Rororo continued its single-minded sprint forward. Its body was large, but it was running in the marsh, so its speed was about the same as that of a Lizardman. Water splashed in all directions and a liquid cacophony echoed all around it.

Its amber eyes had turned cloudy from the great heat, and two of its four heads hung powerlessly.

Even so, it continued sprinting forward.

Another 「Fireball」 came, striking Rororo’s body. The thermal energy contained within the 「Fireball」 exploded forth and washed all over it. The pain was like being beaten all over its body; its eyes felt drier than ever before, and the superheated air seared its lungs.

Its entire body was burned, and the agony that had been wracking Rororo from just now told it that if it continued, its very life was forfeit.

Even so —​ it continued running.

It ran.

It ran on.

It continued forward, never stopping. The high temperatures stripped the scales from its skin and causing blood-spurting blisters to blossom upon it, but even so it carried on, straight ahead.

An unintelligent beast would naturally have turned and fled, but Rororo did not do so.

Rororo was a magical beast called a Hydra.

There were many kinds of magical beasts. Some possessed greater intelligence than a human being and some were little wiser than an average animal. Frankly speaking, Rororo belonged to the latter category.

The fact that Rororo —​ who possessed the wits of an average beast —​ would continue forward, on the verge of death, towards Igva, the source of its pain was entirely unexpected, nearly impossible to understand.

Indeed, even its opponent Igva found it difficult to understand. He wondered if Rororo was under the influence of some magical control.

However, that was not the case.

Indeed, that was not the answer.

Igva would not be able to understand it.

Rororo —​ possessed of an animal’s intelligence —​ was running with all its might for its kin.

Rororo had never seen its parents, yet Hydras were not the sort of creatures to abandon their offspring. Beasts of their kind would live with one of their parents until a certain age, learning how to survive in the wild. But then, why did this not apply to Rororo?

That was because Rororo was a mutant. Normal Hydras had eight heads when born, and as they grew older, they sprouted more heads, to a maximum of twelve.

However, Rororo only had four heads at birth, so its parents had abandoned it, taking its siblings with them.

Without the protection of its parents, even a young Hydra —​ who might someday grow into a powerful creature —​ would surely perish in the harsh environs of nature.

That is, if a certain Lizardman had not passed by and picked it up.

—​And so, Rororo gained kin —​ a father, a mother, and a close friend, all rolled into one.

As Rororo’s mind was about to break under the agony, it recalled a question it had always pondered in the past.

Why was its body so big? Why did it have so many heads?

It occasionally thought that as it looked at the dear parent who had raised it. As a result, Rororo had also thought of something else.

Perhaps one day some of its heads might fall off, and its body might slowly sprout limbs like the way grass grew, and it would look like its parent.

And if that really happened —​ what would it ask for?

Yes. They had not slept together in a long time, so perhaps it would ask to curl up and nap together. It had always felt lonely because it had become too big and they had to sleep apart.

The flames felt like they were burning away Rororo’s thoughts. They filled his vision and the agony shot through his body once more. It moaned in pain as the anguish washed over it. It felt a comforting warmth from behind, but it was nothing compared to the fire consuming Rororo.

Rororo felt as though it were being smashed by countless iron hammers.

It hurt so much that it could no longer think.

Rororo’s legs seized up, signalling to the rest of the creature that it should stop moving forward.

However—​

However —​ was that really enough to make Rororo stop?

—​No. It did not stop.

Rororo continued advancing. Its pace had slowed. Its muscles were burnt and stiff, and it could not continue running at its usual pace.

It suffered with every step it took.

It was difficult to breathe. Just drawing breath was hard. Perhaps its lungs had been seared.

Even so, it did not stop.

Now, only one of its heads could still move. The other motionless heads were little more than dead weight. The sight of the undead creature conjuring another fireball in its hand was a blurred scene in Rororo’s cloudy vision.

Its animal instincts allowed it to realize something.

If it took another hit, it would die. However, Rororo was not afraid. Without stopping, without ceasing, it forged bravely ahead—​

This was a request from its father, mother, and friend. Therefore it would never stop.

Just as Rororo desperately —​ and tiredly —​ dragged itself forward, a crimson ball of fire flew forth once more from an undead hand. It soared through the air and headed straight for Rororo.