novelraw Chapter 239 : Chapter 239
Chapter 239 : Chapter 239
Volume 4, Chapter 27 — “Ill‑Mannered Children Must Be Punished, Oh”:
“Beastmen slaves are fighting their slave owners?” On the march, Wenfu shrank inward, as though only the soft, pale thigh in her arms provided any warmth. “Then isn’t Ruglian extremely dangerous now??”
“Quite the opposite,” Teresa, walking at the front, replied, using the broad view to scan the surroundings. “Compared to the past when Beastmen tribes were united and rigid, this internal strife looks dangerous—but is in fact the safest time.”
“Now that discontented slaves are fighting chieftain troops, each side’s fire is drawn inward, so their attention to outsiders lessens.” Even so, Beastmen forces probably still won’t ignore us entirely.
Earlier, that Beastman chieftain was something of a scholar among his kind—he understood many truths and remembered part of the history.
Human civilization relies on cultural inheritance: one generation researches half‑finished works, the next completes them. Thus, short-lived mortals can advance civilization; culture progresses by accumulation.
Beastmen and goblins are different. The former have basic intelligence but reject advanced civilization—they disdain history and reject enlightenment. Compared to such “useless” things, they care only for the present.
Goblins, though, are merely cunning pests who steal money, food, and women—so vulgar even Beastmen despise them.
In the convoy, Teresa led with the map, Astrid followed observing her, Yimi in the middle used Divine Appraisal to detect enemies, Wenfu trembled near Yimi—though scanning the surroundings did little good, she couldn’t help looking—while Felicia, dragging their burdens, clenched her fists behind, eager for Beastmen to appear so she might unleash some pent‑up energy.
“On the southeast slope, about 300 meters, life signs were detected. From returned wavelengths, seems a small band of Beastmen,” Yimi suddenly announced, breaking what felt like slackness.
“Be—Beastmen?!” Wenfu fiddled with her skirt. As a noncombatant, she could help nothing. She edged closer to Yimi, as though proximity might bring safety.
“Well, finally something to do,” Felicia squeezed her fists, licking her lips with excitement. “If we don’t act soon, my bones’ll go soft.”
“Wait a bit,” Teresa said, putting away the map. “First we must see whether those Beastmen belong to the rebels or a chieftain tribe.”
“Does it matter?” Felicia said. To her, a Beastman was a Beastman—whether rebel or chieftain, they posed a threat.
“If they can communicate, I hope to avoid any bloodshed,” Teresa said with a smile.
“All right, your call,” Felicia muttered with some frustration.
The ancient dragon bloodline granted her terrifying power—and corresponding negative effects. The Whiteglass family’s accumulation of desire was many times that of ordinary humans.
With such a problematic lineage, Felicia needed various ways to vent frustration. Killing was the most direct and effective.
Of course, torture and slaughter weren’t the only means. Desire took many forms beyond mere destruction.
Knowing she bore such burdens, afraid of frightening her teammates with odd actions, Felicia always hid her abnormal impulses.
But disguise or not, the stacking desires didn’t vanish because of her conscious restraint. Her troubled body constantly secreted hormones urging her to find an outlet.
Because of her physiology, Felicia’s consciousness generated strange impulses she couldn’t fully suppress.
Looking at Teresa’s back, Felicia’s eyes glinted oddly. If she mustn’t unleash mass slaughter per Teresa’s condition, then perhaps she would “vent” on Teresa instead.
Yes, if necessary, sneak into her tent tonight. After all, Teresa forgot everything last time.
Sun‑Moon Radiance climbed the slope, but didn’t go straight up; they crouched mid‑slope. As movement from afar grew closer, a Beastman wagon caravan came into view.
These large, armored Beastmen pushed supply carts and held weapons as guards.
Teresa saw their load: grain and dried meat—supplies. This was a tribal supply train.
Yet the escort was so few—such carelessness. Did the chieftains not consider the possibility of their supply lines being pillaged?
This shows those chieftains don’t understand war. Their long peace, combined with Beastmen’s disdain for learning, left them tactically ignorant.
Their direction matched Teresa’s. They too were heading toward the front line—the Beastman supply route.
Without hesitation, Teresa signaled Astrid and the others to hide mid‑slope while she ascended alone. She walked openly, with no effort to conceal that she wanted them to see her.
“Gentlemen of the Beastmen, good afternoon. I come with no ill intent, only to speak with you a little.” Teresa placed both hands together, held before her chest, calm and friendly.
“We come from Coleman Forest, passing through here. We saw your marching party and would like to learn something…” Teresa spoke earnestly, conveying empathy—attempting to transmit her emotional sincerity.
And the effect was real: the Beastmen “got” it. In the blazing plain sun, when a stunning elven beauty walked toward them, she froze their gaze—they did not look away, and matched her pace.
“You all have families, loved ones. You were forced into evil and oppression not by your choice. I believe each of you still harbor genuine, sincere kindness…” Teresa spoke like a saint praying, continuing.
