Mushoku Tensei: Reincarnated as a Beast Race Chapter 208 - The Century in Flames

The Iron Legion’s military camp was in flas.

Not because of an enemy attack, but rather the fla of expectation, fervor, and resolution that set the warriors’ hearts ablaze.

A decision had been made by their leaders.

The Beast God and his Generals had decided that the siege of Milishion would not be carried out with a large‑scale invasion.

There would be no sea of soldiers crossing the lake and trying to smash the Divine Barriers by brute force. Instead, it would be a century: one hundred hand‑picked warriors.

One hundred out of thousands. And this small force, commanded by the Beast God himself, would pave the way for the army.

It was a suicide mission for any ordinary group to storm the Holy City with a hundred n. But definitely not for them.

At the center of the camp, gathered around a vast, roaring bonfire, the Legion’s Generals convened to discuss the nas.

The selection process was neither voluntary nor anything of the sort; the chosen would co from the Generals who led them.

After all, each of those combatants had been led and shaped by these Generals during the long months of campaign.

They knew not only their subordinates’ techniques and power, but their hearts, their weaknesses, and their true capabilities.

Several nas erged among the flas of the recent war.

Besides the Generals themselves, there were many promising young warriors standing out in the Iron Legion.

Eris, the Red Lioness, wife of the Beast God, whose power and speed left trails of destruction wherever she went.

Rufus, the Earthbreaker, the fiery‑haired dwarf with eyes of fla who could shatter walls with a single Earth spell.

Lisena, the Winterwolf, calm, precise, cold as ice, and a mage more than exceptional—a strategist and relentless hunter.

The beast‑princesses Linia and Pursena, both skilled magical swordswon—one focused more on defense and support, the other fierce and a natural attacker.

Garrison, the Silent Deer, whose spear style was a silent dance of death, terrorizing the enemy’s flanks.

And among them was also a new na.

Jal.

The boy of the leopard tribe, the sa one saved by Rygar while he passed through a Milis military camp.

Now, at only twelve years old, he was called the Hissing Sword. He did not yet possess a Saint’s strength, but his movent was so fast that the very air hissed in his wake.

He had beco, like Rufus, Linia, and Pursena, a symbol promising prosperity to the future of the Great Forest.

There were also older warriors, like Hontar and Weys Adoldia; several experienced and strong fighters like them were also summoned.

As the nas were called, one by one, the hundred took shape. A group of warriors and fighters that comprised an absolute elite. So veterans, others prodigies.

All marked by the war with conviction, now preparing for the final clash.

To be one of the hundred ant far more than participating in a mission. It was to write one’s na in the annals of history, to fight alongside the Beast God, and perhaps witness the end of an era.

Or the beginning of a new one.

Everyone knew they were heading into one of the most brutal confrontations ever recorded. And yet, none of them hesitated.

---

Ornthorn was seated on a high rock, positioned at the edge of a rocky elevation, from which much of the Iron Legion’s military camp could be observed.

His eyes attentively scanned every movent below in silence, his colossal three‑ter‑long golden sword resting heavily in his lap.

But beyond that, his gaze was fixed on one specific point: in the distance, isolated in its own area of the camp, sat the Demon King Gretta, perched on an improvised tree‑trunk chair.

It was then that Rufus, the Earthbreaker, silently approached behind the North Emperor. The young dwarf, freshly turned thirteen, was one of the hundred chosen by Ornthorn for the mission.

He was accompanied by his enormous Ebony Wolf, Geri.

They had fought together in the First Vanguard Division, and the Emperor knew well the strength Rufus hid. It was especially remarkable the absurd things he could do with Earth Magic.

The dwarf stopped beside Ornthorn, crossing his arms and following his gaze.

"Are you going to talk to her?" Rufus asked casually, a smirk at the corner of his lips.

Ornthorn arched an eyebrow without taking his eyes off Gretta.

"Who are you talking about?" he retorted dryly.

Rufus let out a little chuckle, shaking his head.

"She seems interested. I believe beating her up as soon as you arrived in Milis left a lasting impression."

Imdiately, a vein popped in the Emperor’s forehead. He clenched his teeth and replied in a low, almost growling tone:

"Shut up, brat."

Before he could continue, a sudden voice interrupted them, coming from nowhere, as if the very air had spoken:

"Don’t worry, Ornthorn. She’s only ten tis your age."

Both of them spun around in a jump, hearts racing. There stood Rygar, standing beside them with that calm smile on his face, as if he had been there the whole ti.

His golden eyes shone with amusent, and his hand affectionately stroked Geri’s head, who was beside Rufus.

Ornthorn let out a frustrated sigh, exasperated.

"Only ten tis...? I see..." he shook his head.

"I’ll talk to her. But it’s not proper to court a lady during war, is it?"

Rygar shrugged, still petting the wolf.

"On the contrary. Gretta will leave the continent as soon as this war ends. This might be your only chance."

Ornthorn frowned, thoughtful. Rufus spoke with a mocking smile.

"I don’t know if that would work... but you could ask her to stay another ten or twenty years. Who knows? Maybe she’d accept, thinking it’s no big deal."

He laughed, and Rygar joined in with a hearty laugh.

"Hey... that might even work; she’s eight hundred, what are another ten or twenty years. And since you’re at it, recruit her into the Legion too!"

