Volume One: Forest Knight Chapter 94: Rampaging Beast (IV)

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From the stands, Balian watched the remaining four gladiators. Despite witnessing one of their companions die horribly before their eyes, they were not intimidated by the ferocious and brutal bear the way the previous group had been. On the contrary, their fighting spirit burned even more fiercely.

Seeing the four men behave in such a manner, Balian could not help but show an appreciative look in his eyes. He observed the four figures in the arena and said to Gamgee, "Brother Gamgee, if these four men can kill this raging beast without losing any of their own, I want to recruit them. You can't compete with me for them."

Gamgee chuckled. "Alright, I promise you that, don't worry! However, I have a feeling these four don't stand a chance of surviving. After all, this beast is truly too ferocious, and it's also very clever—it even knows how to play tricks and set traps."

Balian did not respond. Instead, he stared intently into the arena, watching what was happening at that very moment.

The raging beast noticed that the remaining four men were not intimidated at all. Instead, they drew closer together, let out shouts loud enough to make eardrums ache, and their gazes toward it were filled with savagery.

All things possess a spark of spirit, especially a brown bear that had lived in the Misty Mountains for nearly ten years and grown to such an enormous size. It sensed that the four men before it would not be so easy to deal with.

But having just slaughtered six gladiators, the bear still held human fighting ability in great contempt. It merely felt that the remaining four would be somewhat troublesome—it did not believe they could actually defeat it.

The bear let out an angry roar at the four men. Yet instead of being cowed by the beast's frenzied cry, they pressed tightly together and strode boldly toward the raging creature.

As they advanced, the archer at the rear, hidden behind the spearman, loosed a cunningly aimed arrow. It struck the bear squarely in its left eye. Indeed, having eaten too much had made the bear careless.

The brown bear, its left eye wounded, roared in a frenzy. It clawed at its own left eye, breaking off the arrow shaft, which only drove the head deeper.

The eyeball, already pierced by the arrow, burst open, blood and humors spilling forth, painting the bear's already blood-red face even more terrifyingly.

If this one-eyed enraged bear had been human, it would surely have been wallowing in regret and remorse over its earlier carelessness. But it was not human—it was merely a beast.

The brown bear, blinded in one eye, now fully reverted to the cunning and composure it had possessed while hunting in the Misty Mountains. It seemed that arrow had not been without purpose after all.

However, for the four living gladiators in the arena, that was hardly a good thing.

A frantic bear made mistakes; fighting it, though perilous, still offered hope. But now the bear had fully resumed the bearing of an apex forest predator.

How could anyone come out well opposing such a creature? After all, the innate advantages and disadvantages of their species were clear—in strength and speed, humans simply could not match such beasts.

But what made humans human, what made them the species at the top of the food chain, was not strength or speed. It was wisdom. It was unity.

An individual person is tiny and easily defeated. But a group of people—especially a group armed with weapons capable of piercing an animal's hide—can hunt a land clean of its beasts, turning these apex predators into food, clothing, and bedding for themselves and their families.

That is the greatness of humanity, the wise species. It is why humans differ from apes and monkeys, why they evolved civilization. After all, those close relatives of humanity have lived just as long, yet still remain in an age ruled by bestial instinct.

The brown bear, now in its fury and having regained the posture of an apex hunter, moved even more swiftly despite its missing eye.

It feigned a charge at the two spearmen in front. The two warriors holding their spears indeed took the bait, quickly raising their weapons to thrust at the furious bear.

But they never expected that the bear's move was entirely a feint. Just as it appeared about to reach them, the bear suddenly leapt to the left and pounced on the gladiator wielding the Lucerne hammer.

That warrior was startled. But he knew he absolutely could not retreat. With a great shout, he swung his hammer at the bear. At the same moment, the archer's second arrow flew straight at the bear's face.

The bear dodged the arrow, though it barely did so in time. The arrowhead grazed the side of its nose, leaving a wound that immediately began to bleed.

Though it was only a small wound, it was enough to drive the raging beast into full frothing madness. The bear let out a thunderous roar.

Its gaping maw and the sheer volume of that cry stunned the spectators in the stands and shook the four gladiators as well. So close to it, the four men could smell the rank stench from the bear's mouth.

In its fury, the bear ignored the hammer-wielder's defensive swings. Operating on the principle of killing one to reduce the enemy's number, it braved blows from hammer and spear alike and bulled straight into the hammer-wielder.

For a moment, the arena fell silent—so quiet that everyone could hear only their own heartbeats.

Just as the archer loosed his third arrow, the bear closed on the hammer-wielder. This warrior, no longer panicking, swung his Lucerne hammer at the raging beast.

