Chapter 12: The Lion While Hunting Doesn't Roar

Exhaustion hung heavy in his limbs, yet a restless energy crackled beneath Noah's eyelids. Sleep, despite the lullaby of the forest and the comforting weight of King Rhoam's gifted sleeping bag, remained elusive. As Noah gazed up at the twinkling stars scattered across the velvety night sky, his mind was alight with the results of his recent experiments of the Magnesis Rune he had spent hours delving into.

His fingers had tingled with excitement as he wielded the Sheikah Slate, honing his skills with the Magnesis rune. With every successful lift and pull of his traveller's sword, an exhilarating surge coursed through him, a potent cocktail of strength and magic. But as Noah soon learned, brute force was not enough to truly master this incredible power - precision and finesse were essential.

One by one, Noah uncovered the method and rules for utilizing the Magnesis rune in this world, which, while similar to the game he had played for countless hours, carried its own unique differences. Like in the game, activating the rune involved clicking on it in the tablet's menu, instantly transforming Noah's view into a world bathed in an ethereal blue hue.

Metal objects that had once seemed mundane now shone with an otherworldly golden aura under the influence of his magnetic touch. This enhanced vision was a gift from the rune but also a curse, as it clung to his right eye like a spectral ember until he deactivated the rune or switched to another function of the Sheikah Slate, such as the camera.

Noah quickly discovered that using sheer strength to manipulate objects was useless; instead, he needed to channel his focused will through the Sheikah Slate's eye to coax them into movement. The buttons on the Slate acted as invisible tethers, allowing him to select and direct specific objects. A simple tilt upward commanded metal items to come closer, while a downward motion sent them retreating under his unseen control.

In essence, Noah's right eye served as a tool for finding compatible objects, while the Sheikah Slate was necessary for manipulating them. In addition it had a range of around 40 meters. But this intoxicating power came with a price - the longer Noah utilized the Magnesis rune, the heavier the Sheikah Slate became, and a dull throb would blossom behind his right eye. He took it as a warning, a sign that pushing himself too far could result in debilitating migraines.

Frustration gnawed at him as he fumbled with the Slate's note function, he had initially wanted to write down his discoveries, but it remained locked. He would have to wait for now, but Noah felt as if he had grasped the basics. With a sigh, he tucked the Slate away, its cool stone leaving a faint imprint on his palm.

His thoughts, however, remained ablaze, unburdened by the physical limitations of the device. "No shrines, then," he muttered, the words tasting foreign on his tongue. He had subtly probed King Rhoam in the past on the shrines existences, a casual inquiry disguised as idle curiosity. The old king, weathered and wise, had simply shrugged, his gnarled fingers tracing the grooves on his sword hilt. "Haven't seen their likes in these parts, Noah. But who knows what secrets this land still whispers?".

Noah wasn't entirely surprised. The absence of King Rhoam mentioning it, the Sheikah Tower giving him the Magnesis Rune and of course, the Goddess not replying to his prayers at the statue already hinted at this. Noah honestly was sort of pleased, he wasn't praying to go on heroic pilgrimage across verdant fields and exhilarating climbs up ancient stone giants to find shrines. This Hyrule demanded adaptability, not route memorization.

Yet, a strange thrill surged through him. If shrines were out, then the rules were rewritten. His gaze scanned the horizon, drawn to the jagged silhouettes of distant mountains. Fifteen towers, all of which don't require Trials of Strength or Tests of Courage to access.

"More than the original five," he breathed, fingers unconsciously tapping a rhythm against his worn tunic. If unlocking a tower unlocked a new rune that meant ten potential new abilities. His mind, a cauldron once simmering with familiar routines, now bubbled with the intoxicating potential of the unknown. Would there be a rune of language, allowing him to translate the very fabric of speech? Or a rune of shadows, cloaking him in an inky veil of invisibility?

The questions tumbled over each other, a cascade of possibilities. Maybe there was a rune of empathy, allowing him to bridge the chasm between species by manipulation to weave understanding where suspicion festered. Or a rune of resilience, strengthening his resolve against the unforgiving wilderness.

His eyes burned with a newfound purpose. This wasn't a world to be conquered, a checklist to be ticked off. This was a tapestry of possibilities with each tower, a promise etched in stone and Noah, adrift in this uncharted Hyrule, was ready to hear.

The night whispered back, a low, expectant hum. The stars, pinpricks of hope against the velvety darkness, seemed to wink in agreement as sleep beckoned, its starry embrace promising solace and the sweet oblivion of dreams.

