Chapter 61: Pain Beyond Endurance
A lowly horned beast hiding in the tall grass spotted George and Eve Frostleaf. It raised its head and let out a loud roar, but in the next moment, George crashed into the grass, piercing it with a sword from behind. The beast gave its life to warn the rest of the herd.
The herd awoke with a start, and the beastmen stood up, grabbing their weapons. With nearly half the herd missing, George and Eve Frostleaf seemed on the verge of being overwhelmed.
George raised his hand, and a flash of white light shone through. Accompanied by a whinny, the heavenly warhorse named Old Bai galloped out from the light, proud and valiant. However, it landed on a slope, almost stumbling.
At this moment, the leader of the herd, marked by a tuft of white, climbed on a rock, brandishing a white flag of humiliation towards the beastmen, pointing at the two and letting out a battle cry. The entire herd erupted with fury, their eyes filled with hatred, surging towards George and Eve like a brown landslide. Eve’s fireballs only stirred small waves amidst the throng of beasts.
“Moo! Moo! Moo!”
Old Bai, the warhorse, uttered a frightened moo and cursed, “George, you thick-skulled fool, riding me in this place!”
Unfortunately, George could not understand horse language; he sensed Old Bai’s battle spirit and stepped into the stirrups, pulling the reins and saying, “Alright, my old comrade is eager for battle; let’s charge!”
“Damn!”
Old Bai cursed loudly, reluctantly charging down the slope, smashing into a group of approaching horned beasts. He leaped nearly five meters, landing on a slightly more level piece of rock, startling several beasts who were just stringing their bows.
Old Bai crushed two of them, his hooves stomping brutally on their chests, saying, “Let you share my burden!”
The horned beasts had no time to cry out in anguish as their ribs cracked. Old Bai charged toward the leader’s tuft of white.
A centaur rushed over, thrusting a spear at George. George did not dodge, and the spear tip pierced his chest plate, snapping it as he swung his giant sword, slicing the centaur in half.
The tuft of white did not move, while the remaining large horned beasts gathered near him. There was still some distance between George and him, blocked by the horned beasts who had switched to long spears, and with the uneven terrain, even Old Bai could not carry George through.
George dismounted and shouted, “Charge!”
The heavenly warhorse Old Bai barreled beside him, while Eve Frostleaf, light on her feet, swung her dual swords, creating a flurry of blade blossoms, launching fireballs and frost stars, creating chaos.
The beastmen struggled to withstand the onslaught; for a time, they could not stop the trio. From Jima’s perspective, it looked like a brown landslide being cleaved apart by a series of blades.
The strong horned beasts unexpectedly became enraged. Burning with fury, they looked at George as if seeing a hated enemy, losing their reason and charging at him with axes raised.
George raised his giant sword, dazzling with light, firmly grasped it, and slashed wildly. Even though the horned beasts were armored, none could get close. He just chopped off the entire arm of one horned beast.
A horned beast roared and bravely leaped to strike him from the side. Its hoof barely left the ground when a flash of the sword grazed its throat, instantly shattering its windpipe. Its head tilted, and as it was dying, a wave of intense hatred drove its arms towards George.
George intercepted with the sword’s hilt, smashing its nasal bone. Another horned beast seized the chance to raise its shield and struck down on George.
At such close range, using the giant sword was difficult. George wielded the sword by the blade, turning it into a spear, puncturing the round shield of the horned beast and driving it into its chest. The hulking beast was now like a little girl being lifted by the throat, feebly swinging its axe against George’s thick armor, producing only sparks.
The horned beasts, undeterred, surged forward again, with another horned beast charging at George while he struggled to extract his sword from its flesh. George easily lifted the struggling beast as if wielding a battering ram, slamming it down to the ground, heavily booting it in the chest.
With one stomp, its nasal bone shattered; with two, its eye sockets burst, and its eyes fell out; with three, the entire face caved in, no longer moving.
George forcefully pushed the horned beast off his sword, causing its corpse to crash into two more horned beasts, and he roared at the leader with the tuft of white surrounded by the large horned beasts:
“Call more beasts to their deaths!”
“Knight!” The tuft of white also seethed with anger but managed to smile grimly, “Your little soldiers are doomed to die!”
