Chapter 225: Chapter 222: Breaking Out (Part 2)
“Defeated.”
In her dream, the warrior blessed by the four gods of darkness raised the red-tipped black sword with one hand, pointing it directly at Jima.
At that moment, Jima noticed a piece missing from the black crown that floated above his head, illuminated by faint light.
She said, “I am not the Demon King.”
The eternal choice of the gods lunged at her with the sword, and Jima recoiled, but her head fell from her neck. She saw a fragment of the Demon King’s crown floating above her “head,” and she also saw her own headless corpse.
Jima suddenly woke up, opened her eyes, instinctively gripping the “straight branch” beside her, and after gasping for a few breaths, she realized she had just had a nightmare.
She sat up, cold sweat sticking to the inner fabric of her clothes, and comforted herself, saying, “It was just a dream.”
But the wealth of her knowledge of mysticism surged forth from her mind, ruthlessly piercing through her.
For someone like her, an extraordinary being related to dreams, dreams are never just simple dreams; they may be omens of the future, manifestations of subconscious desires to escape, or influenced by some deity.
A dream demon that cannot control her own dreams, having nightmares, is inherently abnormal.
Jima’s heart was shrouded in shadows from the past.
She glanced at the system time: 2 AM. A quick mental calculation revealed that she had only slept for four hours.
“I must ensure enough sleep.”
Jima lay back down on the hard wooden board.
The only large wagon in the army was stuffed with various supplies, leaving Jima less than two square meters to sleep in.
She smoothed out the wrinkles in the blanket and was about to sleep when she suddenly sensed something was wrong.
Why had the wagon stopped? It wasn’t shaking at all.
Her drowsiness instantly dissipated. She grabbed the “straight branch,” transforming it into a “branch speargun,” stood up, and listened intently.
Outside was noisy; she could hear the sounds of clashing swords.
“Master! Master!”
Leansi’s voice came from outside, “Enemy attack! Enemy attack!”
Jima moved sideways through the narrow corridor, lifted the canvas, and heard clearer sounds of battle nearby: screams, roars, the sounds of hooves, and the hissing calls of beastmen.
Outside was as dark as if a bucket of ink had been dumped over it, the darkness sucking in the light emitted by the torches, with only a few distant flickers of fire visible.
Leansi, wearing a pointed iron helmet and draped in a loose mithril chainmail, held a short spear in one hand and an oil lamp in the other, illuminating only half of her face.
Leansi looked at Jima, her earlier unease quickly fading: “That guy George ordered me to inform you.”
Things had gotten serious.
Jima’s adrenaline began to surge, dissipating the last remnants of sleep in her mind. She jumped down from the wagon, glancing around and muttering to herself:
“Why is it so dark?”
Leansi wondered, “It’s just heavy clouds today.”
But I can see in the dark.
Jima widened her pupils but still couldn’t make out the distant battle.
However, she made a new discovery.
The darkness wasn’t just simple darkness; it was a gray mist. The hazy gray mist enveloped the area, absorbing all the light around it.
If it weren’t for Leansi’s red hair that she could see, confirming that she was not in the gray and white dream, Jima would think this was yet another cursed nightmare.
She immediately confirmed that she was not dreaming and said to Leansi, “Take care of yourself.”
Leansi tightened her grip on the short spear, saying, “Yes, Master.”
Jima unfurled wings over three meters long from her back, gently flapped them, and leaped into the night sky.
Transformed into an orange cat, Leansi looked up at Jima disappearing into the sky, feeling a sudden desire in her heart.
If only I could fight alongside my master.
But now, as a cat, the only thing Leansi could do was hide well and not cause trouble for Jima. She dragged her rounded body back into the wagon.
Jima flew into the sky, first checking her remaining magical power, which wasn’t much—only forty-two percent.
Below her, a sphere of light rose, bursting forth with intense white light that pierced through the thick gray mist, diminishing the surrounding inky darkness.
Even at high altitude, Jima could see clearly.
It was George, brandishing the knight’s sword of Duke Casson, issuing orders loudly, his entire body radiating white light, like a savior coming to rescue humanity in the apocalyptic world. The armored celestial warhorse reared up on its front hooves, trampling a beastman’s chest, while knights gathered around him, with more knights and soldiers converging from the darkness towards George.
Jima did not approach George; instead, she folded her wings and dove down. Silently blending into the darkness, she skimmed low over the battlefield to gather battlefield intelligence with her ability to see in the dark.
Her direct combat ability was too weak; the only thing she could do was collect information to give George better insights.
The gray mist was practically a tangible war mist. It greatly obscured Jima’s line of sight, preventing her from observing enemy movements over ten kilometers away or getting a full view of the battlefield to accurately assess the situation.
She could only approach the “war” elephant as if she had weak eyesight, inching closer to see its vast body more clearly.
The battlefield was chaotic.
It resembled a mixture of cooked instant noodles and spaghetti.
Dozens of humans clustered together, covering each other’s backs, resisting the enemy as they slowly moved toward George’s light. But in front of them, there were no enemies.
Most beastmen were beast-horse hybrids and magically transformed war hounds, a group of beast-horse hybrids roared, howled, and hissed, brushing past a group of human infantry, charging into the air to attack.
But the situation was unfavorable for the humans.
Apart from the knights, individual human combat strength was weaker than that of the beastmen, reliant on discipline and formation to fight against them. But in the darkness, although one could see George’s light, there were no flags indicating formation, nor comrades flanking them for protection, only the continuous cries of despair coming from the darkness.
Jima saw more soldiers scatter, falling into a battle they could not win, the beastmen, having fed on human flesh, became even more bloodthirsty and powerful.
After observing the battlefield situation, Jima flew above George’s head.
A purple-black crossbow bolt was lodged in his shoulder armor, restricting his arm’s mobility. George was wielding the knight’s sword as he fought against the dark elven knight Balsa with red hair.
With a swing of his sword, a wave of energy pushed back those around them, and Balsa, on the losing end, quickly retreated, exposing her back to George.
George did not waver, watching her disappear into the darkness.
Jima flew beside George, flapping her wings, saying, “I’m here.”
George turned his head and immediately commanded, “Quick, follow me.”
The knights closed in around them, protecting them, specifically Jima.
Jima landed on the back of the celestial warhorse, saying, “I’ve scouted the battlefield.”
George felt relieved, asking, “What did you find?”
“The enemy has assembled a large number of mobile troops, which is inconsistent with the poor organization of the beastman army,” Jima said. “We must organize a breakout.”
“I am in the process of breaking out.”
“You’re heading in the wrong direction.” Jima took out a compass and pointed toward the west. “Kuinass Fortress is that way.”
It was worth mentioning that George’s horse was facing east.
With the correct direction, George and the assembled knights fought for twenty minutes, carving out a bloody path.
Many became separated, an inevitability at night, and George could only pray to the gods.
Only less than a hundred knights remained alongside George.
After spotting the gray mist, he finally saw the hazy outline of Kuinass Fortress.
“We’re almost there!”
He shouted loudly.
The knights cheered, but the cheers quickly subsided.
Because a small, snow-white hill with legs appeared in the gray mist, carrying a mound of flesh towards George.