But alas, his dreams were not peaceful. Instead, they were haunted by memories of home, of a warm hearth crackling with familiar comfort. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother's face etched with worry as she searched for him, while his father's pained gaze mirrored her concern. And then suddenly, their features twisted into grotesque masks and their voices turned into guttural growls. Fear swelled within Noah as he scrambled back until...

A sudden jolt tore him from his nightmare. The campfire beside him sputtered and cast dancing shadows on the ruined logs nearby. Noah's heart raced against his chest as he tried to calm himself, still feeling the lingering echoes of his frightening dream clinging to him like cobwebs. But as he took a deep breath, the cool night air washing over him, a sense of relief flooded him. He was in Hyrule, he couldn't afford to be lost in the shadows of his own fears.

The dawn light painted the small forest in soft hues of rose and gold, bathing the world in a tranquil hush. A gentle breeze rustled through the golden waves of wheat, stirring a lone Grassland Fox from its slumber. Emerging from the emerald haven of a nearby thicket, the creature stretched its sleek, orange-clad body, sunlight glinting off its obsidian feet and ears. Its muzzle, tipped in white, twitched, sniffing the air for the succulent scent of breakfast.

A patch of Hylian Shrooms simmered amidst the swaying grass carefully bundled together on the dirt floor, a feast beckoning the hungry fox. It approached cautiously; its amber eyes gleaming with anticipation. It dipped its head, nostrils flaring as it savoured the sweet scent. Just as it began to delicately pluck a Shroom, a glint of silver sliced through the air.

Panic flared in the fox's eyes as it recognised the weapon - the bane of its kind, the instrument of countless hunts. A figure leaped out, brandishing a gleaming sword that seemed to drink the sunlight. With a yelp, it twisted and darted, a streak of orange and white vanishing into the concealing embrace of a nearby thornbush.

Noah stumbled back; sword heavy in his trembling grasp. A bitter oath burned his throat. "Another miss," he hissed, frustration gnawing at him like a famished beast. Hunting had proven a humbling endeavour—a far cry from the swift, practiced takedowns of Link who could eliminate any creature by sprinting behind it. Here, the foxes were quicker, their senses honed to razor sharpness. His attempts at bait and ambush, while less disastrous than his initial idea of charging straight at them, still ended in empty-handed defeat.

He knew it was time to face reality - this world was not a straight copy of Breath of the Wild. Although there were similarities, there were also distinct differences. The physics here were not bound by game mechanics and while it attempted to replicate the game faithfully, it did so in a realistic manner which often distorted them in one way or another in a way Noah couldn't predict.

For example, Grassland Foxes in BOTW were solidary creatures and because this was feasible in a realistic setting, it worked the same here as well.

Even the characters he met seemed to follow their scripted lines from the game unless he changed the conversation, this is the only conclusion that explained why Princess Zelda's dialogue was identical in the Shrine of Resurrection, while King Rhoam was different at times. These inconsistencies confirmed it: this Hyrule was a living tapestry, not a static picture.

With a sigh, Noah picked up his Hylian Shrooms, packing it into his meagre sack. This wasn't a game where persistence guaranteed victory. He needed to adapt, to bend his tactics to the rhythm of this new reality. Survival demanded more than rote memorization; it craved innovation.

He dusted himself off and set off towards the Duelling Peaks, their snow-capped heads beckoning across the plains. Hunger gnawed at his belly, a constant reminder of his precarious state. King Rhoam's guidebook echoed in his mind, a warning about overhunting an area. He veered off the path, seeking new grounds for sustenance.

The day marched on, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves as he walked. Then, a commotion ahead: dust billowed, revealing a band of Bokoblin's staking their claim on the Gatepost Town Ruins. Noah, despite his confidence, preferred discretion. He skirted around them, the forest swallowing him whole.

Beneath the emerald canopy of the Forest of Time, Noah sought redemption. Hylian Shrooms, pilfered from his dwindling rations, dangled on a thread, a desperate plea to the wilderness. This time, hunger wouldn't be his downfall. His fingers brushed the Sheikah Slate, a mischievous grin twisting his lips.

Dusk bled into the forest, painting the leaves with whispers of purple and gold. A fox, a phantom of movement, emerged from the shadows, lured by the promise of a feast. It dipped its head, savoring the sweet scent, oblivious to the glint of silver suspended above. Then, a silent scream ripped through the stillness. The fox, felled by an invisible blade, lay still.

