This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Chapter 902: Chapter 902: ‘Hollowhead’

Every sound in the courtyard vanished the moment the boy’s head snapped up.

Kain froze mid‑step.

Those eyes—snow‑pale irises ringed with faint flecks of silver—did not hold awareness or fear. They were unfocused, glassy, like a window whose reflection didn’t quite match the world around it.

But beneath that emptiness… something tugged at Kain’s senses. Not a resonance. Not power.

Something far simpler—and far more impossible considering he’d never been here before.

Familiarity.

Before he could process it—

BOOM

The ground lurched violently. A shockwave from the demigods’ clash several miles beyond the walls rippled through the fortress. Warding sigils along the battlements flared, humming with all the intensity of overworked machines on the verge of collapsing.

The boy clapped both hands to his temples and let out a strangled gasp.

Kain’s chest tightened. He darted forward and knelt so they were eye level. “Hey. Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

The boy’s expression twisted, eyes squeezing shut. He sucked in a thin, shaky breath.

“…Ringing. Walls ringing…It hurts…”

’The walls are ringing? Is he talking about the sigils?’

Kain stiffened.

A normal unawakened would feel pressure, fear, maybe vertigo from the quaking ground. But they would notsense the subtle tonal shift of the sigils—as the protective formations activated in response to the demigod-level energy.

Yet this child was reacting as if a spike were being driven into his skull.

Another tremor rippled through the fort. A nearby warehouse wall fractured, stone groaning as a chunk broke free and almost hit the people below. Civilians screamed and scattered.

Kain reached out instinctively as the boy swayed—and caught him just before he toppled off the crate.

The kid was frighteningly light.

Skin cold like thin ice.

And no adults—no guardians—were anywhere in sight trying to take the boy away from the crumbling district.

Kain scanned the already almost empty courtyard sharply. Most people were fleeing to sturdier interior shelters; fortunately, one man—a middle-aged labourer—was sprinting past, clearly running behind the others in his escape attempts. Kain shot out a hand, stopping him with a light grip on the forearm.

The man whirled, ready to snap—until his eyes landed on the six gleaming stars pinned to Kain’s chest.

A pin that all beast tamers, upon entering the fort, were given to clearly signify their identity and strength.

His anger drained instantly.

“Ah—Master! I—I didn’t see—please forgive my rudeness!”

Kain jerked his chin toward the boy. “Where are this child’s parents? Guardians? Anyone?”

The man blinked rapidly, as if confused by the very question. “Parents? He… doesn’t have any, Master. Nobody’s ever seen him with adults. He was just always here, even before many of us arrived from nearby towns…”

Kain frowned. “No one asked? No one reported it?”

At that, the man merely snorted, scratching nervously at his scalp. “Master, look at him. Kid’s a ’hollowhead’. Doesn’t talk right. Doesn’t understand much. People tried asking where he came from—he’d just stare or say nonsense. Most figured he’s touched in the head. Not worth the trouble.”

Kain’s expression turned cold.

The man swallowed and rushed to add, “Not to say he’s bad! Just… you know. Useless.”

Kain’s eyes narrowed further.

The man flinched. “A-And he does that a lot.” He pointed vaguely at the boy’s trembling form. “That brat’s a hollowhead.” Making sure to emphasize the derogatory term again in case Kain didn’t hear him the first time. “Screaming and clutching his skull at every wall clash. No wonder nobody wants the defective little—.”

Kain’s voice dropped and became cold as he cut him off. “So you all left him to fend for himself like this? Even in such a dangerous situation?”

As if to emphasize the point, another distant blast shuddered through the sky. The man yelped, pressing himself instinctively closer to Kain—because what safer shelter was there than beside a 6‑star master?

He forced an awkward smile. “M-Master, truly, you are extraordinary. A hero of the frontier! I’m sure you’ve got more important matters than—”

Kain’s stare cut him off.

He didn’t raise his voice.

He didn’t have to.

“Go.”

The man bowed so quickly he nearly toppled over, then scrambled away.

Kain turned back to the child.

The boy’s breathing was shallow. His hands still pressed painfully to his head. But when Kain reached out, small fingers clung to his sleeve—desperate, instinctive.

Kain exhaled slowly.

Standing, he scooped the boy into his arms.

The child curled against him at once, shaking lightly. Up close, Kain could see more clearly—this wasn’t an eight- or nine-year-old. With the malnourished limbs and gaunt cheeks… this kid might easily be twelve or thirteen.

He just hadn’t grown.

Hadn’t been able to.

And yet fate had pointed directly to him.

Another shockwave rolled through the sky, rattling nearby windows. People shrieked as loose stone clattered down a nearby roof.

Kain shifted the boy higher in his arms. “Alright,” he murmured, voice steady against the chaos, “Now that I’m here, you’ll be alright.”

As if to test that claim, a sudden screech cut across the courtyard.

From a jagged fissure in the weakened wall, a mid‑grade Abyssal skittered through—its carapace black and glassy, limbs clicking like knives on stone. At the same time, a fractured roof beam finally gave way above a cluster of fleeing civilians.

Gasps erupted.

Kain didn’t slow.

He shifted the boy into one arm—then stepped.

A single blur.

The abyssal’s head split cleanly, body dropping in two twitching halves. Kain released the microscopic Chewy to absorb the corruption before it could spread.

Meanwhile, in another fluid motion, Kain pivoted and kicked the collapsing beam aside. It slammed into the ground yards away, sending up a plume of snow—but not a single splinter touched the child in his arms.

Civilians stared, stunned into silence.

Kain didn’t acknowledge them. He turned away, continuing forward without breaking stride.

The boy stirred faintly.

“…It’s too loud…” he whispered, voice thready.

Kain tightened his hold. “The battle?”

The boy’s eyelids drooped. His head tucked weakly against Kain’s collar.

“…not the battle…”

Kain slowed.

“…they’re calling…”

Every hair on Kain’s body rose.

He kept his voice measured. “Who?”

But the boy didn’t answer.

His grip slackened.

And he went limp—unconscious.