Chapter 62: A Bloody and Narrow Victory
The beastmen scattered upon seeing their leader, the white beast, defeated by Jima. No savage beasts came to trouble Jima.
Jima looked down at the humiliated white beast that lay dead. Originally, he had brought the white flag that Jima left him, vowing to redeem his shame, but now the flag lay across his chest.
Jima reached into his pocket and pulled out a broken four-leaf clover necklace. He had forgotten why he had brought it, perhaps as a medium for a curse, or perhaps just by chance.
This thought made Jima chuckle. He casually tossed the broken four-leaf clover necklace onto the corpse, and it landed perfectly around the neck of the white beast.
Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Turning to look, George arrived, carrying a massive sword in both hands.
Jima stepped on the chest of the white beast and pulled out a spear, saying, “You’re just in time. Can you help me cut off the head of this corpse?”
George placed his sword across the neck of the white beast and noticed the four-leaf clover necklace resting there. He said, “You still have a bit of mercy.”
“Mercy?” Jima questioned, unsure if he had heard correctly.
“You returned the necklace to him.”
“Ah? I thought you saw me as a vicious witch.”
“If you say so, it does seem that way, but I choose to see you in the best light.” George replied, swiftly severing the beast’s head, asking, “How long have we been fighting?”
Jima glanced at the system time: “About nineteen minutes.”
“That’s bad. We need to rescue the stronghold urgently.”
“What about Eve Frostleaf? She’s surrounded by a bunch of horned beasts.” Jima said, looking pained. “You really are a scoundrel who doesn’t cherish beauty.”
“She can take care of herself.”
“Heartless.”
“Fly back quickly to help.”
Jima crouched down, tying the two corners of the white flag to the horns on either side of the beast’s head, saying, “You hurry to save Frostleaf. I’ll rush to the stronghold by myself.”
If this remarkable long-legged beauty fell to the beastmen, it would be a loss for the entire world. Heaven knows how many years it took to give birth to such a long-legged beauty, especially from a long-lived race like the elves.
“Take care on your own.” With that, George turned back towards the battlefield on the hillside.
Jima took hold of the horns of the white beast, spread her wings, and flew up, holding the flag like a banner. The white flag fluttered in the wind, emblazoned with ugly text.
…
Although the gate was blocked with large stones, there was no worry about it being breached, but the corpses piled up into a steep slope, allowing direct access to the wooden wall.
The defense line on the wooden wall was on the verge of collapse, as the beastmen climbed up, pushing onto the wooden wall amidst the attacks from the injured soldiers of the holy order, creating several breaches.
At this time, the sergeant-major, the accompanying priest, and a few veterans worked as a fire crew, plugging the gaps. Just as they pushed a horned beast off the wooden wall, they heard a cry nearby:
“We need help!”
From further away, a more desperate voice cried out:
“The right wall’s second position can’t hold!”
The sergeant-major raised the visor of his helmet and looked to the right, seeing a group of brown beastmen on the wooden wall, while several bleeding soldiers of the holy order struggled with their shields, blocking attacks from horned and lesser horned beasts, retreating step by step.
The accompanying priest, holding a spiked hammer, said, “Our forces have been defeated.”
The sergeant-major tried hard to ignore the priest’s words, shouting, “Fire crew, come with me!”
“Here!”
“Why is there only one person?”
The sergeant-major looked around and saw that among the veterans beside him, only one was standing. The other two lay among the enemies, with one tightly embracing a horned beast, biting its neck.
The accompanying priest said, “Run! Hide! There might still be a chance to survive.”
“You escape! You escape! Stay here.” The sergeant-major yelled, gritting his teeth. His throat was dry as he said, “Go! Just hold on a little longer; Lord George will come.”
With that, he lowered his visor and, along with the remaining veteran, rushed towards the right wall.
“Roar!”
A roar shook him, rattling his helmet. Something seemed to be coming from the left, but the visor obstructed his view; he couldn’t see well and was about to turn his head.
Someone shouted, “Commander! Be careful!”
A shadow climbed up the wooden wall. He could only see a tall and strong figure before instinctively raising his shield.
“Bang!”
The shield shattered, and a massive force slammed into his side. The sound of armor deforming echoed through his body as he was thrown into the air, falling from the wooden wall and landing on the ground, rolling several times before finally coming to a stop. Dazed, he couldn’t tell left from right, and pain shot through his side like fire.
He groggily sat up, his visor deformed and stuck, struggling with great effort to push it up, finally seeing the beastman that had attacked him.
It was a large horned beast, standing on the wooden wall, wielding a two-handed axe. There were no humans standing nearby anymore. He recalled that just a moment ago, there had been at least five soldiers of the holy order around him, the strongest point of defense.
Impossible—they must have fled.
He held onto hope until his gaze focused and he saw the deformed helmet of a veteran lying at the beast’s feet. The sergeant-major remembered that five minutes ago, when he went to fight fires, this veteran had helped block an ambush for him.
The horned beast swung its axe down toward the veteran, and the sergeant-major’s mouth opened to yell, but the veteran’s head rolled off the wooden wall.
The horned beast turned to him, “You, officer.” With that, it leapt down from the wooden wall, making the ground tremble, walking towards him, axe in hand.
Despair filled the sergeant-major; only a hero could face the horned beast alone. His heart raced, his legs felt weak, but he still stood up, covering his side with one hand and searching for a weapon nearby.
