Chapter 31: Deadly Customs
Upon learning that the beastmen were just beyond the hill, the soldiers fell silent, some even holding their breath, as if afraid the beastmen could hear their breathing.
George commanded the troops to disperse, leaving the pack animals behind, and after tethering them, he was faced with a dilemma.
Defeating a warband of two hundred beastmen, mainly composed of lesser horned beasts, was not difficult; he was even confident that he could repel them single-handedly on horseback.
However, executing a complete annihilation was a different story. Although the lesser horned beasts were considered to possess the flaws of both man and beast, they were adept at fleeing and hiding, disappearing into the forest in no time.
He feared that if he ordered a direct assault, the moment the army appeared, the morale of the lesser horned beasts would collapse, and they would flee.
George pulled out a book he carried, its bronze cover titled “Guide for Battalion Commanders.” He flipped through it but found no chapters on ambush tactics. He called over a sergeant and asked:
“Sergeant, how do we ambush the beastmen?”
“It’s difficult,” the sergeant shook his head. “Those creatures are very alert. If you try to quietly surround them, they’ll definitely notice.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Direct attack,” the sergeant replied. “I have no experience ambushing beastmen, only experience being ambushed by them.”
It was at this moment that Jima arrived, riding her horse, strolling leisurely toward George, just as she was about to “educate” him.
The silent Eve Frostleaf spoke up:
“I understand.”
After a moment of silence, she organized her thoughts and said:
“The beastmen have a keen sense of smell and can detect the scent of an army from a great distance. When charging, we need to approach against the wind.”
Jima inquired, “And then?”
Eve Frostleaf fell silent.
George removed his hourglass gauntlet and felt the wind direction, then said:
“The wind is blowing toward us. Choose a portion of the braver soldiers to crawl to the flanks. The extraordinary ones can then circle around behind them, driving them toward the pocket; when the main force gets the signal, they will charge directly.”
Jima shook her head and said, “That’s useless. The flanks are weak; ordinary people can’t hold back a panicked herd of beasts. I have a better plan.”
“Go ahead.”
“The soldiers ambush on the other side of the hill. When they see the signal, they rise to form a formation, creating a semicircle. We drive the herd over the hill, and they will fall right into the pocket.”
“Are you sure?”
Jima patted her chest and said, “Of course. I have experience commanding troops in battle.”
“Let’s do it.” George turned to the sergeant, ordering him to carefully lead the army to the back of the hill, and they agreed on the color of the signal orb.
Jima yawned and said, “As a strategic extraordinary, I’m ineffective in direct combat, so I’ll just supervise from the side.”
Ten minutes later.
Jima, draped in a green cloak, crawled on the grass with bare hands, wading into the overgrown grass that was taller than a person. The irritating thorns brushed her face, and she couldn’t help but complain:
“Why does this strategic logistics extraordinary have to come along too?”
Originally, she planned to enjoy a leisurely break, but was stopped by Eve Frostleaf.
This narrow-minded elf, who always wore a cold expression, must be harboring resentment, wanting to see her make a fool of herself, which is why she dragged her along.
As she thought this, she crawled over a broken sapling, the rough edge scraping against her neck. A stinging sensation followed. Jima touched her neck; there was no blood, but there was likely a red mark.
“By the way, George,” Jima said, “as our vanguard, can you flatten the ground a bit?”
George, wearing armor nearly ten times heavier than standard full plate armor, was forging the path ahead.
Hearing her voice, George replied, “If you want, you can just lie on my back.”
“Forget it; I’m not disabled.”
George continued to crawl forward like a bulldozer.
The two crawled for nearly another ten minutes when the howling of the beast herd reached a fever pitch.
Fearing he might miss an opportunity, George suddenly pulled Jima onto his back with no further ado. Using only his left hand, he dragged the nearly 200-kilogram armored weight forward, and after ten minutes, they arrived at a grove.
A cold voice rang out: “We’ve arrived.”
Jima, whose face bore several scratches from the sharp grass, immediately got off George’s back and looked up to see Eve Frostleaf gracefully leaning against a tree, dressed in white scaled armor, draped in a green cloak, with a bow slung at her waist. Her long legs were clad only in silver mesh, not a scratch on her.
She had used the magical cloak on her body, which had camouflage effects, to walk over directly.
Jima felt even less pleased. The reason she obediently went along was initially that she thought Eve Frostleaf would crawl through the grass like George.
