Chapter 246: Do I Look Blind to You? (1/2)

“Are the humans really going to be alright?” Elder Rangka asked the tribal chief back in the Long Ears’ village. “We’ll be next if they can’t stop the Hyena-men…”

As a matter of fact, it was already too late to say anything. The Long Ears won’t bode well even if they attempt backstabbing the Players and destroy the Lifestone, because burning bridges with the Players would instead leave them in greater trouble.

Even so, it was an instinct to say meaningless things to soothe one’s emotions—which was exactly the case with Rangka.

He knew very well what the chief’s answer would be, and yet couldn’t hold back from asking.

“There’s no going back now.”

As Rangka expected, the Long Ears’ chief replied came at no hesitation. “The outsiders may act weirdly but they had truly helped us. There’s no need for hesitation—we must stand with them.

Taking a pause, he then continued. “And… the one leading them is someone I’ve met years ago in a summit… he’s no anonymous foreigner exiled from his home, but the former chief of the Grayclaw tribe—Zonyan Grayclaw himself!”

“We were already helpless when Swordtail Grayclaw forced us to such desperation. Zonyan is our last hope, and I would take this gamble for the future of our tribe’s children!” The Long Ears’ chief took a long look at his brother. “I ask not for you to understand my choice, but you must lead the tribe and help those weird people. That’s an order, Rangka!”

“Alright… I understand.”

Rangka sighed and left the room as instructed.

He called up several strong Long Ears, intending to help the Players… only to be stunned by the sight before them when they reached the village gates.

Nonhumans rarely see large-scales battles, which was why they wouldn’t match the humans in the Eastern Continent in strategy. The Hyena-men didn’t have the faintest idea what’s a combat formation, and were simply pouring forward chaotically just said the battle began.

That being said, the Players—most of whom were displaced peasants or ordinary tramps—were more or less the same, and naturally know nothing about military tactics.

Even though some had seen the fires of war, were tormented by the conflict and lost everything down to their family to it were aware that in battle, armies would assume formations before rushing towards each other, they simply didn’t know what they should be doing.

It was fortunate that the Players were more individually powerful despite their chaotic ranks, and the teamwork that they built while farming dungeons day after day was not just for show. In spite of being terribly outnumbered, they were no different from a steel plate that rigidly stopped the charge of the Hyena-men.

All at once, everything from fireballs, tombstones, vortices, and seafood were launched across the battlefield, while ghostlike familiar spirits and Junglewalkers would slip between arrows and projectiles.

The Hyena-men’s physical bodies didn’t last long under such hammering—some were lit like a bonfire and slowly burned down to ashes.

Others had their head split apart colorfully by massive tombstones dropping out of the skies, painting the dirt in red, black or even purple and looking doomed.

Some were caught in the vortices that appeared out of thin air, their entire body ground down into mincemeat until a thick dark red puddle was all that was left of them on the ground, bearing zero resemblance to what it had been when they were alive.

And then there were those who were eaten alive by the seafood. Caught in a death grip by horrific tentacles or suction pads, their flesh would be shaved off, bit-by-bit with razor-sharp teeth. That slow death was the goriest of all, and some of the other Hyena-men who was about to come out for a bite of seafood were scared off.

In comparison, the Hyena-men who had their heads cut off by Swordmaster Players were the luckiest… at least it was a clean death with not much torment.