Published at 31st of August 2019 11:50 pm

Volume 7, Chapter 93: Clothes do Make the Man

This chapter is updated by NovelFree.ml

Translated by Nefarious

Stanis broke out of his daze and looked around. There were 8 naked false-humans left, and now 5 more clothed ones. He looked towards the teleporter, half-pleading it to just randomly start up and take them home now.

He was tired, but he had been tired before. He was bloody, but he had also been bloody before. And he was hopeless, and that was the problem.

The other group of 5 couldn’t fight; Stanis knew that. While his group had come from the outside and cleaned off the stragglers, before moving in to thin out the main crowd, the other group had been fighting for their lives against multiple false-humans each the entire time. While he was tired, they were inches from death; they could not handle more.

But at the same time, he was not going to be their valiant knight in their moment of danger. He knew for a fact that the rest of his group would run away at the first possibility of escape, after all, he had seen the full extent of their morals a few hours back. And who was he to judge?

Before he even knew it, the wind was crashing into his face. Confused, he looked around and saw his opponent lying behind him.

Ah, he thought. He had already made a run for it. His mind had clearly formulated an escape plan and his legs had acted it out, all without his consent. Not that he was going to stop now, though.

And for whatever reason, the clothed false-humans didn’t seem in much of rush to stop him as they continued marching forwards at their slow pace. Perhaps they already knew that there was no escape. Stanis cursed his mind and focused outwards, finally noticing that he had actually already arrived at the teleporter. His run hadn’t been glorious, by no standard gallant, but at least it had worked.

He stepped onto the raised platform, a mix of mud and blood falling off his feet. He waited. Nothing…

He went wide-eyed and looked around. He stopped when he caught sight of the other group. They knew. That was why they hadn’t attempted to make a run in all this time. It was because they had already tested it out and it hadn’t worked. Then they had probably been surrounded. In response to which they had shot the flare, hoping to drag his group into the deathtrap alongside.

Stanis felt a hot anger rise and burn through his body. It was like his bloodlust, but worse. Who cared that the other group were close to death with clothes and armour ripped. Who cared that they were flailing around, struggling to even move right. Who in hell cared that they had done exactly what he would have done. No, he thought, they had done it to him, and they deserved every fucking ounce of hatred he had inside of himself.

He would have run towards the other group and stabbed them all dead was it not for the clothed false-human now blocking his way. It seemed the five of them had split up and gone to their own targets, one of them being him. This thought further enraged Stanis, his teeth gritted and his fists clenched for one short second.

In the next, he was flying across the sky, his sweet rage fuelling him as he chopped down. The clothed false-human unsheathed a shortsword in that time and countered his strike. Stanis felt like he had just run stomach-first into a stone wall as he stumbled back, barely managing to strike his sword in the next second to block the clothed false-human’s next strike. The attack twisted his wrist back and Stanis roared, not grandly but shrilly.

He was now like a kite with no wind. The anger that had been fuelling him had splintered, leaving his weary body in cold water. No longer was he angry, instead in pain and scared for his life now.

He hastily wobbled back, the clothed false-human watching him with curled lips: it had all the time in the world. He looked around and took the whole scene in. The five clothed demons had gone after his group, most likely because the other group was already half dead. There were now four naked half-humans. If those naked ones were dead, the other group could rush to find a way for the teleporter to work as we distract the motherfuckers and then leave.

A desperate plan set to mind, Stanis began running. At first, it was more of a violent stumble but as he kept willing himself to run, his steps became straighter and faster. The clothed false-human watched him with a falling smile, eventually a glare as it realised what he was trying to do. It chased after him that second. But it was too late.

Stanis reached the other group and slashed at one of the unassuming naked ones. He slashed at another, and then again, and then once more for luck, and another for sweet joy. He felt like a thunderstorm as he indiscriminately slashed everything about, lightning exploding out in every direction with his cackles to accompany it. At one point, he even slashed the number one girl, who fell back and literally fell onto the ground at that.

At the end of his rampage, none of the naked ones were dead but they were all disabled in some way or another. That was good enough for him and so he turned towards the group of five.

“FIND A WAY FOR IT TO WORK!” he demanded. It wasn’t a question but an order, his voice thick with a rising anger behind it.

