CHAPTER 297

"I don't know you, but do you know what's inside?"

"Pray to the One God for forgiveness, you bitch."

The Wolf Bishop spoke.

At his gesture, the pack of beasts moved.

Two large wolves led the way, flanked by a dozen other beastly wolves that bared their heads. 

Their yellow eyes gleamed as saliva dripped from their mouths. Their exposed fangs looked more than capable of piercing the flesh of a Giant or anything else.

Teresa didn't flinch.

She held her shield in her left hand, her right hand hanging loosely by her side.

"There are so many interesting things in this world."

Teresa said what she wanted to say.

"Traitor, traitor, let's see how pretty your entrails are."

He, too, said only what he wanted to say.

The Wolf Bishop scoffed.

He was going to tear that traitor apart.

He would sever her limbs and pull out her entrails, one by one, to show her before her eyes.

The Bishop knew he could do it. He knew Teresa's skill. He had been the one to recruit and employ her.

"I love fighting."

Fighting like a madman.

A twisted smile formed beneath her mask. It wasn't a smile meant for anyone to see, but a natural expression that formed on its own.

The Wolf Bishop naturally wore a similar expression.

The Wolf Bishop didn't listen to the traitor's words.

Nevertheless, Teresa spoke.

"Have you ever seen a Giant fight with such joy?"

He hadn't.

The Wolf Bishop's eyes slowly began to turn yellow.

"Rotten bitch."

The Bishop remembered Teresa, who had once been pinned beneath him, staring up at him with a blank expression.

"Don't think you'll die easily."

"I'll show you."

That short phrase shone with resolve.

When had it started? Was it after Encrid cut her hair, or was it after that?

Teresa didn't lower her voice.

But was the opponent in front of her worthy of respect? Ah, if it weren't for scum like him, it would have been harder for her to break free from the embrace of the Cult.

He made her feel disillusioned with life.

If there had only been decent people, she might have found faith instead of disillusionment.

No, perhaps she should even consider him a benefactor.

If he was a benefactor, then it was only right to repay him, and she would do so with her sword and shield.

She would give him an Audin-style blessing.

Grrr.

Beside the Wolf Bishop's yellow eyes, fur began to sprout from his pores.

The fur was so coarse that even the sound of it piercing through his skin was harsh.

"Grrr."

The Bishop groaned. Transformation was accompanied by pain. He was a lycanthrope with a rational mind, that was his true nature.

Coarse fur sprouted all over the Bishop's body, and his nails elongated into sharp claws.

Each claw was like a dagger, with eight in total—two on each hand. They were sharp and strong enough to cut through even the finest steel.

Awoooo!

The transformed Bishop threw back his head and howled.

The howl of a lycanthrope reverberated through one's organs, unsettling the mind and instilling fear.

Teresa was as calm then as she was now. She had no expression even when the Bishop undressed, and none when she had undressed him.

She bore no grudges. She didn't even resent him for the perverse desires he had once shown her. At that time, it was simply her life.

And now?

"It's going to be fun."

A rough and hoarse, yet pleasant voice echoed.

Fighting Encrid is exhilarating. Swinging a sword under his command is also enjoyable.

Her blood boiled violently. The Giant's blood coursed fiercely through her veins.

'Ah.'

Some people live for power, money, success, or love.

Teresa had found her reason for living.

That was why she left the Cult.

"I was born to fight."

As soon as the words left her mouth, two beastly wolves lunged at her from both sides simultaneously.

Teresa swung her shield to the left and used the pommel of her sword as a blunt weapon to strike to the right.

Thud!

"Hmm?"

The Wolf Bishop noticed that Teresa's movements had changed. She was faster and her actions were cleaner than the Teresa he knew.

Originally, she excelled in defensive combat. She wielded her shield and used her natural endurance as a weapon.

But now, she fought differently. She had become a hybrid Giant in a form he had never seen before.

It made sense. Who had Teresa been with all this time?

"I have never fought with my full strength before, Bishop."

Teresa said as she killed the two wolves.

"What are you babbling about, you damn traitor?"

Even in his lycanthrope form, the Bishop's pronunciation was precise.

He charged at her alongside the beastly wolves.

Teresa smiled and swung her sword.

Whoosh!

A gust of wind surged forth, causing the approaching beasts to instinctively retreat. It was the pressure created by the broad blade of her sword.

In that brief moment, Teresa raised her shield horizontally and moved. She kicked off the ground.

Boom!

The ground cracked beneath her. The sleet that had been falling followed in her wake, swirling in the direction she moved.

She dashed forward, tilting her shield as she swung it.

Thud!