"Yes!" Noah's triumphant cry echoed through the woods, bouncing off the ancient trees. But as he emerged from his hiding place, his right eye pulsating under the electrifying blue light of the Sheikah Slate his victory was soon curdled like sour milk.

The fox's eyes, wide and unseeing, stared back at him, accusing. It wasn't a monster, not a creature of malice, but a living thing, driven by the same desperate hunger that gnawed at him. Using the Magnesis rune, he had strategically positioned his traveller's sword above the bait. The unsuspecting fox never stood a chance.

Despite his own hypocrisy as a meat-eater, seeing the innocent animal fall by his hands made Noah feel a pang of guilt. But ultimately, it was survival of the fittest in this harsh world. He sheathed his sword, the weight of the fox heavy in his hands. Picking it up, he walked deeper into the forest, the leaves crackling under his feet like mournful whispers.

Following the advice of King Rhoam, Noah made a mental note to stick to the well-travelled paths during the day and veer off-course at night to avoid unwanted attention and dangerous monsters.

After exiting the Forest of Time, Noah didn't need to search for long as in the close distance was some Outpost Ruins. Carefully approaching the ruins, Noah used holes in the mossy stone walls to investigate before entering. After confirming it was safe and empty, he entered to find some items scattered on the ground. Feeling slightly more secure with these abandoned ruins as his campsite for the night, Noah settled in.

Remembering King Rhoam's instructions from earlier, Noah began preparing his campfire. Although it wasn't as perfect as the one, he had witnessed King Rhoam make, Noah couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in his improvement.

But when it came time to prepare his prized catch - the Grassland Fox - Noah was at a loss. Opening King Rhoam's Guidebook, he searched for guidance on how to properly cook and prepare his meal.

"Skinning," the manual declared, its faded ink swimming under the firelight. A simple enough instruction, but Noah's gaze skittered between the words and the still forms. He hadn't skinned or gutted anything before. The Grassland Fox beside Noah with it's watchful eyes and sleek forms, felt almost human in it's death.

He flipped through the pages, searching for something, anything, that might ease his discomfort. Diagrams of butchering cuts offered no solace, descriptions of herbs and spices tasted like mockery. Finally, he stumbled upon a faded sketch of a Hylian cooking pot, adorned with intricate symbols. Beneath it, a single sentence: "Respect the bounty of the hunt."

The words struck his guilt. Rhoam wasn't just teaching him survival, he was teaching him reverence. A wave of shame washed over Noah. He hadn't earned this meal; he'd simply stolen it. He hadn't honoured the creatures' sacrifice; he'd simply exploited it.

But what is done, and he no intention of wasting his game, but unlike the creation of a campfire Noah found himself confused on the instructions King Rhoam had written, he understood the words, but he didn't know how to apply it in practice. This wasn't King Rhoam's fault of course, but rather an issue with himself.

With a sigh, he closed the book. The fox deserved more than a clumsy butcher's knife and a roaring fire. Fatigue, physical and mental, weighed him down. The day's travel and the constant strain of the Magnesis Rune had sapped his strength.

Wrapping the fox in a scrap of cloth, he postponed the decision. Dawn would bring clarity, he hoped. The night air, crisp and cold, was a balm to his burning cheeks. He ate some of his dwindling rations, then drew his worn sleeping bag close to the flickering fire.

As he drifted off into sleep, a faint noise stirred him awake. He sat up quickly, ready to defend himself against any potential danger. But soon he realized that it was just a figment of his imagination; a consequence of his initial fight with King Rhoam that still haunted him in his dreams.

However, another realization dawned on him - there was actually something approaching him. His heart raced as he tried to make out the source of the sound, straining his eyes in the dim light of the dying campfire. Was it a predator drawn by the scent of the dead fox? Or perhaps another human like himself?

The uncertainty filled Noah with both fear and hope, fear for his own safety, but also hope for possible companionship. Flickering thoughts raced through Noah's mind as he quickly extinguished the open flame, hiding his position from whatever or whoever was coming closer.

In the eerie silence of the night, Noah made out a dim light not far from the Outpost ruins which was slowly approaching him. As he silently watched and listened, he realized that the sounds were not from walking but from something larger.

'Is that a wagon?' Noah thought to himself as he observed the rustling growing louder and morphing into a low groan accompanied by the rumble of wheels. A wagon emerged from the darkness, illuminated by the pale moon.