The Beastmen listened earnestly. Their eyes measured her from head to toe; some licked their lips, baring teeth—hungry, feral. Their focus was wholly on Teresa.
“Um, Astrid sister… Is it really feasible to communicate with Beastmen? Teresa sister…?” Wenfu shrank her ears. The more she saw those Beastmen’s stares, the more uneasy she felt.
They seemed to be listening. But it felt wrong.
Astrid didn’t reply. Others couldn’t interpret, but Astrid did. She understood those Beastmen glances all too well.
They matched exactly what the picture storybooks depicted earlier. At first, Astrid thought those illustrated stories were pure fantasy—but now she wondered whether the illustrators had personal experience.
One slightly embarrassing thought: perhaps those artists truly did live out some scenes they drew.
“We share no conflicting interests. I believe our original intention is the same.”
“If there is something—let us sit and speak. Listen to one another’s needs.”
“Roarrr!” The Beastmen had evidently heard Teresa’s words. If Teresa understood their tongue, she would know they were pouring out their grievances—each yelling, tossing down weapons, rushing toward Teresa, eyes bloodshot, greedy, and raw with desire.
Their great weight sent dust scattering with each step.
“Gentlemen, even if excited, don’t surge forward. We can sit and talk.” Teresa tried to enlist calm. “I believe you all have hearts as pure as pearls.”
“Roar wah! (This elf woman is my trophy now!)”
“Wah lah wah, wah kaka! (Get off, I saw her first!)”
“Wah li wah li! (Grab her—down with her!)”
“Go go go! (I’ve been itching for this for weeks!)”
“Ah ka ah ka! (Her legs are mine!)”
Looks like negotiation failed—Felicia moved forward, but Astrid restrained her.
“Teresa alone should suffice, I think,” Astrid said coolly.
“You…” The others looked at Teresa. She still bore a gentle, warm smile, hands folded at her abdomen.
Though she couldn’t understand Beastman speech, through empathic resonance she sensed what they were expressing and why they argued—vague yet tangible.
She had spoken so long—and not one responded to her words. They dismissed her intention and began to debate how to divide her body.
“How impolite,” she murmured. A branch on her right wrist twisted and transformed, and wrapped in swirling sharp leaves, a long blade appeared in her hand.
“Ignoring someone’s speech is extremely rude behavior, isn’t it?” Teresa raised the Leaf‑Cluster Blade with a soft smile.
“Did your parents never teach you manners?”
The Beastmen argued and shouted past her gentle voice. No one listened to a “soft prize” speak; no one cared for her desire.
“How shameful…” Teresa’s lips curved. Her eyes held no smile.
“Untutored.”
She swung her blade. Sharp leaves gathered into a storm, swallowing the Beastmen along with their clamoring voices.
A glass‑shard sound of blades slicing; a path of fresh green leaves unfurled. On that path, Beastmen lay—pierced, bleeding dark blood, consumed by the green leaves as though sucked dry. The result was a sudden green walkway blooming in the wilderness.
“Amazing—so powerful!” Wenfu stared in shock, glancing at her own hands. “Just like that… eliminated a crowd of Beastmen?”
She hadn’t even had time to utter a blessing.
Astrid watched, enthralled.
“Ah—none left?” Felicia, disappointed, looked at the flattened path. She reluctantly released her grip on the greatsword.
Yimi, unflinching, yawned as if nothing special had happened.
“Looks like asking directions went south,” she said.
“No matter. We have a map. Even if we deviate, we will find the route eventually,” Teresa said, retracting Floral Whisper: Changsu, undisturbed.
She recalled the Beastman chieftain’s words: communication is not possible with all Beastmen.
She was happy to communicate with any life form; everything has a spirit. But some wicked ones demand not talk, but small punishment.
Those Beastmen died rhythmically—and deserved it.
If she had been a helpless Wood Elf rather than Teresa, those monsters would have prevailed.
“What about the provisions?” The Beastmen supply line was annihilated—but the food remained. To kill without seizing supply would be wasted. They came too far to gain nothing.
The grain was useless to Felicia, but dried meat—long‑term storage food—might be useful later.
So Felicia casually grabbed some sacks of dried meat, politely bowed to the Beastmen unconscious on the ground, and even said “thank you.”
Notice—they didn’t overtly refuse. That indicated they had no objection. If they didn’t protest, take what you can.
Also, there were spices and seasonings on the wagon. She took them as well.
Though their own supplies were better, nothing smells better than your own.
As she stuffed the spoils into her pockets, Felicia felt an indescribable thrill.
“There are still armed patrols here—some from chieftain tribes, some from rebel slaves. Too much food to carry back. We’ll leave it. Whoever stumbles across it may take it,” Yimi said casually.
Elves didn’t need meat much. In the group, only Wenfu and Felicia ate meat. Let them enjoy.