Chapter 297 - Teresa and the Bishop

"I don't know you, but do you happen to know something?" "Beg the One God for forgiveness, you bitch," the Wolf Bishop said. The demonic beasts moved at his gesture. Led by two enormous wolves on either side, a dozen or so wolf demonic beasts thrust their heads forward. Their yellow eyes gleamed as they drooled. Their exposed fangs looked more than capable of piercing flesh, whether it belonged to a Giant or anything else. Teresa did not budge. She held up the shield in her left hand, her right hanging at her side. "There are so many truly entertaining things in this world."

Teresa said what she wanted to say. "Apostate, apostate, let's see how pretty your entrails are."

He, too, said only what he wanted to say. The Wolf Bishop snorted. He would tear that apostate to pieces right now. He would sever her limbs and pull out her entrails one by one, holding them before her eyes. He knew he could do it. He knew the blade called Teresa. He was the one who had employed her abilities and skill. "I like fighting."

Like it to the point of madness. Beneath her mask, the corners of her mouth twisted. A smile. Not an expression meant for anyone to see, but one that came naturally. The Wolf Bishop's expression, too, came naturally. The Wolf Bishop paid no heed to the apostate bitch's words. Even so, Teresa spoke. "Have you ever seen a Giant enjoying a fight?"

He had not. The Wolf Bishop's eyes slowly began to turn yellow. "Rotten bitch."

He remembered Teresa pinned beneath his belly, staring at him with an impassive face. "Don't expect an easy death." "I'll show you."

Those few words shone with determination. When had it begun? After Encrid cut her hair, or sometime afterward? Teresa had stopped speaking discourteously. But did the man before her deserve respect? Ah, without bastards like him, escaping the embrace of the evil cult would have been harder. He had made her question her life. If she had been surrounded by decent people, she might have found faith rather than doubt. No, perhaps she should call him her benefactor instead? A benefactor deserved repayment, and her sword and shield would serve for that. She need only give him a blessing, Audin-style. CRRRACKLE. Fur began to force its way through the pores beside the Wolf Bishop's yellow eyes. It was so coarse that even the sound of it piercing his skin was harsh. "Urrrrgh."

The bishop groaned. Transformation came with pain. A wolf-man with his reason intact: that was his true nature. Coarse fur sprouted all over his body, and the nails on both hands lengthened. Pointed daggers, four on each hand, eight claw-daggers in all. Sharp and hard enough to cut through even a reasonably well-forged blade. AWOOOO! Transformed, the bishop stretched his neck and howled. The howl he released upon becoming a Lycanthrope reverberated through the guts. It unsettled the mind. Planted fear. Teresa had been impassive then, and she was impassive now. She had shown no expression when the bishop undressed, nor when he stripped her. She bore no grudge. She did not resent the perverse lust he had directed at her. Back then, that had been her life. Then what about now? "This will be fun."

Her voice rang out, rough and hoarse, yet pleasant to hear. She enjoyed fighting Encrid. Wielding her sword under his command was a pleasure, too. Her blood boiled. Giant blood surged fiercely through her veins. 'Ah.' Some people lived for power, money, success, or love. Teresa had found her own reason to live. That was why she had left the cult. "I was born to fight." The instant she finished speaking, two wolf demonic beasts lunged from either side. Teresa swung her shield to the left and struck to the right, using her sword's pommel as a bludgeon. THUD-THUD! "Hm?"

To the Wolf Bishop, something about Teresa's movements looked different. She was faster than the Teresa he knew, her movements cleaner. Her specialty had always been battles of endurance. She held her shield and made a weapon of her natural stamina. Now she fought differently. She had become a kind of half-Giant he had never seen before. Naturally. Who had Teresa been spending her time with? "I've never fought with all my strength, Bishop," Teresa said as she killed the two wolves. "What the fuck are you talking about, you apostate bitch?"

Even transformed into a wolf-man, the bishop's diction was clear. He lunged alongside the wolf demonic beasts. Teresa smiled and swung her sword. WHOOOM! The broad flat of the sword generated a blast of air strong enough to force the approaching beasts back. In that opening, Teresa leveled her shield and moved. She kicked off the ground. BOOM! The ground cratered. Falling sleet swirled in her wake. As she charged, she raised her shield at an angle and swung. CRACK! The shield's edge struck a demonic beast's skull. Its head burst into fragments, and its body struck Teresa's thigh before falling aside. She felt no impact. Her body itself was a deadly weapon. "Not so fast!"