Stanis heard the stampede-like noise and looked to the side, finally noticing his clothed false-human flying through the air, its shortsword coming down onto his head. Stanis managed to raise his sword and block it in the last second. His feet slipped and he fell over, rolling backwards before coming to a stop.

He picked himself up and looked around. He couldn’t hear anything, well, he hadn’t heard much since he had entered his state of bloodlust minutes ago, but now there was no sound. His taste worked though: that he could tell from the mud going down his tongue.

He coughed and spluttered it out, suddenly looking 10 years older as he looked up. The clothed false-human stood there with the group of five by its feet, not dead but fearful and awaiting death. However, it didn’t move to kill them and instead stood still watching his performance with the tiniest of eyebrows raised.

It was taunting him, he realised, It was fucking taunting him.

He began to warily circle the false-human. Layman’s rush was spent. As was Destructive mana recharge. As was his darkness dagger. Scout and sense was useless here, leaving him with only Light healing, Blueshot spitfire and Ice shot. Stanis doubted Blueshot spitfire or even his crystals would do much damage to this demon, but Light healing could help.

He had 10 points of mana left, equivalent to 100 in the old measurement. He slowly healed his worst injuries up, all the while watching the clothed demon for movement, who in turn watched him like a zoo-goer watches a deranged monkey.

The thought struck him; he smiled as he frontloaded his sword with 8 more units of mana. That was far more than he usually dared to go, his safe line being around 4 units. If he was in trouble, he might stretch it to 6 and allow himself to get burnt. But 8? Never. Never until now.

The lightning sliced the air, the larger-than-man sized bolts roaring obscenities as they emerged.

“GO!” shouted Stanis as he stepped forwards. He didn’t know if they heard him but that was all the attention he was willing to forfeit in this fight.

The clothed false-human stepped up to his challenge, straightening its shortsword before alike stepping forward.

He watched and waited with a snake’s patience, before striking out, lightning thunderclapping as blade met blade. He was pushed back but painlessly, mainly because his arms were already burnt from the lightning.

He sidestepped and struck again, his blade falling fast but not fast enough as it was blocked once more. And another strike, only to be blocked like every other time.

The clothed false-human took quite the damage from the accompanying lightning, sure, but more than anything, it watched with its smile plastered on its face. After all, Stanis was doing far more damage to himself than he was doing to it.

His hands were crumbling away, he could feel it, but this was no time to stop and either way, he was no man to stop mid-way. Instead he cut and slashed, chopped and sliced, whacked and diced. His burnt flesh had already peeled away at this point, his arms randomly seizuring every half-second.

And then a bright, sharp light blinded his vision. Stanis soundlessly screamed, as did the clothed false-human alongside. To his luck, Stanis recovered first and looked around, noticing the light coming from the teleporter. It had been lit before but now it was shining bright, the globe giving off as much light as it did in the nameless man’s basement.

Stanis looked around and saw Jen standing there, gesturing him to go towards her. He briefly glanced back, noticing how the rest of the clothed false-humans were stuck in their places by her meat-shields. That was the only look he took before sprinting for his life, his feet moving with greater energy than he knew possible.

But then his foot slipped and he tripped, his ankle bending in an unnatural way. He looked back in horror and saw that he hadn’t slipped, no, he had been cut. He stumbled up, before being cut again by his clothed false-human. He reached out to Jen but saw the distant look in her eyes, the rage coming back to him. He overdrew himself, finding mana where there was none to form countless ice crystals around him.

They pelted the false-human like there was no tomorrow, which there highly-likely wasn’t for him if he failed. Stanis crawled towards the teleporter, doubting whether he would live through this. His feet stung and his hands had no feeling in them. That was when he saw the glint of a blade by his hand; he was still holding onto his sword?!

A short tear came out as he gripped the sword by his teeth, before crawling like an eager baby to their mother. A cruel mother though, one who casually watched her child getting cut with a yawn a second away.

He was a metre away from the teleporter when she nodded and walked onto it, disappearing in the light. He wanted to cry and curse but couldn’t find the energy to do either and so just pushed himself the last step, crying tears of joy at last as he felt his arms collapse.

But before the sharp string could travel through his body, a blade cut through his leg and chopped it off. It moved closer, towards his back, and chopped again. He didn’t feel the sting…

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