George suddenly came to his senses, adjusting the light entering the visor of his helmet, and saw behind him. He discovered many centaurs carrying the lowly horned beasts and the other horned beasts surging towards the lair.
No wonder they had reached the tuft of white so easily.
“Are you not afraid of death?” George knocked aside a horned beast, charging at a much larger beast, swinging his sword down and deflecting its giant axe, striking its arm and severing it along with the arm itself, “I’ll fulfill your wish! Frostleaf!”
As soon as he finished speaking, a spinning silver bow landed among the large horned beasts, exploding. An ice-water mixture materialized, scattering frost all around. Even a large horned beast that was nearly as tall as a story could only stand rooted, struggling to free itself from the solid ice.
George bent his knees, leaping up, both hands gripping his sword as he lunged towards the tuft of white standing on the rock. His eyes focused on the large axe at the side, ready to counter any attack.
But the tuft of white merely curled its lip, revealing a cunning smile like that of a human, tossing out a writhing “net.” Upon closer inspection, it was a net woven from tentacles, spreading out in the air, the suckers on the tentacles opening, ready to ensnare George.
Gladiators loved such nets; once caught, no matter how much brute strength one had, it would take immense effort to escape, let alone this tentacle net.
Just as the tentacles were about to entangle George, he suddenly transformed into a flash of light, zipping through the tentacle net and landing behind the tuft of white, shouting: “Judgment!”
With that, the blade of the sword shimmered with light. He wielded the sword with all his might, twisting his waist, delivering a Holy Slash aimed at the tuft of white’s rear shoulder.
He had gathered enough evidence of the tuft of white’s crimes, and for a “guilty” enemy, the damage was amplified. A “Holy Slash,” especially from behind, was a “just condemnation.” Surely, today, the tuft of white would not escape death; it would be a challenge to piece together its remains.
But this felt too easy, too easy to induce a slight sense of unease in George.
It must be the effect of Jima’s curse.
The blade struck flesh, causing the tuft of white’s shoulder armor to dent and crack, the blade slicing downward from shoulder to waist, cleaving it in two unequally sized halves, resembling a perfect “golden section.”
The upper half of the tuft of white fell forward, landing with a thud, its face displaying an expression of disbelief.
However, George’s expression grew grim inside his helmet as he saw the cut on the tuft of white’s body had no internal organs, just bones, like a sheep’s rib.
“Pfft!”
The body of the tuft of white unexpectedly became jelly-like, the flesh transforming into tentacles, lunging towards George. He hurriedly retreated, slashing left and right to sever several tentacles, but their speed was immense, and they were incredibly resilient. They wrapped tightly around George’s calves, knees, waist, and wrists, exerting great force; even George’s armor began to creak.
For a moment, the mighty George found himself unable to move, ensnared by the tentacles.
“You’ve fallen for my trap, foolish knight.” A booming voice called from not far away, the tuft of white rising from the pit he had excavated, the disguise of grass falling from him. With a thick country accent, he spoke in common tongue, “Did you think I had only this one trap? Did I not realize you could turn into a flash of light? You’ve treated me like a livestock in a pigsty; you’ve used that trick three or four times to escape before me!”
The centaurs were unceremonious, not giving George any quarter; they charged at him, just as he tried to break free from the tentacle bindings. The clanging noises echoed against his helmet. Each hit reverberated in his head, shaking it violently.
Meanwhile, the only two who could back George up, Eve Frostleaf, had also become tangled amidst the beast horde, struggling for her safety. Old Bai, the heavenly warhorse, having sustained injuries, vanished back to the heavenly realm, calling out as he left: “George, keep it up! You can do it!”
Having shouted, he disappeared in a flash of white light.
“… Did you think you alone had treasures? Mother of All Beasts above, the gifts I received can trap you here; you and your subordinates will die here, and I will chew off your limbs and take you before the Mother of All Beasts.”
Not right.
After merely wounding a large horned beast, George sensed something was amiss.
Why was the tuft of white explaining so much? He and Eve Frostleaf were only temporarily trapped; as long as his “Charge of Light” could be used again, he might be able to reach the tuft of white.
If he were in the tuft of white’s position, he would definitely maintain distance.
And where were the Jima people?