While she swung her shield, the bishop thrust his claws at her from behind. The sensation of something rushing in rang sharply at the back of her head. The Wolf Bishop's claws drove toward her back. Teresa planted her foot in the ground, steadied her weight and balance, twisted, and swung her sword horizontally. WHOOOM! The bishop broke off his thrust and sprang back. Advance and retreat. Simply charging in and pulling back, he displayed impossible athleticism. But Dunbachel's movements were more dynamic. He lacked the satisfying snap of the Beastman. The ferocity of the claws he swung next fell short of Rem's axes, and the wolves lunging from the side were less savage than Audin's fists. "Hahaha!"

Teresa burst into loud laughter in the middle of the fight and brought her sword straight down. BOOM! Her sword struck the ground, flinging up earth that battered the sleet upward. Dirt and sleet mingled, rising like a wave. Their vision obscured, the beasts lost sight of Teresa for an instant. THWACK! Out of sight, Teresa kicked another beast in the head. Black blood and brains sprayed from its shattered skull. "Let's keep going!" Smash and cut down those barring her path. Nothing could be more entertaining. She especially liked that she was fighting for Encrid. Teresa followed her instincts. The bishop realized something was wrong. He hurriedly called the dire wolf, but it had no chance to come to him either. "What is this bitch?"

Teresa's abilities were nothing like the level he remembered. Teresa, too, realized how much her skill had grown. Above all, her mind was at ease. Struggle. Fight. Fight with nothing else in mind. Pour everything into it. She did just that, because she enjoyed every bit of it. They exchanged several more blows, and the number of beasts dwindled. SHUNK! The wolf-man bishop hurled three demonic beasts at her and stabbed her in the side. Teresa took a clean hole through her body and slammed her fist into his skull. CRACK! The bishop tucked his chin to absorb the impact. "Fuck."

Even so, part of his skull caved in. One eyeball burst, too. Blood streamed from Teresa's side as well. Red blood. Dark red blood flowed from the bishop's head and nose: the blood of a man who had taken Lycanthrope blood into his human body and become a demonic human. "Fine. Let's die together," the bishop said. Even as he spoke, he had something to rely on. That spell-using mercenary bastard was approaching from behind. He saw something else strange, too. Was it because one of his eyes had burst? Someone else was behind the mercenary. Someone who did not look like an ally at all.

* * *

'Ah, it's been a while.'

It had been a very long time since Rem had been hurt this badly. He hadn't put his body through this much even when he was on the run after killing a noble's son. Was this because he stayed beside Encrid, or had everything around him just gone to shit? 'And here I was trying to live quietly.'

Rem genuinely thought so. Of course, no one else saw it that way. For someone supposedly hiding away to live in peace, wasn't he rather violent, loud, and far too headstrong? Encrid and everyone in the unit knew that whenever he saw someone he disliked, or found himself in a situation he disliked, he still swung an axe first. Rem himself denied it. At any rate, Rem entered the forest and hid. To erase his trail, he used thick branches as footholds and moved with the wind at his back, checking its direction. 'Feels like he's following me.'

He did not need visual confirmation. His intuition told him. His back prickled. 'Persistent bastard.' Should he turn around and fight to the death? His temper certainly urged him to. But after beating the bastard to death, what then? This was enemy territory. Could he make it back to camp alive? Would winning without preparation be easy? Wouldn't he end up injured even worse in the process? Ah, fuck it. Should he just go at him? No, he couldn't do that. Who would that benefit? If he died, that Sneaky alley cat might grin from ear to ear. That lout of a bear would gleefully offer funeral prayers. Would the lazy bastard just sprawl out and sleep? Though lately, that bastard seemed to be swinging his sword instead of sleeping. Strange bastard, anyway. His thoughts carried him deep into the forest. Once he decided to flee, he was confident he would not be caught. Ever since childhood, whether in wastelands bordering deserts, forests, or swamps, he had never once been caught. The western tribes had a game called Chase. It was simple. One side pursued, the other fled. Rem had never been caught. The same held true when he grew older and went on real hunts. Once, a fight with a neighboring tribe had forced him to survive in hiding for a fortnight. What had he done then? He had endured by chewing and swallowing grubs. Endured by gnawing bark. Hiding and killing them one by one to survive had even earned him the nickname "Death Shaman." Shaman, his ass. He really was only half-trained. He had run off without properly receiving the spells passed down to him. The past, remnants of memory, rose to the surface. The one he had run and played with. The one who had trailed after him, happy for some reason. Those who believed themselves superior. The one who had stabbed him in the back in the end. The betrayer, the one naive enough to fall for it. The rapidly shifting circumstances. Everything he had been forced to abandon when it all fell apart. 'Bastards.'