Fear coiled in Noah's gut, sharp and metallic. His gaze lingered on the scene unfolding on the road, a grotesque tableau of pain and subjugation. A monstrous Blue Moblin, its blue hide rippling with muscle, strained against a crude wooden carriage. Chains, thick as Noah's arm, bit into its flesh, leaving angry welts against its sapphire fur. With each agonizing step, the cart lurched forward, kicking up dust that danced in the wind like skeletal fingers. Its height was surprisingly, being taller than the carriage itself.

The Moblin's head hung low, but Noah could catch glimpses of its smouldering eyes – embers of defiance flickering beneath a cloak of exhaustion. Its powerful arms, capable of snapping trees, were bound at the wrists, chafing raw against the coarse hemp. Its guttural grunts resonated through the stillness, each one a low tremor of anger and pain.

Atop the cart, perched like a vulture on carrion, sat a hulking blue Bokoblin. Its bulbous form was draped in ragged armour, a mismatched collection of scavenged scraps. A wicked grin stretched across its face, revealing a mouth crammed with needle-sharp teeth. As the blue Bokoblin cracked its whip the chained Moblin lurched forward, a symphony of anguish and forced obedience.

'Slavery amongst monsters?' Noah scoffed inwardly but more importantly, 'Why are they using a carriage?' it seemed a little too complicated for the primitive creatures to utilise, especially since they had no intelligence.

As the carriage drew closer, Noah made out two more Bokoblin's, one red, one blue, flanked the wagon, their guttural growls blending with the rhythmic groan of wheels.

Initially, a cold pragmatism settled in Noah's gut. "Not my fight," he reasoned initially planning to allow it to pass quietly. "Survival first." But as the cart drew closer, moonlight glinted off wooden bars at the back. Inside, three human figures huddled in terror. Noah's blood turned to ice.

"Plans changed," he muttered, his voice a vow in the hushed night.

This wasn't just a monster caravan; it was a vessel of suffering. He wasn't Link, but turning a blind eye felt colder than the winter wind, besides he had dealt with Bokoblin's before.

Using the shadows as his cloak, Noah exited the ruins and navigated through the bushes silently stalking the wagon, silently assessing the threats. The Red Bokoblin's held a Boko Spear, the whip wielding Blue Bokoblin atop the cart with a Boko Bow holstered, and a spiked Boko Bat by the remaining Blue Bokoblin. His mind, a tactical map under the moonlight, formulated a plan. Risky, but doable.

Confidence surged through him. He'd danced with Bokoblin's before, their predictable savagery no match for his abilities. But the colour variations unsettled him. An unknown variable. And while taking on multiple monsters slightly worried him, the chained Moblin was a wildcard defiance flickered in its smouldering eyes.

Still, the humans trapped in the back were his priority. Their presence urged him to action, fuelling his resolve. He could escape into the night if necessary worst-case scenario.

In addition, saving them would grant him some benefits such as information. King Rhoam was great, however after spending a century trapped in the Great Plateau his guidebook lacked up-to-date information.

As the cart slowed around a bend, Noah saw his opportunity. He used the night's cloak to cross the road, slipping into the bushes near the Red Bokoblin. A single pebble, flicked with pinpoint accuracy, hit the cart behind the creature. Startled, it turned towards the human captives, assuming the noise came from them. Another pebble, this time closer to Noah, lured the Red Bokoblin towards him.

He unsheathed his sword, stepping out of the darkness with a swift, predatory grace. The Bokoblin caught by surprise attempted to lunge, his spear thrusting forward, but Noah had the advantage and became a blur of steel. His blade found its mark in the creature's chest with a sickening thud. The Bokoblin crumpled, its weapon clattering like a death knell.

But silence shattered with the whipmaster's roar, an arrow screaming past Noah's ear. It appeared he could've improve upon his stealth a little. The remaining Blue Bokoblin, having been alerted by the other encircled the carriage, fear and rage twisting their grotesque faces. The Moblin, merely stopped pulling the carriage and looked to Noah with a dumb, empty gaze.

Targeting the Red Bokoblin first might seem odd, but Noah couldn't discern whether these monsters had night vision. Approaching the carriage in the open risked alerting the whipmaster if they had. And the Boko Spear, a weapon he rarely encountered, posed an unknown threat.

He ducked back into the grass, using the night's cloak to shift. The perched Bokoblin, perhaps possessing more intelligence, didn't pursue, but lashed out at the Moblin with its whip. The creature roared in pain, obeying the command and dragging the carriage forward at a furious pace.

Just as despair threatened to drown Noah, an individual with long brown hair clawed at the bars, her voice from the back of the carriage cried out, "The monster camp! It's nearby!"

