Mushoku Tensei: Reincarnated as a Beast Race

Upon arriving, he found the tribe's warriors alongside a group of strangers. In the clearing, Lonar Dedoldia, the warrior responsible for the tribe's security, was exchanging blows with an unknown man. Instinctively, Rygar activated his Magic Eye. The world around him shifted.

The stranger was tall and athletic, with black hair tied into a ponytail and a focused posture. He wielded a long, elegant sword that seemed to dance through the air. His movements were precise, combining direct strikes with a fluid style that Rygar couldn't entirely recognize. There was something deeply unsettling about him, a strange instinctual feeling Rygar couldn't quite explain.

The fighters exchanged intense but clearly friendly blows. The sound of steel clashing reverberated through the air, and the crowd watched in fascination. Yet, Rygar felt something stirring deep within him—an aggression that began to take over his senses.

When Lonar stepped back after deflecting a particularly quick strike, Rygar couldn't hold back any longer. Letting out a roar, he charged at the swordsman with explosive force, aiming directly for his throat.

Rygar's attack was swift, but the stranger didn't flinch. Instead, another figure intercepted him. Before he could land his strike, Rygar was firmly grabbed and thrown to the ground in a motion as smooth as a flowing river. He tried to resist, but the strength holding him down was unshakable.

"Calm down, boy," said a deep, commanding voice. "No one here is your enemy."

Looking up, Rygar saw an older man with short graying brown hair and an imposing presence. He held his sheathed sword at his side, clearly ready to act if needed, though his expression remained calm and controlled.

"Rygar!" Lonar rushed over, placing a firm hand on the young boy's shoulder. "Stop this. They are not enemies—it's just a friendly sparring match."

Rygar was breathing heavily, shame burning his face as he slowly stood, avoiding the eyes of those around him. "I'm sorry... it was instinctive."

"Hah! You tried to kill me over an instinct?" scoffed the swordsman.

Lonar, still stern, crossed his arms. "If he did, it's because he saw something in you that we don't. Our instincts rarely fail."

The swordsman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention to the other members of his group, gathered a bit farther back.

As tensions eased, Fendrel formally introduced himself and his group to the villagers.

"I am Fendrel Ashbrand, the leader of this group, the Red Dragon's Breath. A pleasure to finally meet you all," he began, smiling warmly as he addressed the wary villagers. "We are Rank S adventurers, and our journey began with a rescue mission. However, what brought us here goes beyond that."

Pausing, he observed their reactions before continuing. "I am a Sword Saint, and my mission started when a beastfolk slave saved my life during a battle. I was gravely wounded, and despite her terrible condition, she cared for me. Before her death, she asked me to free her son and bring him back to the Great Forest. Upon arriving here, we learned of the challenges your tribe is facing. We couldn't simply walk away. That's why I've decided to help, and my group chose to follow me here."

Fendrel's gaze softened as he looked at Rygar, as if wanting the boy to understand his intentions. "The debt is mine, and I see it as my responsibility to repay it."

He gestured toward his companions.

Darian, the swordsman, gave a simple bow. "I'm Darian. Swordsman. Not as skilled as Fendrel, but my blade is sharp."

Erina, the elven archer, spoke with an indifferent tone. "I'm Erina. Archer." She eyed Rygar, noting the distrust still present in his gaze.

Gorrin, the dwarf, raised his voice jovially, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "Name's Gorrin, the Drunkard of the Forge! Not a saint, but good with an axe and a barrel of ale!"

Marla, the healer, followed with a calming presence. "I'm Marla. Healer. If anyone needs care, I'm here."

Lastly, a halfling introduced himself with a mischievous grin. "Zenn. Thief."

A young beastfolk child hiding behind him piped up shyly, "I'm Ginar..."

-

The village's reception was far from warm.

Despite Ginar's account, which confirmed Fendrel's story and eased some tension, the villagers remained skeptical. Having lived in isolation and with internal struggles, they watched the adventurers' every move with suspicion. Outsiders weren't easily trusted, especially during such uncertain times.

"Who are these people? What do they want here?" one elder murmured, glaring at the group. "Our tribe has its own warriors; we don't need strangers."