Among them, Rem remembered those he had chased down and beaten. All the while, his body continued its practiced movements. He climbed a large tree, plucked several leaves, crushed them, and scattered them over himself. Thick green liquid spattered his body. A way to mask his scent. 'If he's tracking me with a spell...' A halfhearted escape would not do. He would be following the traces of a soul, not a human trail. 'Then I just have to run until he can't see me.'

Literally. Even the eyes of a spell could not see everything. He just needed to put enough distance between them. His preparations to evade human tracking were complete. Now it was time to shake off the spell's eyes. Rem quickened his feet. Once he had opened up some distance, he dropped to the forest floor and broke into a run. The forest was familiar territory. At last, he shook off his pursuer. The prickling at the back of his head vanished. If the bastard caught up after all, he could simply run again. With a brief respite secured, he sat against the trunk of a large tree. Only now did he properly inspect his body. It was a wreck. 'A few ribs broken, too.'

His side was covered in deep bruises. He did not need to touch it. The pain alone told him. His ankle had swollen as well. It wasn't broken, but exerting himself fully would likely be difficult for a while. Well, pushing himself a few times was nothing. The instant he assessed his injuries, Rem revised the way he would fight. Whatever anyone said, he, too, was a genius. He intended to start by throwing a rock into the face of the bastard he would certainly meet again. 'Been a while since anyone called me half-trained.'

It wasn't wrong, but it wasn't pleasant to hear either. Even with only half, he had never lost. Well, this time had been dangerous. Rem surveyed his surroundings and moved on. He walked slowly, with measured steps that would not strain his body. First, it was time to patch himself up. As he walked, he scanned the ground, gathered leaves, and tore off pieces of bark he spotted. "Hurts. Damn, it hurts."

Muttering needlessly to himself, he crushed the leaves and plastered them over his wounds. Mixing spotted spurge with citrus-scented herbs made the skin sting like fucking hell, but it was good for broken bones. To help bear the pain, Rem asked a question in his mind. 'Listen, Captain. What do you reckon I should do with that bastard?'

Encrid answered. 'Why are you asking me?' 'Can't I ask? Why so prickly? Feels like you're only prickly with me.' 'Crazy bastard. Just do what you always do.' 'Then that's what I'll do.' He would answer and snicker, and that bastard Captain Encrid would give him a wry smile in return. A curious man, anyway. An entertaining man to watch. The Ageless Madman seemed to have come to kill that man, so Rem would have to deal with him while he was at it. Besides, several western chieftains had once put a bounty on the bastard's head. Not that it meant anything now. 'Those who deserve to die should die.' Rem tended his wounds and gathered leaves to make a temporary camp. He prowled around, caught a few hibernating snakes, and lit a fire. CLICK. He struck his flint a couple of times to make a spark, then blew on it to coax the flame to life. With a crackle, the flame in the tinder quickly grew into a roaring fire. Nothing could have been more familiar. He skinned the snakes, gripped his axe near its head, and used the long spear-point on it to dig out the venom sacs before chopping off their heads. He wet his throat with their blood, split the bodies lengthwise, threaded them onto suitable sticks, and roasted them. "Fucking cold."

He hated the cold. The side of his warming hide had torn open, letting the chill seep in. No matter how tightly he pulled it closed, he was cold. He fucking hated the cold. Fat dripped from the well-roasted snake meat. He promptly chewed it down, then caught a few nocturnal birds with thrown stones while he was at it. After plucking and bleeding them, a rinse with water would have been good, but he couldn't be bothered to go to the stream. He put up with the gamey smell and ate them roasted. With his belly full, he slept soundly. Rem rested like that for two whole days. He slept in snatches, tending the fire to keep himself warm, eating well and resting well.