“I guessed from the start that you would act like a desperate gamble…”
The tuft of white continued speaking, filled with the thick rural accent, but the more he spoke, the more he felt something was off.
Why the strong desire to share? Why insist on revealing the backstory and details at this moment, when he could speak after slashing off his limbs? First maintain distance.
But, why couldn’t his feet move? Why couldn’t he stop talking?
Suddenly, a voice filled with excitement echoed from above:
“So many heads!”
A figure descended from the sky; Jima, spear in hand, first pounced on a half-dead lowly horned beast lying on the ground. As it died, her movement acceleration increased, faster than an arrow, rushing towards another severely injured beastman.
“Double kill, triple kill, quadruple kill, quintuple kill, sextuple kill…”
Jima’s speed escalated. Her voice began to distort; she moved so fast that it seemed like a bullet bouncing between two walls, sharply turning at impossible angles, with each corner producing a beastman’s demise.
From heavily injured to lightly injured, from lowly horned beasts to horned beasts, the beastmen were increasingly falling in a single strike.
Jima harvested the lives of several horned beasts beside Eve Frostleaf, easing her pressure, then soared across the battlefield to a large horned beast beside George. The beast’s arm had been viciously wounded by George, blood pouring out, but it could still fight, swinging its weapon at Jima.
But Jima’s form was like a fleeting shadow gliding over its head, just grazing its cheek with the spear tip. That fresh scratch, however, was violently pulled by an invisible force, tearing at the flesh, revealing teeth and eye sockets. The large horned beast howled as if kicked in the rear, collapsing in pain, dropping its weapon, wailing and crying.
Jima spun in the air, stabbing her spear into the gap in the large horned beast’s back armor, killing it.
This entire killing spree took less than six seconds from start to finish.
She bent down, picking up the white flag tossed aside by the faux tuft of white, on which were written her crooked words: “Beasts imitating human upright walking…”
“Still carrying it? Truly a self-aware beast.”
The tuft of white hadn’t moved a step, cursing:
“A succubus with a pair of weak wings! You dare stoop to being a human’s lapdog; I’ll tear your wings off, and it will happen soon.”
Jima looked at the tuft of white, her face breaking into the purest smile. “You know why you can’t move? Because I cursed you.”
A large horned beast charged at Jima with a shout.
“So rude; strong fighters talk, while the fodder should be silent.”
Jima delivered a harsh retort. With a push of her legs, she spread her wings and flew while harnessing the “painful power” stored in her body to boost her speed, charging at the tuft of white.
She was not about to waste her “painful power” on a large horned beast that hadn’t sustained much damage.
Her afterimage swept past the tuft of white, who was startled to find that Jima’s attack was much weaker than he had imagined. It clashed starkly with her earlier image of having crossed the battlefield in six seconds and claiming the lives of over a dozen beastmen.
“Humans place their hopes on your ascent; how foolish. This little accident…”
“Do you know why you talk so much?” Jima quipped as she continued to grapple with the tuft of white. “Because I cursed you with the ‘compulsion to speak strongly, unable to leave until you finish explaining your plan.’ In simple terms, it means dying from talking too much.”
“Useless garbage curse.” The tuft of white swung an axe, slicing a nearby centaur in half, feeling as though he was battling a fly that he couldn’t hit no matter how hard he tried.
“You self-aware beast, do you know why I could curse you?”
Jima smiled, “Your mother wanted you dead, and she gave me her blood. You were born without a mother, thrown into the wild to feed the wolves. Your mother truly despises you because you killed your own father; you truly should not have been born. She said she regretted not smashing your head against the wall when you were born.”
“Shut up! I am a beastman! I do not have a human mother!”
Jima flew high into the sky, looking down at him, noticing a swirl of white among the seven hues of negative emotions in his chest.
White, it should symbolize the pain I caused him.
Suddenly, Jima enlightened.
“You’ve fallen for my trap.” The tuft of white suddenly suppressed his rage and said, “Did you not realize that as we fought, we’ve already drifted away from the edge of the battlefield? Your curse has a flaw! I calculated the extraordinary range of the helmeted knight, and at this distance, he cannot reach me, even if he charges at the outermost large horned beast, the distance between us is still too far.”