Even with Fendrel's explanation, doubt lingered. It was hard for the villagers to believe that a group of adventurers would come all this way out of pure altruism.

Rygar felt the unease in the air. He too harbored reservations, particularly about the swordsman Darian, whose earlier sparring match had set him on edge. Yet, Fendrel's calm demeanor and sincerity made Rygar hesitate in outright dismissing him.

Over the days that followed, Rygar observed the adventurers closely. Darian was almost too composed, revealing little about himself. Erina maintained a detached curiosity about the villagers, never venturing too close. The others, more willing to engage, were met with cool politeness but little warmth.

Still, Rygar couldn't shake the feeling that Fendrel carried a unique burden, one that resonated with him. Perhaps there was more to this group than met the eye.

As the days passed, Rygar began to hope the tribe's warriors would return soon. Their presence would make him feel more secure amidst the growing tension.

One day, during one of his training sessions, Fendrel watched as Rygar moved with the natural weapons inherited from his Doldia lineage. His sharp claws and the instinctive agility of his body allowed him to adapt to improvised combat styles.

Fendrel crossed his arms, studying the young warrior as he blocked and dodged Garu's attacks.

"You have what I'd call natural talent," Fendrel remarked.

Rygar paused, looking at him curiously. "Talent for what?"

"For the Sword God Style. It's the way you move—direct, efficient, focused on ending a fight with a single lethal blow."

Though Fendrel seemed impressed, he didn't dwell on the comment. To him, talent only mattered if paired with hard work.

"Don't let it go to your head. Talent is just a seed. Whether it grows depends entirely on you."

Rygar didn't respond. While he enjoyed using a sword, he found it far easier to improve by fighting with his claws and fists.

-

As the weeks went by, Rygar became more involved in the village's daily routines, including helping younger children learn the basics of combat and patrolling the area. Initially, it was just a distraction—something to fill his time when he wasn't training with Garu or pushing his own limits. But soon, he realized he enjoyed teaching.

"Focus on your balance," Rygar told a small group. "If your feet aren't steady, any strike will throw you off."

The children looked up to him with admiration, eagerly mimicking his stances and movements. Despite his youth, Rygar already stood out as someone with the strength and skill of a seasoned warrior.

As the months passed and he turned five, Selene held a small celebration for just the two of them. She gifted him a ring engraved with a wolf design.

The adventurers were gradually integrating into the village's routine. Rygar, though still wary of Darian, began training regularly with Fendrel. Despite his growing respect for the group leader, Rygar couldn't ignore something peculiar: whenever he activated his Magic Eye during their training sessions, he noticed Fendrel's Battle Aura was unlike anything he had ever seen.

"It's... sharp," Rygar reflected during a break. "Every movement is like a blade, but controlled. It's as if he doesn't waste a single drop of energy."

One day, after an especially intense sparring session, Fendrel commented, "You've got monstrous strength for someone your age." He rubbed his shoulder where a strike from Rygar's claws had torn part of his light armor. "If you learn to control it, you could become something truly dangerous... in a good way."

Rygar felt a mix of pride and frustration. Despite his strength, he knew Fendrel still outclassed him in technique and experience.

"My strength means nothing if I can't use it properly," he thought.

During training, Rygar began to blend his natural grappling knowledge—something he had learned in his past life—with the instinctive combat techniques of his new body. In one bout, he managed to take down the veteran swordsman by grabbing his arm during an attack, twisting his body, and pinning him to the ground. Of course, he knew that if Fendrel had been serious, his head would have been severed before he realized it.

"Interesting," Fendrel said as he stood up with a grin. "You don't limit yourself to one style. That flexibility will take you far."

"It's not like I choose to do this," Rygar replied, panting. "It feels like my body just... reacts."

"Then start training your reactions, too," Fendrel retorted. "Reacting without thought is useful, but reacting with intent is what separates a common fighter from a master."

Apparently, there were two kinds of warriors: instinctual and rational. Fendrel categorized Rygar as a pure instinctual fighter and noted that, while this approach made initial progress easier, it wouldn't take him as far in the long run.

