Chapter 74: Torture (Continued)
The one-eyed unicorn stood up from the ground. After reaching a height of over two meters and standing upright, all the nearby lesser horned beasts couldn’t help but lower their heads, trembling uncontrollably to express their respect for this magnificent creature.
The one-eyed unicorn didn’t even glance at the lesser horned beasts nearby but instead asked, “How did I fall asleep?”
No beast responded.
It had truly been a good dream, the one-eyed unicorn recalled the beautiful dream he had just experienced. He found a spear blessed by the Blood God, conquered the warring factions, developed into a tribe, found a crown at the bottom of a cliff, turned the tables on a tin can, feasted on canned meat for three days and nights, and mated with every female animal to produce a personal guard made up of his offspring.
The one-eyed unicorn immersed himself in those pleasant memories.
The lesser beasts noticed an invisible rainbow cloud floating above their heads, boiling like fire, unknowingly affecting their emotions.
But why was it just a dream?
A surge of anger rose within him, and the one-eyed unicorn slapped his rusted breastplate, causing some rusty sand to fall away.
He looked down at his armor. It was forged from armor and iron snatched from the weak two-legged sheep, with outlines of a plow still faintly visible, not completely melted. But it was thick and heavy enough to suit his status.
However, to his eyes now, this unmaintained and rust-covered armor looked utterly shabby and unappealing.
In his dream, he wore the dark god’s blessed armor—both tough and handsome, adorned with several skulls.
A familiar yet unfamiliar lesser horned beast approached him, offering a flask filled with green liquid: “Boss, here’s some rust remover. Just pour it on the armor, and it’ll be fine.”
The one-eyed unicorn snatched the flask and poured it on his breastplate. Hiss, hiss, hiss—the liquid released a thin white smoke, and a pungent ginger smell filled his nostrils. He grabbed a handful of grass and wiped it, but it was useless; the rust remained.
The one-eyed unicorn raised his head: “Are you fooling me? Who gave this to you?”
The other lesser horned beasts exchanged glances, shaking their heads.
The one-eyed unicorn looked around but couldn’t find the creature that had offered the remedy. The potion flowed into his fur and seeped into his skin, burning hot.
But before he could vent his anger, a voice rang out: “I want to be the boss!”
He looked towards the source of the voice—a slender lesser horned beast, gripping a straight spear, came walking towards him. The one-eyed unicorn doubted he had heard correctly until the creature shouted again: “I want to be the boss!”
The one-eyed unicorn roared at him: “Then come on!”
The other lesser horned beasts, frightened, moved away, forming a circle around the two beasts.
The lesser horned sentinel trembled, firmly grasping the spear. He regretted it and wanted to say, “I just came to offer the spear.” But what came out was, “I want to be the boss.”
He was almost on the verge of tears.
The one-eyed unicorn stared at the straight spear, astonished to find that it looked exactly like the one from his dream. He suddenly remembered that the scene was identical to the one in his dream; back then, he had taken off his armor and torn the lesser horned sentinel’s body apart with his bare hands, earning the Blood God’s approval.
Thus, the one-eyed unicorn removed his armor, bellowed, and charged towards the trembling lesser horned sentinel who was holding the spear.
No beast present questioned the outcome of the battle. The one-eyed unicorn looked as if he would tear the sentinel apart like a piece of grass.
The lesser horned sentinel squeezed his eyes shut, with the one-eyed unicorn only two steps away, his right leg coiling with strength. An invisible hand in the air tugged at the one-eyed unicorn’s right knee, causing it to suddenly fill with gout stones. He felt the pain and began to fall towards the lesser horned sentinel.
The one-eyed unicorn could have tried to sidestep to avoid it, but gazing at the approaching spear tip, glinting with blood, he became dazed, like a moth drawn to the flame, lunging at the spear tip.
A surge of pain erupted as the spear tip pierced his one eye and burrowed into his eye socket. His massive body flipped to one side, legs kicking, and he died.
Silence reigned at the scene.
Could this ridiculous curse of “using the eyeball to aim at a sharp object” actually take effect? It must have been because the opponent was too weak.
Jima munched on sunflower seeds while mentally recording his experiment in the system.
The lesser horned sentinel was ecstatic, pulling out the “branch spear,” raising it high. The lesser horned beasts cheered alongside him, celebrating the birth of a new boss, grateful to the sentinel for eliminating the weak and strengthening the warring faction.
According to custom, the beasts began to consume the body of the one-eyed unicorn.
Unfortunately, the unicorn’s body was tainted, having been contaminated by Jima’s concocted curse poison.
After the lesser horned sentinel ate the heart, he visibly grew stronger, becoming the new boss. But before he could enjoy this glorious moment, Jima cast a curse, causing his hands to go numb, the “branch spear” fell to the ground, and his legs suddenly stiffened, unable to move.
A lesser horned beast picked up the “branch spear” for the new boss.
The new boss shouted: “Give it to me!”
The lesser horned beast, still chewing on a finger, replied, “I want to be the boss.”
In a fit of rage, the new boss, despite dragging his numb legs, reached for the “challenger’s” neck with both hands.
