Volume One: Forest Knight, Chapter 95: Savage Giant Beast (5)

While the brown bear was mauling the gladiator to death, a dagger pierced its body. The pain only intensified its fury.

At this moment, it faced the remaining three gladiators and unleashed a furious roar. The sound was so immense that it seemed the bear’s vocal cords were about to tear apart.

These three gladiators were faring no better. So close to the raging beast, the roar nearly shattered their eardrums.

The gladiator who had been knocked down earlier by the bear, his chest struck hard, gripped his long spear tightly. Yet every time he coughed, he coughed up blood. He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and glared viciously at the brown bear.

He spat a bloody phlegm and cursed, “Why are you roaring so loudly? Can you have a better attitude? What if you roar again?” (You know what this means—it adds a touch of humor to an ordinary story.)

The brown bear could not understand his words. With a thunderous bellow, it charged at him. The gladiator, having learned from past battles, lowered his spear first. When the bear drew near, he thrust it upward sharply and drove it with all his force into the bear’s heart.

The brown bear, already mortally wounded and raging to the point of madness, was no longer nimble. It only sensed the danger when it was almost upon him, but escape was impossible.

Though it tried to shift its massive body to evade the blow, the spear still found its mark.

The bear’s high-speed charge and nearly thousand-pound weight created enormous momentum, and the gladiator’s thrust was savage. Under the combined force, the long spear snapped, yet the broken tip remained buried deep in the bear’s left shoulder.

At the same instant, the gladiator with the double-edged axe and the archer wielding the Lucerne hammer struck.

The brown bear, already pierced through, barely avoided the axe aimed at its head, but the heavy hammer crashed down onto its back.

In the space of a few breaths, the once-majestic beast was pierced by the spear and hammered on the spine. These two blows sent it limping aside, spitting blood.

The remaining three gladiators saw the great wounds they had inflicted and felt their spirits rise. They pressed the advantage, eager to kill the beast and avenge their fallen brothers.

The gladiator whose spear had broken picked up a sword and round shield from the ground, formed a fighting line with the other two, and advanced steadily toward the brown bear.

When a beast is dying, its cry is mournful. This brown bear, knowing it could not survive, let out a pitiful, wailing cry. The remaining right eye shed a tear.

The three gladiators faltered for a moment, but the one holding sword and shield turned to his companions and said, “Do not be fooled by this beast’s tears. It ate six men—how could it be a good creature? It’s merely begging for life after realizing it will die! We need no pity. If we had not wounded it earlier and it had wounded us instead, when it tore into our flesh it would feel no pain and shed no tears!”

He licked his cracked lips and added, “Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to oneself. Remember that! Kill it to avenge our brothers! Take the bounty home and let your families live well.”

“Understood!” the two gladiators answered firmly. They continued closing in battle formation, determined to end the beast.

From the stands, the spectators began to shout in unison, “Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!” cheering the three brave gladiators.

Under the roar of the crowd, the three advanced steadily, intent on slaying the brown bear in one final stroke, avenging their brothers, and claiming the prize.

Any creature with a spark of courage, facing inevitable death, will fight desperately to deliver its last blow. This heroic final strike, given everything it has, will be devastatingly powerful.

Thinking of this, Berion felt a sudden dread for the three men. They were rushing forward too recklessly. What they should have done was not to charge in and force the beast into a death struggle, but to wear it down slowly until it bled out and could no longer resist, then deliver the killing blow.

At the moment, they were only thinking of a quick death, ignoring the old maxim that you do not pursue the defeated. They were pushing the raging beast into a desperate counterattack.

Berion confided his worry to Gamji. Gamji scoffed, believing the bear was already doomed and could not counterattack.

Besides, these three gladiators were skilled and fought with reckless bravery. Even if the beast struck, it would fare no better than them—only more trouble.

