Chapter 114: A Fairy Tale of Slaughter

The white cat slid down the tree trunk, limp as a rag doll. After lying motionless for a few seconds, it slowly stood upright. Its first instinct was not to tend to its injuries, but to meticulously inspect its boots for any signs of damage. Finding not even a scratch after a long, careful examination, it let out a long sigh of relief. With elegant movements, it shuffled over to retrieve its round-brimmed cowboy hat, dusted it off, fiddled with it in its paws, and donned it. As it lowered its head, most of its feline face was cast into shadow, leaving only a three-lobed mouth visible, curling into a cold, mocking sneer.

"It seems you have no intention of listening to reason. Heh, heh heh! I have already offered you two warnings; I can hardly be accused of striking without cause. Since you have brought such great humiliation upon me, I shall have to pack you all into my bag..."

A chilling voice emanated from the cat in boots, its aura surging so violently that the four robed figures braced themselves in alarm, assuming defensive stances. Even Catherine began to anticipate what earth-shattering power this creature—suspected to be a Tier 7 magical beast—would unleash. To her bewilderment, the cat untied the red cord at its chest, rummaged through the snakeskin pouch on its back, and with a sudden tug of its tiny paw, withdrew... a winnowing basket.

Yes, Catherine was certain her eyes were not deceiving her. It was one of those round, woven willow-wicker baskets used in rural villages to winnow grain. It looked ancient; the hemp rope around its rim was fraying and frayed, the kind of thing a village grandmother would discard for being too prickly to handle. Yet, the cat seemed entirely unfazed. It held the basket high as if it were a magnificent artifact, then casually snapped a branch from a nearby tree, tied the red cord to it, and propped the basket up with the stick in a tilted, inverted position. A makeshift—indeed, rudimentary—bird trap was complete.

Such traps were the stuff of childhood games, whimsical and nostalgic, yet here, they appeared profoundly, disturbingly out of place. The cat in boots then plucked a weed with berries on it, tossed it under the basket as 'bait,' and gripped the other end of the red cord in its paw. Pointing a claw at one of the robed figures, it spoke in a voice dripping with seduction:

"Come here, come here, my cute little bunny. There’s something delicious here, your favorite carrot..."

What... what was going on?!

Watching the cat’s absurd movements and its small paw beckoning the robed figure, Catherine was utterly baffled. Was this the grand attack of a potential Tier 7 beast? Was it merely here to provide comic relief? Catherine felt a laugh bubbling up, but seeing the grim expressions on Ling Mo and Weiss, she dared not make a sound.

However, the amusement vanished as quickly as it had come.

The robed man pointed at by the cat went momentarily catatonic, then began to walk toward the primitive trap like a marionette or a walking corpse. Despite the desperate shouts and attempts of his companions to stop him, he marched forward with unwavering intent. By the final stretch, he had dropped to all fours, hopping along with joyful abandon like a true rabbit, before crawling under the basket and happily munching on the cluster of weeds.

The cat in boots gave the cord a sharp tug, the stick gave way, and the basket collapsed, trapping the robed figure beneath it. When the white cat finally lifted the basket with great effort, everyone watched in horror: the large robed man had vanished, and in his place, huddled under the basket, was an actual rabbit!

The cat chuckled, grabbed the rabbit by its ears, and lifted it to eye level. It inspected the creature, salivating as if tempted to feast, but ultimately restrained itself. It stuffed the rabbit into its back pocket, reset the crude trap with the stick, and turned to glare at the remaining three robed figures with a malicious, cold sneer.

The sight chilled Catherine to the bone. A vague childhood memory suddenly crystallized—the raspy, ethereal voice of the kind old woman at the orphanage, whose storytelling now echoed in her ears:

"And then... the cat in boots would place some rice bran and lettuce under the basket, holding the cord, waiting for the young rabbits. They didn't know the ways of the world and would wander under the basket to eat the bait... Look, a foolish young rabbit walks into the trap. With a gentle pull of the cord, the cat catches it, stuffs it into its bag, and kills it without a shred of mercy..."

The story that had once captivated her as a child had manifested before her eyes in the most grotesque way imaginable. For the first time, Catherine realized that the tales whispered by the old woman to lull her to sleep were, in fact, terrifying.

"Damn, this is cursed! The Cat in Boots is actually real!"
"This looks like the authentic version! How horrifying!"
"What is that ragged basket? How did it turn a living man into a rabbit?!"
"You dare call it ragged? Want to be stuffed inside it yourself?"
"The basket isn't the worst part. The worst part is the cat beckoning and turning a man into a mindless rabbit!"
"Exactly! The transformation was total! It even mimicked the rabbit's habits!"
"I'm panicking... how does the rest of the Cat in Boots story go?"
"They all had to claim they were servants of the Marquis of Carabas, or they’d all be killed! That’s the part I remember most!"
"Damn it! I love fairy tales, but now my head is filled with these bizarre images!"
"If the Cat in Boots is like this, how am I supposed to look at Snow White again?"
"Does the Magic Mirror actually exist somewhere?!"

"You're all overthinking it; perhaps this cat is just a high-level eccentric's sick hobby!"
"Exactly! I'm more interested in why Teacher Ling is here and who those robed people are!"
"Regardless, is Teacher Ling just going to watch them get killed by a magical beast?"
"True! Teacher Ling is so cold-blooded!"
"Is this your first day realizing that?"
"Are you people insane? Teacher Ling survived in the rainforest for over a decade; it’s a miracle he didn't eat the streamer for protein, and you expect him to have refined morals?"
"Look! The robed figures are doing something!"

Seeing their companion die in such a gruesome manner, the remaining three robed figures exchanged glances and nodded. They stood in a triangular formation, raising their six arms in unison toward the cat. Their dark robes billowed without a breeze, the wide sleeves snapping in the wind. Only then did Catherine and the viewers see that beneath the fabric, their arms were not human at all, but columns formed from twisted, grotesque fungi. At the tips, where hands should have been, the fungi unfurled into structures resembling Gatling gun barrels. In the next heartbeat, a storm of gunfire completely engulfed the cat in boots.