The horned beast charged at him without giving him time. The sergeant-major felt his belt, pulled out a small knife, trembling so hard that even his helmet shook. The horned beast was fast; it raised its axe, ready to strike.
“Beast!”
An unexpected figure rushed out, a priest wearing a red helmet. With a glowing spiked hammer, he struck hard at the horned beast’s knee, causing it to flinch and halt its axe swing.
The sergeant-major was overjoyed: “Priest!”
The priest must have received divine favor; otherwise, why would he step forward with his character?
But the accompanying priest turned his head and shouted, “Quick, escape—”
Before he finished, the horned beast struck him down. The armor of a mortal could not withstand the horned beast’s weapon. The priest fell to the ground, rolling a few times, and the deformed red helmet fell off, revealing a large dent in his skull. His right hand was severely deformed, and he stared straight at the sergeant-major, his lips moving:
“Take… everyone… home.”
The sergeant-major didn’t hear clearly; his heart sank completely. There were no miracles, no divine intervention. If nothing unexpected occurred, he would be next.
The horned beast limped toward the sergeant-major, its towering shadow looming over him. It roared, the ring in its nose shaking, and swung its axe heavily toward the sergeant-major.
In despair, the sergeant-major hurled the small knife at the horned beast with all his might. The knife spun in the air, tracing a perfect arc, and lodged itself in the unprotected area on the horned beast’s shoulder. But this small wound was little more than a scratch to the beast’s massive body.
The horned beast staggered, its face contorting in pain. Its arms slackened, and it dropped its axe, which thudded to the ground. It struggled to regain its balance, but its body shook and fell.
The sergeant-major was astonished. Was this divine intervention?
A figure swooped over his head, with a pair of long bat-like wings flying above the horned beast’s corpse and pulling out the spear that was lodged in its back.
It was Jima.
She aimed at a group of beastmen on the right wall, murmuring, “Still unaware of the dire situation, these poor souls.”
Gathering her wings, she dived down, her silhouette flashing among the beastmen, accompanied by her off-key song: “Seven kills, eight kills…”
Blood mist rose behind her as she finished her dive. When Jima pulled up from the wooden wall, only a pile of corpses remained. A few lesser horned beasts looked around in confusion at the corpses of their companions, while the holy order soldiers, who had initially retreated, stared back at them in confusion.
After two or three seconds, the holy order soldiers reacted, shouting, “Charge!” rushing toward the lesser horned beasts.
The lesser horned beasts dropped their weapons and hastily fled backward.
Jima, gripping the spear, its tip dripping with blood, descended towards the ground, gently uttering the words: “Thirteen kills.”
This dive claimed thirteen lives.
The feeling of claiming heads was truly exhilarating; Jima smiled.
Too bad her power from pain had been exhausted, and she could no longer reap. The battle on the wooden wall was not over yet.
Jima stowed away the “branch spear,” pulled out the head of the white beast from her dimension bag, the white flag hanging from its horns. Gripping the horns tightly with both hands, she flew above the heads of the beastmen, shouting:
“The leader has died! The leader has died!”
No one could ignore Jima, who appeared and took the lives of dozens of beastmen. They looked up, seeing the familiar head of the white beast and the flag promising to be discarded among the human corpses.
The beastmen were all terrified, their morale collapsing, and they turned to flee. The gaps in the wooden wall couldn’t accommodate so many beastmen fleeing at once, as they pushed and shoved each other, trampling on their companions.
The remaining holy order soldiers seized the momentum, lifting their weapons and charging to chase them down, scaring the beastmen so that those who couldn’t escape dropped their weapons and simply jumped from the wooden wall.
Jima dropped the head of the white beast, pursued for a while, dispersing the beastmen and preventing them from attempting to regroup. After killing another twenty or thirty, once all the beastmen had escaped back into the forest, Jima returned to the stronghold.
The war finally came to a close.
The victorious holy order soldiers looked at their fallen comrades, feeling no joy in celebrating victory. They turned each human corpse over, calling out their names, but faced repeated disappointment; perhaps only the Blood God was victorious.
Jima looked at the surviving sergeant-major: “What? The priest is dead?”
“Yes,” the sergeant-major replied, one hand covering his side, the other holding a deformed red helmet. “It’s a good thing you arrived quickly, or I would have died too.”
“That’s quite surprising.”
Nearby, soldiers were counting the numbers: “…twelve, thirteen!”
“Only thirteen are left standing,” the sergeant-major said with a bitter smile, sinking down, his face pale as he gasped for breath. “I… feel like this might be my last battle.”
“Sergeant-major, stay strong,” George approached, holding a deformed helmet that he could barely wear. “The war is over; we need to return to the safe zone.”
“Commander, it won’t be that easy.” The sergeant-major glanced at the wounded area, seeing far more people lying on the ground than those standing. “There are fifty-seven injured, some seriously, needing treatment; otherwise, they won’t last a few hours. We can’t carry so many, and there are the dead.”
Jima said, “The dead can temporarily reside in my palace. As for those injured…”
She looked towards the wounded area, where the sounds of groaning continued. Some wounded were sitting up, expressions ranging from confusion to joy, but none were worried about being abandoned by their comrades.
George said, “We can’t easily give up on our comrades.”
“By the way, does Jenna have a habit of napping in the afternoon?”
“Afternoon nap?” George replied. “Yes, regularly from twelve-thirty to one-thirty. Why do you ask?”
“She should be able to heal everyone.” Jima said, “I can bring her over.”