The edge of the shield struck the head of a beast.

The beast's shattered head sent its body crashing into Teresa's thigh before it fell to the side.

There was no impact. Her body was practically a weapon in itself.

"Where do you think you're going!"

As she swung her shield, the Bishop lunged at her from behind with his claws.

The sensation of something sharp digging in sent a shiver through the back of her head.

The Wolf Bishop's claws pierced into her back. Teresa planted her foot firmly on the ground, regaining her balance and twisting her body as she swung her sword horizontally.

Whoosh!

The Bishop withdrew his claws and retreated.

Advancing and retreating, the Bishop displayed incredible agility with just these movements.

But Dunbachel's movements had been more dynamic. They lacked the visceral satisfaction of a beastman.

And the ferocity of the claws he wielded now was less than that of Rem's axe.

The savagery of the wolves that lunged at her from the side was less than the force of Audin's fists.

"Hahaha!"

Teresa suddenly burst into laughter in the midst of battle and then brought her sword down vertically.

Boom!

The impact of the sword hitting the ground sent dirt flying, lifting the sleet into the air.

The mixture of dust and sleet surged upward like a wave.

The beasts, momentarily blinded, lost sight of Teresa.

Bang!

The next moment, Teresa, who had vanished from their sight, kicked the head of another beast.

Its head exploded, spraying black blood and brain matter everywhere.

"Let's keep going!"

Breaking and slashing through those who stand in her way—it's a thrill like no other.

Especially because the fight is for Encrid, which makes it all the more satisfying.

Teresa followed her instincts.

The Bishop realized something was wrong.

He quickly called for the Dire Wolves, but they had no time to respond.

"What the hell is with this woman?"

Teresa's abilities were beyond what he knew of her.

Teresa also realized her skills had clearly improved.

More than anything, she felt at ease.

Fight. Battle.

Just fight.

Pour everything into the battle.

Because everything was so enjoyable, she did just that.

After several exchanges, the number of beasts dwindled.

Thud!

The Bishop, now in his werewolf form, threw three beasts at Teresa, stabbing her in the side.

Teresa took the blow cleanly, gaining a hole in her side, and then slammed her fist into the Bishop's head.

Crack!

The Bishop tucked his chin in to absorb the impact.

"Shit."

Even so, part of his skull caved in.

One of his eyes burst.

Blood flowed from Teresa's side, red and thick.

From the Bishop's head and nose, dark crimson blood dripped.

It was the blood of someone who had become a demon after taking in the blood of a lycanthrope in a human body.

"Fine, let's die together."

The Bishop said.

Even as he spoke, he had something else in mind.

A mercenary skilled in sorcery was closing in from behind.

He saw something strange too. Was it because one of his eyes had burst?

He saw someone behind the mercenary. Someone who didn't look like an ally.

* * *

'Ah, it's been a while.'

It had been a long time since Rem had been injured like this.

Even when he had killed that noble's son and was being hunted, he hadn't pushed his body this hard.

Was it because he was by Encrid's side, or had the surrounding circumstances just gone to hell?

'I just wanted to live quietly.'

Rem truly thought that. Although, to anyone else, it didn't seem that way at all.

For someone who claimed to want a quiet life, he was far too violent, too loud, too unpredictable.

Even Encrid knew, as did the surrounding soldiers, that Rem was the type to swing his axe the moment he saw someone he didn't like or the situation called for it.

Rem himself denied it.

Anyway, Rem hid deeper into the forest. To cover his tracks, he used thick branches as stepping stones and moved with the wind at his back.

'Are they following me?'

He didn't need to check visually, his gut told him. There was a prickling sensation on his back.

'Persistent bastard.'

Should he turn around and just have a death match?

He really wanted to, given his temper.

But if he killed him here, then what?

This was enemy territory. Could he make it back to base alive? Could he win without any preparation? Wouldn't he suffer worse injuries in the process?

Ah, should he just accept it and face them head-on?

No, he couldn't do that. Who would benefit from that?

If he died, that sly wildcat would probably smile from ear to ear.

The bear-like fool would be thrilled to say funeral prayers.

The lazy bum might just lay down and sleep.

But that bastard had recently stopped sleeping and started swinging his sword, weird guy.

As he pondered, Rem found himself deeper inside the forest. If he had decided to escape, he knew he wouldn't be caught.

Since childhood, whether it was wasteland by the desert, forests, or swamps, he had never been caught.

In the Western tribes, there was a game called 'Chasing the Hunted'.

It was a simple game. One side chases, the other side runs. Rem had never been caught.

Even when he grew older and went on real hunts, it was the same.

