　In the distance, faint voices seemed to reach him.

　　…………
　　……

　　What was that? Snow Egret looked up, dazed.

　　BOOM—!

　　Suddenly, flames roared past his fur.

　　He stared dumbfounded at the blaze before him, still numb with shock as the shadow clutching him was ripped in two.

　　Dragon wings unfurled, hurricane winds swept up burning snow. Something seized the scruff of his neck and a deep, languid voice sounded behind him:

　　“I told you, don’t close your eyes, little cat.”

　　“With scenery this beautiful, it’d be a shame to miss it.”

　　—A dragon?!

　　Feline instinct kicked in—Snow Egret’s fur stood on end.

　　He’d heard of Nidhogg before. Was Nidhogg here to save him?

　　But Nidhogg only laughed uproariously. He did not attack, only wrapped flaming wings protectively around Snow Egret, plucked him easily onto his shoulder, and soared aloft.

　　Behind them, countless assaults slammed into the shadow ranks.

　　Arrows, spears, spells, fire…

　　So many disparate attacks—mismatched in style and method, a chaotic patchwork—yet, at that same moment, all surged in unison against the shadows.

　　Boom!
　　An explosion burst, tearing a rent in the suffocating tide.

　　“Kill them!!!”
　　“Dammit, there ARE survivors in this outpost!!”
　　“Charge, brothers!”

　　“Ranged squad, follow my marker! On my mark—volley fire!!”

　　“Melee squad, get ready!”

　　Behind Nidhogg, a storm of players’ shouts rang through the night.

　　Their equipment varied, their accents differed, even their fighting styles ranged wildly.

　　Yet under the field marks and unified command, every one of them moved as one.

　　Just as they had drilled, time and time again.

　　From above, the players looked like a blade dripping with molten lava, stabbing into the abyss of shadows.

　　Nidhogg laughed low: “Let’s see…what’s the phrase…Right, hello—this is the Farm Armed Division, Fourth Column, [Homecoming Operation] in progress.”

　　“Thanks for holding out this long.”

　　“We’re here to bring you home.”

　　On the horizon, scattered lights ignited on the snowy mountains, one after another.

　　Snow Egret clung to Nidhogg’s shoulder, staring in a daze.

　　Was this…the Farm Master?

　　No. It wasn’t.

　　He was a survivor from the Bone Ferry—he’d seen the Farm Master before. The Master was like a sun, drawing great souls onward, blazing and advancing.

　　But here—those saving them were not the Farm Master, not the sun.

　　They were torches.

　　Ordinary players, each with a burning torch in hand, trekking through the snowy night to scale the mountain.

　　A winding line of lights extended, piercing the somber night.

　　The snowy night was on fire.

　　Snow Egret’s blue eyes reflected the glow, struck speechless by a nameless awe.

　　Nidhogg, unable to speak cat and too lazy to try, retained his insouciant poise no matter the urgency. He absently petted the little cat, surveyed the field, and mused aloud:

　　“Let’s see…what should I ask…Ah, this fur’s so soft…Oh, right—ahem, how many people are left? Is everyone accounted for? Any fighting strength left?…Eh, never mind, don’t answer—I’ll find the commander.”

　　“—Oh, by the way, what’s for dinner?”
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　　“The camp’s making braised beef with tomato right now…it should be simmering on the stove…Is that to your taste, little cat?”