Beyond combat, Rygar began practicing chantless magic—something he still didn't fully understand. During a solitary training session, he focused on channeling mana into a simple Fire Lance spell. By concentrating all his energy into a single burst, the spell became intense and powerful but left him exhausted.

"I need more control…" Rygar muttered to himself as he watched the smoke slowly dissipate. "The more mana I pour in, the stronger the spell gets... This could be useful for short battles, but I need to find a way to use it strategically."

Over time, he realized he could quickly deplete his mana reserves by overloading spells. This prompted him to think of new ways to combine his combat abilities with magic—something that could become a decisive advantage.

-

In one of the rare moments of rest, Rygar sat beside his mother, Selene, as she wove a fishing net. He hesitated before speaking.

"Mom, have you ever... felt like you weren't yourself? Like something inside you was pushing you to do things you didn't understand?"

Selene paused, looking at him with a warm, understanding smile. "Sometimes," she replied. "I think it's part of who we are, Rygar. That wildness—some are born with more of it, others with less. We're connected to nature, and nature isn't always rational. But you have something special. You have a choice."

Rygar was silent for a moment. "Mom… Can you teach me how to cook?"

She burst out laughing.

Her words lingered in Rygar's mind, echoing as he continued his training and patrols around the village.

-

As time passed, Fendrel gradually earned the trust of the tribe's leaders. The adventurer leader maintained a friendly and respectful demeanor, never forcing interactions. He respected Rygar's space and often engaged in small conversations about combat and strategy with the warriors, asking about the tribe's fighting styles without ever questioning Gustav Dedoldia's authority.

Rygar was surprised by Fendrel's approach. His mother and Verdia had told him that Sword God Style practitioners were usually arrogant and unrestrained. Yet, Fendrel didn't act superior—he was more of a battle companion. He corrected Rygar's movements gently, never in a rush to teach but always with wise words.

As the days went by, Rygar trained with Fendrel more often. He didn't know exactly what to expect, but the experience was overwhelmingly positive. Fendrel's technique was refined, and Rygar learned a great deal just by observing him.

Rygar realized that Fendrel wasn't just a skilled swordsman but also an incredible strategist.

Sometimes, when Fendrel demonstrated more advanced techniques, Rygar felt as though he was missing something, as if failing at something that should have been simple. But instead of becoming frustrated, he dedicated himself even more to his training. With every sparring match, he felt something changing inside him, though he couldn't yet identify what it was.

"You're already at an advanced level, Rygar, at least in your style," Fendrel once commented after an intense training session. "But you need to learn to control not just your strength but also your emotions. Battle isn't just about brute force. Like I said, you've gotten this far relying purely on instinct, but it'll be hard to progress much further that way."

"I know," Rygar replied, breathing heavily. "It's hard not to follow my instincts when they feel like the best move in a fight."

"It's been years since I left the Sword Sanctuary, but I heard there's a new Sword King called the Black Wolf. She's also from the beast race. I don't know if she had the same problem, but if you ever want to advance further, you could seek her out—or go directly to the Sword Sanctuary. You might even have a chance to become the Sword God's disciple."

Each day, Rygar became more aware of how far he was from mastering his strength. But training with Fendrel was the right path. He could pinpoint Rygar's mistakes and tell him exactly what needed to be done to improve further.

Rygar was steadily becoming a stronger leader, increasingly aware of his abilities. His training sessions with the village children continued, but now he incorporated techniques he had learned from Fendrel, blending grappling maneuvers into his combat style. His ability to immobilize opponents before delivering a decisive blow was unconventional but remarkably effective. He noticed that his beastly nature was becoming harder to control, yet it seemed to manifest precisely when he needed it most.

Over time, Rygar also grew closer to Erina, the elven archer from Fendrel's group. Initially cold and distant, she eventually warmed up when she realized that he was simply curious about her mentor, Verdia. Now he knew her full name: Verdia Solarion.

-

The forest was quiet that night. Rygar's footsteps were muffled by the dense undergrowth, his senses sharpened by months of training and patrols. He moved cautiously, yet his mind remained on high alert. Slave traffickers and smugglers still posed a constant threat in the area, and his mission was clear: patrol and protect the village.