But no sooner had he raised his hammer than the bear's cavernous jaws were upon him, directly clamping down on the right arm that gripped the hammer. At that same moment, the arrow struck the bear's back.

Yet the bear's hide was thick and tough. Taking an arrow in the back was like nothing to it. It continued to bite down with force, snapping the warrior's arm clean off, then held the limb in its mouth and withdrew to the side, planning its next assault.

As the bear loped aside, the two spearmen each stabbed at its haunch and belly. Though they did not inflict serious damage on the thick-hided beast, their strikes served to let blood.

Meanwhile, the gladiator whose right arm had been bitten off clutched at the gushing wound and screamed in agony.

The archer cut the hem from his own tunic with a dagger, bandaged the wound as best he could, spoke a few words of comfort, and dragged the wounded man behind him, taking responsibility for his safety.

By now, both the three gladiators still capable of fighting and the one-eyed, bleeding bear held nothing but bitter hatred for each other. They faced off, neither side willing to stop until the other was utterly destroyed.

Such a spectacular battle naturally had the spectators in the stands roaring with excitement. Many shouted at the top of their lungs—some cheering for the valiant gladiators, others rooting for the raging beast.

Now the four surviving gladiators in the arena, after a brief discussion, made their decision: they would no longer stand there taking blows passively. They would take the offensive.

The two spearmen took the lead, slowly advancing on the bear, while the archer periodically loosed arrows to harass it.

The bear could only do its best to keep arrows away from its face; the rest of its body it could not protect. Though it tried hard to dodge, the shrinking distance and the loss of blood were already draining its strength.

Its reaction speed was no longer what it had been. Before long, the bear had taken four or five arrows to its body. Thick-skinned though it was, even a mosquito's bites accumulate into pain when there are enough of them.

Now, feeling aches throughout its body and smelling the danger of death, the bear had lost all the calm it had shown in the first bout. It was exhausted and consumed by rage.

As an apex predator that had lived a leisurely life in the Misty Mountains, it had never worried about survival since it was a cub. Now it had been brought to this strange place, kept hungry, and made to fight humans.

Although these little creatures posed little real threat, their repeated provocations and the wounds they had inflicted had driven the bear past any desire to survive. It only wanted to kill the people before it, or be killed by them.

To onlookers, any living being's desperate death throes in battle are deeply tragic—even carrying a kind of grotesque beauty. But to those actually fighting, there is no beauty in it at all.

One side is mad with desperation; the other must endure that madness. Both sides are battered, both are exhausted in body and spirit, and yet neither dares let down its guard.

At that moment, the bear, now thoroughly mad, no longer cared about its wounds or the arrows flying at it. It charged straight ahead with a thunderous roar.

Seeing the bear's suicidal charge, the two spearmen quickly planted their feet, stood side by side, and thrust their spears forward, waiting for the bear to impale itself.

But though the bear was mad, it was no fool. Just before reaching the spearpoints, it suddenly reared up on its hind legs, slammed both paws down, and pinned the two spears to the ground. Then it lunged forward, bowling both spearmen over.

Just as the crazed beast was about to bite the two spearmen to death, the gladiator with the severed right arm suddenly drew his dagger with his left hand and flung himself at the bear.

Shouting wildly, he leapt onto the bear's back and drove his dagger viciously at its right eye. But the bear had already sensed him. It shook its body violently, throwing the warrior off.

It raised its broad paw to smash down on the reckless man—but it did not know that this gladiator had already embraced death. He was determined to tie down the beast with his own life, buying time for his companions.

He knew he could not survive anyway. Even if he lived, he would be nothing but a cripple with one arm. Better to die here in the arena, draining the bear's strength so his comrades could kill it and avenge him.

He rolled across the ground, then slashed his dagger across one of the bear's hind legs, carving a deep gash into it. Blood gushed out instantly.

"Ooooough!" The bear screamed in agony. It had not expected such a small creature to hurt it so badly. In that moment, its leg was ruined.

At the same time, the two spearmen who had escaped—one carrying a spear, the other holding a double-bladed great axe—charged forward. The archer, having run out of arrows, picked up the fallen Lucerne hammer from the ground and joined the assault.

When a battle reaches this point, only the side utterly unafraid of death can claim victory. And so it was: none of them dared hold anything back. They all surged forward together.

The raging beast, with its lone remaining eye, saw the others closing in. It knew it had no time to keep grappling with the one-armed man.

It raised its other paw as if to strike him down. As expected, the gladiator fell for the trick. Remembering his previous success, he tried to roll on the ground again—but this time, the bear's primary weapon was its jaws.

The beast clamped down on the gladiator's neck, killing the brave warrior on the spot.

But even in his dying moments, the gladiator stabbed the bear once more with his dagger. The wound was not deep, yet he had truly fought to the very last breath.