“Oh, thanks for the reminder.” Jima flapped her wings and flew backward gracefully, landing lightly, “George, charge at me!”
Just like in Sarin City. George transformed into a flash of light, racing to Jima’s side, now only twenty meters away from the tuft of white.
George had just found himself surrounded by the onslaught of large horned beasts; his armor was battered, especially the helmet, which bore multiple deep dents. However, these wounds did not weaken George; instead, they fueled his anger, with flames burning in his blue eyes.
Perhaps he was also influenced by Jima’s “mass agitation.” Earlier, when Jima was invisible, she had subtly stirred the anger within all beastmen, hoping they would lose their minds.
The tuft of white realized that facing the furious George alone was far more terrifying than he had imagined.
“Is it tentacles? Mother of All Beasts? Preparing to gnaw on me like a brat?” George said coolly, simultaneously kneeling and lunging towards the tuft of white.
“By the way, you better explain your escape plan before you leave,” Jima added, “Dying from talking too much, beast.”
The tuft of white, enraged, gritted his teeth, tearing off the four-leaf clover necklace from his neck and throwing it on the ground, shouting, “I have no mother; my mother is the Mother of All Beasts!”
With that, he drew a small knife, cutting his wrist and spilling blood, declaring, “Blood of birth, returned to her!”
Before he finished, George had already caught up: “Slash!”
With the power of Judgment combined with the Holy Slash, a blade of light descended. The tuft of white could not defend against it; his double-handed axe swung wide, while George’s great sword struck his chest plate, showering sparks, revealing deep dents and black-red blood seeping out.
Despite everything, he managed to step back—one step, two steps, three steps.
“He has broken free of the curse!”
Jima gritted her teeth, once again cursing this idealistic world.
George charged again, striking him and leaving another wound, but he barely held on.
From a distance came the sound of hooves; the centaurs rushed at the two, boxing in George, while the tuft of white rode atop two paired centaurs, quickly widening the gap between them. His massive frame on two centaurs made him look like an adult man riding a child’s tricycle.
The tuft of white yelled, “You’ve won, but also lost! Hurry back to save your soldiers! Otherwise, they’ll all be devoured.”
After performing a “centaur separation surgery” on one, George shouted at the tuft of white, “Come back! Fight me again!”
“Goodbye! I have won!”
At that moment, Jima, brandishing the white flag, soared toward the tuft of white, shaking the flag high and shouting, “You motherless beast, you’ve left behind another white flag.”
The tuft of white did not want to turn around, but Jima, taking advantage of her flight, passed over him and buzzed around him like a fly, lampooning him:
“Even if you deny your human mother, you were born from her belly.”
“You’ve only returned her blood; the flesh has yet to be repaid.”
“Face reality: even now you stand over two meters tall, muscular, and devouring human flesh, you are still a beast born of a human mother, a beast rejected by all.”
The tuft of white was seething with rage, infuriated enough to hurl his twin axes at Jima. She nimbly dodged the flying axes, buzzing with an irritating noise that even more unsettled him, causing his tail to instinctively swipe against his back, dispelling nonexistent flies.
Jima extended a hand towards his chest, feeling she could ignite the swelling white emotions within the tuft of white. With a forceful gesture, it felt akin to bursting a water balloon.
Suddenly, the tuft of white’s face turned pale, whiter than his beard, blood pouring from his eyes and nostrils. He raised his hand to cover his chest, but before his hand could touch it, he toppled off the back of the centaur, rolling twice and lying motionless with his chest facing upward, his breathing weak.
Jima immediately rushed up, regardless of whether he was feigning death; even if he were, lying down made it hard to counterattack. Using all the remaining painful energy, she plunged her spear into the unprotected area above the collarbone.
The tuft of white trembled, his throat working as he spoke, “Is it… is it possible to… never escape?”
Jima felt no pity as she dropped the white flag over him, with words on it, saying, “Beast imitating human upright walking, this is your fate.”
With one last breath, the tuft of white’s head fell to the side, dying right then and there.
A line of information appeared in the personal system: “DM: Congratulations, you’ve taken a big step forward on the path of the Painful Banshee’s advancement.”
Jima looked down at the body of the tuft of white, a joyful smile spreading across her face.