Who would have thought that Eve Frostleaf had detached from the group, using the magical cloak called “Forest Cloak” to take a detour? It was a shame; she had intended to admire the elegance of Eve Frostleaf’s thighs from various angles and see if the stockings made by elves would get torn by the grass.
George stood up, scanning the surroundings.
Jima said, “Don’t worry, it’s very concealed here; they won’t discover us anytime soon. A dignified holy knight shouldn’t act like a thief.”
Eve Frostleaf remarked, “You look more like a holy knight.”
“Why’s that?”
“You still need a mount.”
“There’s no helping it; after all, George is too considerate and pulled me along,” Jima said nonchalantly about sweating while blowing cold air, turning to George. “Right?”
George answered, “To save time.”
Eve Frostleaf narrowed her green eyes at Jima, as if saying, what other tricks do you have?
Jima didn’t mind; she hid behind a tree and observed the beastmen about fifty meters away. The leaders of two small warbands—accurately speaking, the leading beasts known as head beasts—were eyeing this “holy land” because they had both undergone the same prophetic dream.
In the dream, a formidable, towering, and cruel demon commanded them to stack heads here, to please the Blood God.
It was not unusual for competitors to have the same dream. Everyone knew that the Blood God loved battles, loved blood, and loved stacking heads high.
Therefore, the two head beasts planned to resolve their dispute and please the Blood God through the traditional method: death matches.
One head beast, nearly 1.8 meters tall and stronger than a bull, was retreating step by step. Its opponent swung an axe, grazing its eye socket and cutting a deep groove; naturally, the eyeball was halved. In return, it roared with rage, dropped its weapon, and took advantage of the opening to hug its opponent, opening its mouth wide like a sheep, and bit down hard on the opponent’s neck, instantly causing blood to flow.
Its opponent struggled to scream, wielding the axe to strike and chop at the back of the “head beast.” Due to its biceps being embraced, the mobility was limited, and the axe only created uneven wounds on the “head beast’s” back, which streamed blood down its brown-furred spine.
The death match reached a crucial point, where the first to give in would fall. All the beastmen were intently watching the fight, including the lesser horned beasts spying from the hill.
George unsheathed the sword on his back, preparing to draw his two-handed sword, while Eve Frostleaf’s leg muscles tensed, with her waist slightly bent.
Jima, however, shook her head, saying, “Not yet.”
George looked at her, needing an explanation.
“Wait until there’s a loser; that will be the best moment.”
No sooner had she spoken than the beastman with the axe could no longer hold on. Its windpipe had been severed, and it couldn’t breathe, collapsing first. The “head beast” seized the axe and chopped its opponent’s head mercilessly, raising the bloody head high, proclaiming:
“Head offered to the Seat of Skulls!”
The surrounding beastmen lifted their weapons together, celebrating the birth of the victor with howling roars.
The “head beast,” despite its injuries, with a dozen bleeding wounds on its back and one eye blinded, bent down to place the severed head on a rock carved with the crude emblem of the Blood God. Blood continued to stream from the eye socket; frustrated, it used its finger to poke the wounded eye, gouging out an eyeball and eating it.
At that moment, the emblem of the Blood God on the rock shone brightly, emitting a red glow. The “head beast’s” wounds visibly began to heal, the flesh knitting, and its muscles grew stronger until it visibly reached a height of two meters.
Jima was not surprised; she had seen this kind of divine favor a thousand times or eight hundred.
George remarked, “So this is what the book means when it says, ‘the more evil creatures kill each other, the stronger they breed.’ I thought the injured head beast would be eliminated by other beasts.”
After presenting the severed head, the head beast personally wielded the axe to dismember its headless opponent, with the other beastmen rushing in to divide and feast, even those who had been its subordinates moments before.
Eve Frostleaf grimaced in disgust.
Jima said, “This manner of dividing the spoils will enhance the strength of the remaining beastmen, but this custom leads to an even greater downside.”
“What downside?”
“Death; it’s time to strike.”
The beastmen huddled together without sentries, making it the best moment to attack. Jima glanced at Eve Frostleaf’s semi-transparent blue bow and instructed, “Hold on, you shoot an arrow at the head beast.”
Eve Frostleaf scowled, “My sword is enough.”
“I’m preparing to charge,” George said, raising his hand to summon a celestial warhorse. With a flash of white light, the armored celestial warhorse appeared.
The effect was striking; Jima noticed one lesser horned beast outside the group that couldn’t get any meat, turn around just as George charged forward on the celestial warhorse.