There was a time when he had to hide and survive for fifteen days during a fight with a neighboring tribe.

What did he do back then?

He endured by chewing on caterpillars. He survived by biting into tree bark.

As he hid, killing one by one to survive, they gave him the nickname 'Death's Sorcerer'.

A sorcerer, my ass.

He really was a half-wit, after all. He had run off without fully inheriting the sorcereristic rituals.

Fragments of memories from the past surfaced.

The kid who used to play with him.

The one who would follow him around, always trailing behind.

The ones who believed they were superior.

The one who eventually stabbed him in the back.

The one who betrayed him, and the one who naively fell for it.

The rapidly changing situation, the things he had to abandon because everything was falling apart.

'Bastards.'

Rem thought of the ones he had chased and beaten.

Even as he remembered, his body continued with practiced movements.

He climbed a large tree, picked a few leaves, crushed them, and scattered the pieces. Thick green liquid dripped and smeared across his body. It was a way to mask his scent.

'If they're chasing me with sorcery...'

Half-heartedly running away wouldn't work. They wouldn't be tracking human traces but rather the traces of his soul.

'In that case, I just need to keep running until I'm out of sight.'

Exactly. The eyes of sorcery couldn't see everything. Once the distance was great enough, they'd lose him.

He had already prepared to avoid human pursuit, so now it was time to outmaneuver the eyes of sorcery.

Rem quickened his pace.

Once he'd put some distance between himself and his pursuers, he came down to the ground and sprinted as if he were running.

The forest was familiar to him.

After evading the pursuit, the prickling sensation on the back of his head disappeared.

If they caught up again, he'd just run away again.

With a moment of respite, he sat down on a large tree trunk. Now that he finally had a chance to examine his body properly, he realized he was in rough shape.

'My side's pretty messed up too.'

His side was bruised and blue. He didn't need to touch it to know how much it hurt.

His ankle was swollen. It wasn't broken, but it would be tough to do anything at full strength for a while.

Well, pushing through a few times isn't a big deal.

As Rem assessed his injuries, he started to plan his next battle strategy.

No matter what anyone said, Rem was a genius too.

He was already thinking about throwing a rock at that bastard's face the next time they met.

'Haven't heard the term 'half-wit' in a while.'

It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to hear.

Even as a half-wit, he had never lost a fight.

But this time was risky.

Rem surveyed his surroundings and moved on. He walked slowly, at a pace that wouldn't strain his body.

It was time to take care of his injured body.

As he walked, he casually scanned the ground, gathering leaves and tearing off a few visible pieces of bark with his hands.

"It hurts. It really hurts."

He muttered to himself, then crushed the leaves and smeared them all over his wounds.

When you mix silken grass with citrus-scented herbs, it stings like hell, but it's good for broken bones.

To distract himself from the pain, Rem asked himself in his mind.

"Captain, what do you think I should do about that bastard?"

Encrid replied.

'Why are you asking me that?'

'Why can't I ask? Why are you so prickly? You're only like this with me.'

'You crazy bastard, just do what you always do.'

'Well, then, I'll do just that.'

He would laugh and chuckle to himself, and that bastard Encrid would probably smirk in return.

A strange human indeed.

He was the kind of person who was fun to watch.

The immortal madman seemed to have come to kill that guy, so Rem figured he might as well deal with him too.

After all, in the past, a few Western chiefs had even put a bounty on his head.

Though that didn't matter anymore.

'The ones meant to die, should die.'

Rem treated his wounds, gathered some leaves, and set up a makeshift camp.

He wandered around, caught a few snakes that were in hibernation, and started a fire.

Crack.

He struck the flint a couple of times to create a spark, then gently blew on it until the flames grew.

Crackling, the fire quickly grew from a few kindling twigs into a robust blaze.

It was a familiar task.

Rem skinned the snakes, then gripped his axe short, using the long blade attached to the head to remove the venom sacs and chop off the heads.

He quenched his thirst with the blood, split the bodies lengthwise, and roasted them on skewers made from suitable branches.

"Damn, it's cold."

He hated the cold. The thermal leather on his side had torn, letting the chill seep in.

No matter how tightly he wrapped himself up, it was still cold. He really despised the cold.

Juices dripped from the well-roasted snake meat.

He quickly ate it up, and since he was at it, he used a slingshot to catch a few birds throughout the night.

Plucking the feathers and draining the blood would have been nice, maybe even washing them in the river, but he was too lazy to go that far, so he just accepted the fishy smell and roasted them too.

With his belly full, he slept soundly.

Rem spent the next two days resting the same way.

He slept in shifts, tended the fire, kept his body folded up to stay warm, ate well, and rested properly.