As he neared the forest's edge, where the terrain opened up, distant voices caught his attention, sharpening his hearing. His magical eye activated instinctively, and his vision focused on the source of the sound. Four figures moved briskly through a clearing, their pace urgent.

Rygar crouched low, hidden among the foliage, and observed. What he saw made his jaw tighten with restrained anger: two smugglers were carrying beast children, bound and teary-eyed. A wounded beastwoman was slung over one man's shoulder, her body limp. The other man held her upright by a rope tied around her neck. The children, though visibly terrified, resisted as much as they could, their defiance a testament to their spirit despite their dire situation.

"Slavers," Rygar thought, his blood boiling. "They won't leave here alive."

With his heart pounding, he activated his Magic Eye and locked onto his targets. His perception sharpened, and the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of sweat mixed with fear filled his senses. Two of the men carried swords and appeared reasonably skilled, though still no match for him. Nonetheless, caution was essential.

The man leading the group barked, "Hurry up! The crossing will be tough if we don't move faster."

The other man glanced around nervously but kept walking. "Damn beastfolk... One more ambush, and we're done for. Let's get this over with."

Rygar crept closer, a shadow in the darkness. With a deep, guttural growl, he unleashed his Howling Magic. A powerful, deafening wave of sound rippled through the clearing. The smugglers staggered, clutching their ears as they reeled from the sonic assault. The beast children and woman winced, but the slavers were left completely vulnerable.

Rygar pounced like a predator from the shadows, moving with surprising speed for someone his size. His first target, a man wielding dual swords, tried to react but was too slow. Rygar's clawed hand wrapped around his throat, his sharp nails digging into flesh.

A savage smile crossed Rygar's face as his beastly instincts took over. With a brutal squeeze, his claws tore through the man's neck, ripping flesh and severing arteries. The slaver crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Nearby, the second swordsman, still dazed, struggled to regain his footing. Rygar turned to him with predatory precision, conjuring a flaming spear in his hand. Without hesitation, he hurled the spear, and it struck the man square in the chest. The explosion of flames consumed him in an instant, his screams echoing into the night.

The remaining two slavers panicked. One attempted to flee, but Rygar was faster. He sprinted after the man, tackling him with monstrous strength. Pinning him against a tree, Rygar's claws tore into his throat, silencing him forever.

The final slaver, desperate, drew a knife and turned toward the beastwoman. She was too weak to resist as he raised the blade, but before it could descend, Rygar was there. In a blur, he struck the man with an open-handed claw swipe, the force enough to send him sprawling. The knife clattered to the ground, and Rygar delivered a final, fatal blow.

The clearing grew silent except for the labored breathing of the rescued captives. Rygar turned to the children and the beastwoman, his earlier rage subsiding. His predatory expression softened as he crouched near them.

"You're safe now," he said, his voice low but steady, as he began to heal their wounds with magic.

Cutting their bonds carefully, he freed them. The children, still trembling, stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. The beastwoman, though gravely injured, managed a faint smile of gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

Rygar nodded solemnly. He picked up the two children, cradling them gently in his arms as the woman limped alongside him, following his lead back toward safety. His thoughts churned. This was his first kill, yet it felt... natural. Instinctual. A necessary act to protect those who couldn't defend themselves. But a small, primal part of him relished the hunt.

-

Months passed with several small skirmishes around the village. Each time, the tribe's warriors swiftly handled the threats. Finally, the expeditionary warriors returned to the village. Their arrival brought both relief and unease. Exhaustion was etched into their faces, and it was clear that their journey had been grueling.

Rygar stood beside Fendrel as the returning warriors entered. The initial tension between the tribe and the adventurers had eased over time, thanks in no small part to Fendrel's calm demeanor and their actions in protecting the village. Gustav, the village chief, exchanged a knowing look with Fendrel before addressing Rygar.

"Come with us. You've earned your place in this meeting," Gustav said.

Rygar nodded, his resolve hardening. Whatever news the warriors had brought back, he was ready to face it. The weight of responsibility hung heavy in the air, but for Rygar, it was yet another step on his path to becoming stronger—for his tribe, and for himself.