Yet they watched the pit for only a moment, and Berion’s fears proved true. The mortally wounded bear, seeing its pleas ignored and the men determined to kill it, launched a mad, final frenzy.

The brown bear bared its teeth and panted, charging at the three. The men, who had thought it too injured to fight back, were caught off guard.

But in that brief hesitation, the bear closed the distance. With no long weapon to keep them at bay, three gladiators with a single shield could not stop the impact of a nearly thousand-pound brown bear at full run.

A deafening boom rang out. The gladiator with the sword and shield was knocked flying like a kite, his shield shattering instantly under the force.

Although he drove his sword into the bear’s back, he was himself hurled aside and crashed heavily onto the sand. The blow shattered his internal organs despite the soft ground.

He lay motionless, blood pouring from his mouth and nose. His life was ebbing; he could not survive.

The brown bear fared no better. A vicious stab had opened a palm-sized wound in its back, and blood gushed freely.

The two gladiators tried to rush forward but were thrown to the side. They rose to counterattack, only to see the bear already charging the fallen gladiator and tearing open his throat with its fangs.

It drank deeply from the pulsing artery and chewed at the flesh, as if oblivious to the massive wound on its own back, continuing to feed.

The remaining two gladiators saw their leader die and went mad with rage. They charged forward, swinging axe and hammer.

The brown bear, seeing the danger with only its remaining right eye, dodged the double-edged axe after dragging its broken body, took a hammer blow to the left abdomen, then bit down on the shoulder of the gladiator wielding the Lucerne hammer and began thrashing its head violently, trying to rip the right shoulder free.

The axe-wielding gladiator had missed his swing; the blade had chopped into a rock. His arms were numb and the handle shattered.

He hurled the broken handle aside, snatched up his sword, and rushed the bear. Still tearing at its companion, the bear heard the dying cries. The gladiator shouted and stabbed frantically.

The brown bear seemed to feel nothing. It ignored the wounds and kept thrashing its head, tearing at the gladiator in its jaws.

The bitten gladiator felt half his body about to be ripped away. He bit his own tongue tip, using the blinding pain to clear his mind from the agony.

Some clarity returned. He drew a dagger from his waist with his other hand, forced himself upright, blood pouring from his ruined mouth.

Yet his face showed no pain—only a strange joy, as if he were about to triumph.

“Aaah! Aaah! Aaah!” The cry escaped. It was the brown bear’s remaining right eye, still clutched in the gladiator’s mouth, that the dagger had stabbed blind.

The eye destroyed, the brown bear thrashed in its death throes, tearing off half the gladiator’s body including the shoulder. The man was flung aside.

Then the bear, in agony, roared and bounded around the arena, blood streaming from its many wounds.

The last gladiator lowered his sword and rushed to his brothers, cradling their broken bodies and weeping.

The dying gladiator lifted the corners of his mouth. After smiling at his companions, he turned his gaze to the clear autumn sky.

The heavens were high and the clouds thin, the air crisp and cool. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with few but pure white clouds. A line of wild geese flew south, heading toward the warm lands before winter.

Looking at the migrating geese, the dying gladiator’s eyes lit with a strange light. He whispered to his remaining brother, “Go… home… we… go… home.”

Then he died in his brother’s arms, staring with wide, unblinking eyes, a last look of sorrow and regret.

The brown bear, blind and bleeding out, finally lay still on the sand, panting heavily.

The last gladiator closed his brother’s eyes, wiped the blood from his own face with his sleeve, and rose, sword in hand.

The stands fell silent. The spectators, stunned by the sudden reversals, dared not breathe loudly, watching in hushed awe.

The gladiator approached the brown bear, which lay motionless beneath him, its white sand bed stained crimson with blood.

The bear heard the footsteps and struggled upright, roaring at the man. The gladiator thrust his long sword straight into the beast’s mouth.

He pulled the blade free. The brown bear shook once, twice, blood pouring from its jaws, then collapsed, its body convulsing in its death throes.