After the hectic events of that day, Altaïr and the others spent the next several days in an uneasy peace.
Concerned that the Grimclaw Tigrex was prowling the desert not far from the city, Altaïr made a point of seeking out the Guild Master and urging him to take the matter seriously.
As it turned out, the old man, who had served as Guild Master for decades, had considered the problem far more thoroughly than Altaïr had.
On the very day he received the news, he had arranged for an observation hot air balloon to monitor the Grimclaw Tigrex's movements around the clock.
The Grimclaw Tigrex may have noticed the small, round object high overhead, but given the Tigrex's pitiful flying ability, there was no way it could reach an altitude of more than a thousand meters.
As long as it continued roaming the open Desert, it would have a hard time evading constant surveillance from above.
Meanwhile, although Dundorma had yet to reply, the Loc Lac Guild had begun making a series of preparations in response to the sudden appearance of the Small Flying Wyverns.
The Guild issued an announcement stating that large numbers of Small Monsters "resembling Remobra" had appeared around the city, and that residents and visitors to Loc Lac should minimize travel beyond its walls.
A warning of this level did not alarm the populace.
Loc Lac was no small mountain village. The massive rocky platform supporting the entire city rose dozens of meters and formed an insurmountable barrier for the vast majority of Monsters.
With that rocky platform, the well-trained Loc Lac Rangers, the Sandship fleet that faced the Jhen Mohran every year, and the city's many Desert Hunters all protecting Loc Lac, the local populace had little reason to fear something as minor as "a few too many Remobra."
Being unable to leave the city was hardly a concern. With Loc Lac's stockpiled supplies and the natural freshwater lake within its walls, even a month or two of complete lockdown would pose little problem.
Tourists might have some complaints, but fortunately, the year was drawing to a close. The Autumn Harvest Fest and food festivals were long past, and this was the off-season for tourism; there were not many visitors in the city to begin with.
Unable to venture out and experience the Desert landscape, most tourists chose to leave early by Airship.
For the city's administrators, this was good news.
In an emergency, out-of-town tourists unfamiliar with the situation were the most likely to cause trouble. Unlike local residents, they did not instinctively know where to seek shelter at the sound of a whistle.
The merchants were the one group likely to grow tense over the lockdown.
To merchants, every day mattered; for caravans transporting perishable goods in particular, a week's delay could mean losing everything.
Having come from a wealthy merchant family himself, the Guild Master understood this perfectly. More importantly, he knew exactly how to handle these profit-driven people.
He summoned the heads of every merchant guild in the city, large and small, for a meeting.
He had already warned them of the danger beyond the city. If they insisted on leaving, fine. They would be responsible for their own safety.
The Guild Master had seen every trick involving hoarded supplies or price gouging fueled by rumors and public panic a century ago. Anyone who attempted such a scheme would be thrown out of the city by the Loc Lac Rangers.
The heads of the merchant guilds all swore to behave. Truthfully, few people in Loc Lac would dare attempt such schemes in the first place.
After all, this rugged city faced an Elder Dragon assault every year, so regularly that it had practically become a festival. Anyone foolish enough to exploit such a crisis had been rooted out years ago.
With everyone's cooperation, Loc Lac remained remarkably calm, apart from the dwindling tourist crowds and quieter streets.
Those who knew more about the situation were making their own preparations.
The alchemy workshops and forges operated at full capacity, turning out potions, explosives, shells, Ballista Ammo, and other combat supplies. These were then stockpiled in warehouses across the city.
The Guild Hall reduced nonessential quest assignments and advised Hunters to remain inside the city whenever possible.
Orders recalling High Rank Hunters had already gone out, but those in the field might not receive the message in time.
Marydan's group, which had left days earlier, was one such case. No one knew where they had gone in search of the Grimclaw Tigrex. By now, they might even have reached the Ancestral Steppe. How many of them would make it back depended entirely on luck.
Altaïr and the others were also preparing for whatever danger might come.
As a Gunner, Nymera shut herself in her room and tirelessly crafted Bowgun Ammo.
Although the general store in the Guild Hall sold every kind of Bowgun Ammo, most Gunners found ammunition they had crafted themselves more familiar and reliable. It was a common habit among them.
Isis's approach was far more straightforward. Aside from checking on the progress of her new Armor at the smithy each day, she visited restaurants five or six times daily.
She ate. In massive quantities!
Her theory was that the human body worked like a steam engine, with food as its coal. Only by filling it with enough coal could an engine produce maximum power, or even be pushed into overload.
It was all meant to build up energy! She had also dragged Lambert into the regimen. Altaïr had told her that one reason Lambert rarely joined them for meals was to save money, and that her gaunt frame was, in a sense, the result of going hungry.
Isis had gone beyond simply offering Lambert food. She was practically fattening her up like a pig.
First, Lambert ate until she was stuffed. Then came strength training, followed by sleep. Upon waking, she ate again. Isis took her own regimen, reduced it by more than half, and imposed it on Lambert, making the poor girl's last few days utterly miserable.
Altaïr did not interfere. Isis's methods seemed wild, but she was actually highly skilled at building stamina and had an extraordinary, almost uncanny understanding of muscle training.
With Isis watching over her, Lambert would not be pushed to the point of injury. The only real concern was that if the regimen continued for another six months or a year, Lambert's parents might fail to recognize their daughter after she had bulked up by two sizes.
Altaïr, meanwhile, once again found himself outside Mr. Lamarck's door.
The mysterious Monsters surrounding Loc Lac, the constant threat of even more powerful creatures striking at any moment, and the Grimclaw Tigrex roaming the Desert all made it impossible for him to find any peace of mind.
Reading was an excellent way to quiet those distracting thoughts, so he had spent the past few days coming here in search of books recommended by Mr. Lamarck.
When he grew tired of reading, he would practice his sword in Madam Marydan's small Training Area. When he was worn out from training, he would return to the bookshelves and continue reading.
Mr. Lamarck had often been away from home lately due to his work with the Royal Paleontology Scriveners, so he had simply given Altaïr a key and allowed him to come in and choose books on his own.
Altaïr knocked on the door and called through the window a few times. Once he had confirmed no one was home, he took out the key and let himself in.
He made his way to Mr. Lamarck's study with practiced ease. Two books lay stacked on the neatly arranged desk, with a note placed on top.
These were the new books Mr. Lamarck had recommended.
After quietly murmuring his thanks in the empty study, Altaïr pulled over a chair, sat down, and opened one of the books. He had barely read two lines when a raucous pounding sounded at the front door.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
It felt as though he had been jolted awake just as he was drifting off to sleep. Altaïr's concentration shattered, and he frowned.
The knocking was incredibly rude, yet it did not seem to be an emergency. An emergency would normally have been accompanied by frantic shouting.
Slightly irritated, he stood up. Before he could leave the study, the jarring pounding rang out again.
A vein throbbed at Altaïr's temple.
This house belonged to two elderly people. Anyone knocking so recklessly and relentlessly was practically begging for a scolding.
That thought quickened his pace.
If the visitor was neither an acquaintance of Mr. Lamarck and his wife nor there on urgent business, Altaïr had no intention of being polite.
Irritated, he yanked open the door.
The person outside flung her arms wide and shouted in a strained, cutesy voice, "Mom! Dad! Your most precious daughter is home!"
The familiar figure was roughly the same height as Isis but considerably broader. Altaïr's eye twitched.
"Haifa..."
"...Ahem. What are you doing here?!"
(Translated by yourtl.app)