When the lesser horned beast opened its mouth to alert, Jima’s gaze shot toward it, dragging it into a dream. It stood there, dazed, until George’s mount barreled into it, with the celestial warhorse declaring, “You can help share my burden,” and stomped its foot down hard on its chest, causing it to cave in.
The others didn’t understand and thought the warhorse was merely neighing.
George charged directly into the beast herd, and the “head beast” reacted, swinging its axe and shouting, “I’m ready to offer the next head!”
As soon as the words left its mouth, George’s lance plunged deeply through the “head beast’s” breastplate, causing it to collapse. As George withdrew, the swift Eve Frostleaf followed up with a sword strike that decapitated the rising head beast, the head rolling and coming to a stop near the blood-red stone already holding severed heads.
The morale of the lesser horned beasts plummeted; they picked up their bows and released a few arrows, which simply clattered against George’s armor. Realizing their weapons couldn’t harm George, they turned to flee, only to find themselves falling behind.
A large group of lesser horned beasts, like sheep being herded, was driven together by George and pushed toward the hill.
Jima felt a thrill for the joy of killing. Wielding a straight branch, she charged forward with false bravado, shouting, “Who wants to die?”
At that moment, a lone lesser horned beast, having been trampled by its companion, stood up right behind George and Eve Frostleaf, in front of Jima. It glanced at George’s back, frightened, and fled from him, only to crash into Jima, who was brandishing her straight branch.
No matter how one looked at her slim figure, with no decent weapon in hand, it was strange to think this person was not her match.
The lesser horned beast gripped its spear tightly, leaped forward, and thrust the spear at Jima’s chest.
“This is actually a polearm!” Jima used the power of her lies, causing the straight branch in her hand to elongate and sprout a spearhead.
The spear tip moved closer to her chest, but Jima reacted swiftly, accurately striking the thrusting spearhead with her “branch,” which drove deep into the lesser horned beast’s eye socket.
“…This is much better than your crooked spear.”
With a single strike, the lesser horned beast couldn’t even mount a dying counterattack before collapsing.
After pulling out the spear tip, Jima felt ecstatic. The thrill of weapons clashing, the delight of victory in contest… all made her heart race.
Ah, I haven’t lost my skill yet.
Jima whistled off-key as she stepped on a corpse, wielding the spear.
“…Kill, kill, enjoy the killing.”
Suddenly, a noisy voice rang in her ears.
Jima froze, her gaze immediately locking on the blood-red stone nearby, which held a severed head next to the head beast’s head engraved with the emblem of the Blood God. Her eyes lingered on the familiar emblem, stirring a restless craving within her. It was purely instinctive. Just like a homebound, internet-addicted teen spotting a keyboard. The feeling of temptation flashed as she saw a zippered package ready to be opened.
She had performed many head offerings to the Blood God before.
“Kill, kill…”
Was it because I am a demon that I could easily hear the Blood God’s voice, or did He recognize this familiar soul? After all, I had once been chosen by the Blood God.
She stared at the emblem of the Blood God, aware that He intended to gift her divinity.
He probably did not recognize me; it’s more likely He saw my brave and vigorous slaughter… or because I found pleasure in killing, piquing His interest.
But no matter how it was, did she want to accept the Blood God’s gift?
Jima suddenly tore her gaze away from the emblem, fearful that George would notice her staring at the emblem of the Blood God.
George had already ridden, driving the herd—no, the beast horde—to the other side of the hill. The beastmen’s vanguard leaped over the hilltop and saw a crowd below, wanting to turn and flee but were pushed toward the spear points and sword edges by the beasts behind.
The beasts trailing behind, unaware of the ambush hidden by the hill in front, only knew to push hard against the backs of their companions to escape the pursuing knight.
In no time, George’s silhouette vanished over the hilltop.
No one knew what she was doing.
I’ve had enough of this powerless body; I also want to kill…
Jima thought, but merely tossed the branch in her hand onto the blood-red stone: “I don’t want to become a muscular woman yet; if you want to give something, enhance my branch instead.”
The blood-red stone trembled; before long, a faint red light shone on the branch, quickly fading, the emblem on the blood-red stone also losing its divine power and becoming ordinary.
Jima stored the branch away, pretending nothing had happened, and dashed toward the top of the hill.
——————
Today I wrote four thousand words to make up for the two thousand five hundred from the day before.