Noah swore under his breath. He knew what the Blue Bokoblin was attempting, reaching the camp meant rescuing the captives would be impossible and escaping difficult. Stealth was out. Gritting his teeth, he sprinted after the cart, the whipmaster's arrows whispering death all around him.

He met the remaining Blue Bokoblin head-on, steel ringing against spiked club. This fight was different. Unlike the mindless swings of the Red Bokoblin, there was technique, a hint of training in the creature's blows.

Noah saw an opening, a chance to end the fight quickly, and used the Bokoblin's own momentum against it. With a well-placed kick, he sent the creature stumbling into the path of the whipmaster's next arrow.

The shaft found its mark, but not in Noah. The arrow slammed into Blue Bokoblin's throat with a sickening thud, silencing its roar mid-swing. The creature clutched at the shaft, gurgling and spewing green onto the ground before slumping to its knees, a silent puppet with severed strings. Noah seized the opportunity, his blade finding its mark once more, silencing the creature forever.

With the immediate threats neutralized, Noah's focus shifted to the speeding carriage. His heart hammered against his ribs as he sprinted, adrenaline pulsing in his veins. He yanked out the Sheikah Slate, the Magnesis Rune humming to life, the chains binding the Moblin pulsed with golden light, hope blossoming in Noah's chest like a fragile flower.

He aimed his Sheikah Slate, the invisible binds anchoring themselves to the Moblin's chains. Then, with a surge of desperation, he activated the Rune. The world lurched, the ground rushing past Noah as he found himself being forcefully dragged behind the speeding carriage in the Moblin's wake. He clung to the Slate, adrenaline coursing through him as the chains groaned under the strain. Then, with a sickening snap, the tether broke.

The Moblin stumbled, disoriented by its sudden freedom. It stared at its empty hands, a flicker of bewilderment momentarily dimming the primal rage simmering in its eyes. But the whipmaster, oblivious to the severed chains, cracked his whip once more displeased the Moblin had stopped moving. The sound sliced through the night, a venomous lash that triggered the storm already brewing within the Moblin.

The Moblin roared, a sound that tore through the night like a tortured beast. With a fury unlike anything Noah had ever witnessed, the Moblin surged forward, grabbing the carriage with preternatural strength. It heaved, muscles straining like knotted ropes, and flipped the cart onto its side with a groan of splintering wood, as screams from the human captives inside were heard.

The Blue Bokoblin that had been perched atop tumbled out, landing on the dirt. Fear choked its screech as it scrambled back, clawing at the dirt in a desperate bid for escape. But the Moblin was upon it, a whirlwind of raw vengeance. It seized the Bokoblin in its powerful claws, squeezing the life out of its whimpering form.

Noah watched, frozen as he released the Magnesis Rune. The moon cast long, grotesque shadows as the Moblin tore the Bokoblin limb from limb, each agonizing snap and tear echoing in the stillness. It was a brutal display of dominance, a primal reminder of the savagery

Finally, with a wet crunch, the Bokoblin's struggles ceased. Its mutilated body lay discarded on the ground, a testament to the Moblin's fury. The creature stood panting, its sapphire fur matted with gore, its eyes burning with a chilling ferocity. It turned its gaze towards Noah, and for a terrifying moment, he felt like its next prey.

Noah's breath hitched, a guttural fear rising in his throat. He swallowed; the taste of iron heavy on his tongue. In that moment, under the cold gaze of the moon and the reeking breath of the enraged Moblin, he knew he underestimated the enemy before him.

"…Fuck…" Noah whispered.

Authors Note):

Good evening, everyone, firstly allow myself to apologise for the delay in the release of this chapter. For those who are new or perhaps not aware, the schedule is to release a new chapter each week.

However, in certain circumstances I may choose to delay the chapter by another week if something catches my radar or Im interrupted by IRL activities. The reason for the delay of this chapter is because Fanfiction recently fixed their statistics and because of which I've been able to notice that we've seen a significant drop in readers during the first three chapters.

After re-reading the first few chapters I've noticed that the quality of the first few chapters aren't as good as the chapters currently being produced now and decided to spend the past week touching up and reworking those initial chapters.

If you would like to go back and re-read them your more than welcome too, although it isn't necessarily as the content has remained the same I've just improved the writing.

For those curious

- Chapter 1 remade

- Chapter 2 heavily altered

- Chapter 3 slightly altered

- Chapter 4: King Rhoam's speech slightly altered to include more emphasis on expressions.

I apologise for the delay in this chapter, and hope you enjoyed it. Till next time!