Beast Taming: My Beasts Grind, Die, and Respawn

Chapter 30: The Registered Beast

Chapter 30: The Registered Beast

In the observation room, the arguments had started without anyone officially declaring it a debate.

"Candidate 417’s kill count is climbing fast," one examiner said, scrolling a leaderboard that existed for internal use only, never shown to the candidates themselves. "Two more Iron-quality beasts down in the last hour."

"His beast is favoring its left leg," another pointed out, unimpressed. "Third injury today."

The veteran examiner from the day before hadn’t said anything in several minutes. He was rewinding a different feed, frame by frame, jaw set in quiet concentration.

"Astor separated two coordinated beasts without engaging either of them," he finally said. "No injuries. No stamina loss beyond two thrown rocks and a short jog."

He tapped the screen, freezing it on the moment the trapped candidate scrambled to safety.

"Watch his beast," he added. "It’s already tracking scent trails and listening for threats before he gives a single command."

The room went a little quieter.

"He never wastes movement," the veteran continued, almost to himself now. "Doesn’t fight unless the terrain removes every other option. Protects his beast’s stamina like it’s rationed. Reads an environment better than most of our second-years."

A younger examiner frowned at the numbers on her own tablet. "He’s sixteen."

"I’m aware."

"That’s not how children think."

Nobody in the room had a good answer for that, and the silence that followed said more than any of them wanted it to.

The rescued candidate caught up with Jin near a bend in the river, holding out a small wrapped bundle before Jin had even fully registered him approaching again.

"Dried meat," the boy said, a little awkwardly. "Rations. It’s not much, but—"

Jin almost waved it off. Old instinct, honestly — the reflex of someone used to having nothing and being suspicious of anyone offering something for free.

Then he thought of Arthur. Of ration counts stretched thin across four people for years, of his mother’s twelve-hour shifts just to keep synthetic protein on the table.

Resources matter. Out here more than anywhere.

He took it.

"Thanks," Jin said, and meant it without any of the sarcasm he usually kept loaded and ready. He tucked it into his pack next to the plants from the riverbank. "Don’t tell anyone I was nice about it. Ruins my reputation."

The boy actually laughed, short and startled, like he hadn’t expected to laugh at all today.

Jin let himself feel that small, quiet warmth for exactly as long as it lasted, and then kept moving.

The pass was narrow — rock walls rising sheer on both sides, a natural chokepoint carved by whatever hydraulic process had shaped the arena’s fake geology, and the only way forward Jin’s mental map had left him.

Behind him: a drop he had no interest in testing.

Ahead: an Iron-quality beast, low and reptilian, tail lashing slow against the stone, blocking the only path through like it had been waiting there specifically for him.

Jin looked left. Looked right. Looked at the sheer cliff face behind him one more time, just to be thorough.

No terrain trick this time. No loose rocks to throw, no gaps to slip through, no wind to hide behind.

He exhaled slowly.

"Okay," he murmured. "Guess we’re doing this the normal way."

Glitch dropped off his shoulder, landing light on the stone, already lower and steadier than he’d been an hour ago.

"Left flank," Jin said quietly. "Low. Stay off its tail range."

Glitch moved.

The beast lunged first, fast and low, jaws snapping at where Glitch had been a half-second earlier. Glitch was already gone, cutting left along the rock wall exactly where Jin had pointed.

"Again. In and out."

Glitch darted in, a quick raking strike along the beast’s flank, then peeled away before the tail could finish its swing. Not a killing blow. Just a cut, and distance regained.

The beast turned, slower this time, favoring the side Glitch had just opened up.

"It’s tiring," Jin murmured, watching the beast’s stance shift, weight settling heavier with every turn. "Keep the pressure on the same side. Don’t let it reset."

Glitch obeyed without hesitation, darting in again, low, fast, disciplined — no wasted movement, no reckless overextension. Strike. Retreat. Strike. Retreat.

It wasn’t a skill. It wasn’t a hidden power activating at the last second to save the day.

It was just a beast and a boy who’d spent the last hour learning to read a battlefield together, doing exactly what they’d practiced, exactly when it mattered.

The beast’s next lunge came in slower, its balance already compromised, and Glitch used the opening Jin had been waiting for — a final strike, precise, low, ending it fast and clean.

The pass went quiet.

Jin was on his knees beside Glitch before the beast had even finished settling on the stone.

He checked Glitch first. Ran his hands along the small body, feeling for anything wrong, anything torn or bleeding — a shallow scrape along one shoulder, nothing worse.

Only then did he notice his own hands were shaking slightly, adrenaline finally catching up to a fight that had felt, in the moment, almost too calm to be real.

Glitch nudged his hand, insistent, gold eyes bright despite the exhaustion clearly settling into his frame.

Jin huffed something close to a laugh.

"Good work," he said quietly, resting his forehead briefly against the top of Glitch’s head.

No notification chimed. No stat window appeared to confirm growth, no achievement banner unlocked to mark the moment.

It didn’t need one.

The tired, satisfied weight of Glitch leaning into his hand was reward enough, and Jin sat there a moment longer than strictly necessary just to let that feeling settle.

He searched the beast out of habit more than expectation — old gamer instinct, the reflex that said always check the drop, even when you know there’s nothing to find.

There was, technically, nothing to find.

No loot. No crafting material. No neat little notification confirming a reward.

Just, half-buried beneath a fold of scarred hide near the beast’s shoulder, a small strip of metal — bent, corroded, the edges worn smooth by what looked like years of exposure.

Jin worked it free carefully.

A tag. Embossed lettering, most of it scratched away, but a fragment of a serial number still legible beneath the grime, alongside a symbol he recognized instantly from every registration form Arthur had ever filled out.

The Tamer Association crest.

Jin turned it over slowly in his fingers.

This thing was registered. Owned. Someone bonded with it, once.

Someone gave it a name.

He looked down at the beast, at scars laid over older scars, at a body built by years of surviving alone in a world that didn’t hand out second chances.

How long has it been out here? What happened to its Tamer?

Did they die? Did they abandon it? Did it run, or was it left behind?

None of the questions had answers. None of them were going to get any, not today, not from a dead beast in a fake wilderness built to test children.

Jin slipped the tag into his pocket anyway, and stood there a moment longer, looking out at the quiet forest stretching endlessly beyond the pass.

For the first time since the exam started, it didn’t feel like a test.

It felt like the wasteland was full of stories nobody had lived to finish telling.