Ornthorn shot them both a dry look, visibly annoyed.

"I’d beat you both up right now if Rygar weren’t so absurdly stronger than ."

The three of them laughed together, the relaxed atmosphere contrasting with the tension of the eve of battle. Then Ornthorn asked casually:

"What are the chances of this invasion succeeding?"

Rygar didn’t hesitate; his voice was firm:

"If there’s no external interference... I’m certain it will be a victory."

Rufus was surprised by the Beast God’s confidence, but Ornthorn slowly turned and said:

"But you want an absolute victory... right?"

Rygar smiled.

"Yes, that is more difficult to achieve."

It was then that his eyes caught sight of sothing in the distance.

He turned slightly, pointing to a figure training near a rock formation, a warrior practicing long‑sword strikes.

"That one there... is he one of the hundred you chose?"

Ornthorn followed his gaze and nodded.

"Jethou Sand. A North Saint. Ex‑rcenary. Competent warrior. He’s been in my Division throughout the campaign; he’s very good at what he does... why? What about him?"

Rygar kept smiling.

"Nothing... I’ll be right back."

And with a sudden shift of air and a silver glint in his eyes, he vanished as if he had never been there, leaving the two behind, exchanging confused looks.

They would probably have to get used to the Beast God’s sudden disappearances.

---

Jethou Sand was a Milis spy.

His role was to infiltrate the Iron Legion’s inner command circle and then wait patiently for information that could be decisive for his country’s fate.

And he waited. With coldness, calm, and dedication.

But until the mont the Beast God appeared, he had had no ti to pass on any relevant information; he was under the scrutiny of the North Emperor and the silent Reaper, Kilian, the whole ti.

This was because, even among so many warriors, he was a North Saint—a title that in itself attracted attention.

Thus, Jethou could state with a certain dark pride that he had spectacularly failed in his original mission.

Not only did he fail to report anything that truly mattered... but he led companies that massacred soldiers of his own country.

And worse still, amid the destruction and chaos, he ford friendships—even if false. He t n and won worthy of respect.

He heard stories, forged bonds, and no matter how much he knew it was all a façade... he couldn’t deny the weight of living alongside them.

He did manage to obtain useful information, it’s true, but... what could he do with it? Write to Milis: "The Beast God is coming. Choose a god and start praying"?

The Iron Legion’s advance was overwhelming, unstoppable; they were a tactical, magical, and strategic abomination. Was there any way to stop them? Jethou doubted it.

Ti passed, and he waited for that right mont to act. That mont never arrived. Instead, he received a new title: the Sand Serpent.

And he saw his fa grow.

His abilities, his tactical command, his ferocity in combat—all were real. He was not an imposter in technique or strength. He was rely a man with a mission.

A mission that beca ever more confusing as the days went by.

Now, he had been chosen as one of the hundred to participate in the direct invasion of Milishion.

One hundred elite warriors to pierce the heart of a nation. And Jethou didn’t know what to do anymore. Should he really betray these people who, after all, had welcod and respected him?

He had living family in Milis. His story for joining the Legion was fictitious, but... what prevented him from surviving, rescuing his family after the war, and living under this new identity?

If the Beast God hadn’t discovered it until now, perhaps he never would. That was the key. The choice was made.

If the Legion proved superior in this invasion, he would not betray them. He would beco, in fact, Jethou Sand, the respected commander acclaid as the Sand Serpent.

The mont he made that decision, he stood up. And froze.

There, a few ters away, the Beast God was staring at him. Standing. Smiling.

And exuding an oppressive, intense aura. Jethou froze. And after a few eternal seconds, he spoke, swallowing hard:

"B-Beast God! To what do I owe this visit?"

He was sweating profusely, and he thanked the gods that this was considered common in the Legion. Everyone got tense around Rygar. Even among allies, fear was a constant.

This was his advantage: he was always calm, controlled. He knew how to lie with a clean face. He knew how to conceal intentions. But now, due to the surprise, his mask had cracked.

Rygar observed him in silence. And then, simply said with a smile:

"You are Jethou? the Sand Serpent?"

Jethou tried to maintain composure. He laughed awkwardly:

"Hahaha... people have started calling that... it’s an honor that you know my na..."

Rygar nodded.

"You seem to be doing very well here. Ornthorn spoke highly of you. A skilled warrior. Do you want so reward, Jethou?"

The spy’s mind raced as he pondered why the Beast God was speaking to him; his thoughts went in many directions, but to his horror, only one made sense.

’He knows. He knew from the start!’

Every cell in Jethou’s body told him he was thoroughly screwed. But his expression remained steady. And he answered, serenely:

"No, lord. It’s enough to fight for the Legion."

Rygar watched him in silence. Then, simply said with a smile:

"All right then. Good luck in battle."

And he vanished into the air. Without sound, without a trace. Jethou remained there, seated, motionless, cold sweat running down his back. And thought:

’I’m going to die of high blood pressure.’

---

So ti later, the hundred were ready. Gathered. Divided into five groups of twenty warriors. The Iron Legion’s finest fighters.

Without prior warning, Rygar appeared among them with a Wild Dash. And his voice echoed:

"You know what to do."

He smiled. A wild, confident, brilliant smile.

"Now... let’s bring down a secular nation!"

And then, like lightning, Rygar dashed toward Milishion, and behind him, the hundred followed.

-----

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