The lesser horned beast was startled and stabbed the unsteady “new boss” with the “branch spear,” causing him to collapse to the ground. The surrounding lesser horned beasts, busy consuming the carcass, raised their heads, the red eyes of the sheep staring blankly.
Jima controlled an illusion of a lesser horned beast, announcing, “Power comes from the spear; whoever gets the spear is the boss!”
With a loud uproar, the lesser horned beasts scrambled for the “branch spear,” poking and stabbing each other, blinded by jealousy towards the newly established boss. After all, power came from the spear—whoever grasped it was the strong one.
Deep in the forest, chaos ensued, but the sounds of the beastly brawl slowly diminished.
“Crack, crack.”
The pile of sunflower seed shells beside Jima had grown to the height of one and a half clenched fists.
Finally, amidst the pile of dead and injured beasts, one lesser horned beast with red eyes, the only one standing, raised the “branch spear” high and shouted, “I am the new boss!”
The “branch spear” emitted a faint red glow in his hands, and under its shimmering effect, his body quickly grew taller, muscles swelling, nearing two meters, no longer resembling a lesser horned beast.
“The Blood God is truly generous.”
Jima appeared, leaping down from a branch, spreading his wings as he descended slowly, “Chosen by the Blood God, I am His messenger, and I will grant you a crown.”
The sole survivor eyed Jima suspiciously: “You’re not strong enough, too pale; you don’t look like a messenger of the Blood God.”
“The will of the Blood God is beyond your comprehension,” Jima replied. “As long as you eliminate all the living weaklings on the ground, you will receive blessings. Do you lack the strength to eliminate the weak after being wounded?”
The only surviving beast roared, “Nonsense.”
With that said, disregarding the bleeding wounds on his body, he used the “branch spear” to kill a beastman, saving Jima from having to do the mechanical labor again.
“Very good,” Jima said, returning to the branch, straining to lift a prepared large stone. He created a “silent illusion,” forming a shining crown with sharp edges, intricately carved with skulls, showcasing the aesthetic of the Blood God.
Jima placed the illusion over the large stone, making it appear as if he were holding a crown. He flew over to the only survivor and said, “Stretch out your head; I will place the crown on you.”
The sole survivor stretched his neck, and Jima flew towards him. Just three meters from the ground, he suddenly smashed the large stone onto the survivor’s head.
A heart-stopping crunch echoed out, and the sole survivor lay on the ground, his head caved in, his eyeball popping out of its socket, leaking a bit of white substance, and the “branch spear” naturally slipped from his grasp.
He was not dead yet; his legs continued to tremble.
Jima picked up the “branch spear,” remarking, “I am not a messenger of the Blood God. This spear is mine. I challenged your previous boss with that lesser horned beast, instigating your internal strife. Beasts are indeed beasts; they are truly foolish.”
The only surviving beast’s last intact eyeball glared at the boss, filled with rage.
She thrust the spear fiercely into the sole survivor’s large arm and twisted, incapacitating his arm: “By the way, this is my habit. For prisoners, I generally prefer to cut off their limbs, fundamentally preventing any chance of a counterattack or escape. Heh, don’t think I don’t know the Blood God is healing your body; He loves when the weak possess the courage to defeat the strong.”
As Jima spoke of her plan while eliminating any possibility of a “counterattack,” she finally stabbed into his heart, delivering a fatal blow.
The last boss of the warring faction died in despair.
“Phew, took forty minutes; quite efficient. The power of this spear seems to have grown stronger,” Jima glanced at the information bar, “A small step of progress? Not bad.”
Before leaving, Jima clasped her hands together over the fallen beastmen’s corpses and said, “Thank you, beastmen, for contributing experience. May you rest uneasily, and thank you.”
Until evening.
Jima thanked the beastmen four more times, only once sincerely. She discovered that the efficiency of repeatedly hunting monsters was diminishing, receiving just one prompt for every four kills. She wasn’t surprised; if “monster hunting” could lead to level-ups, the number of powerful extraordinary beings in this world would at least triple or quadruple.
Finally, Jima, wings aglow with the sunset, returned to the military camp and coincidentally ran into George.
“Jima, where have you been playing?”
“Giving the beastmen a taste of social mobility,” Jima replied, “But unfortunately, due to cost constraints and my laziness, some of the less fortunate beastmen were unable to benefit.”
“Huh? What does that mean?”
“I leveled up.”
“Invite me to the Dream Palace tonight.”
“Oh?” Jima raised an eyebrow and smiled ambiguously, “Are you still sore after last night’s crushing defeat?”
“Serious matter,” George said, “We need to talk properly. We didn’t get a chance last night.”
Jima’s playful smile faded, and she became serious: “Okay, I understand.”
Since they were already “laying it on the line,” George surely wanted to discuss “the future” properly, at the very least to confirm whether her touching the demonic king’s extraordinary material could resurrect the king or something similar.
George nodded, and as the two brushed past each other, he murmured, “Hmm.”
Jima’s tail brushed against his calf, and George turned back to meet Jima’s slightly smiling face: “Doing something mischievous isn’t bad either.”
With that, Jima turned and walked away.
