Chapter Thirty-Seven: Deadly Duel (Part Two)

The butcher bird had never expected its opponent to be so bloodthirsty. It knew with chilling clarity that as it was flung away, its talons had raked the other’s body. Though it was not a raptor famed for the strength of its claws, it was certain that blow had been anything but light! With this very move, it had once burst open a rattlesnake’s head!

There was no time to adjust its posture before that strange, tooth-like blade in the opponent’s hand came slashing down from above, at such a cunning angle that dodging would inevitably bring the blade down on its body, forcing it into a direct clash! The butcher bird twisted its neck, pecking straight at the blade’s flat, knocking the blow aside.

From that brief contact, it already understood that the “tooth” in the enemy’s hand was exceptionally sharp—more so than any beast’s fang it had ever seen. A head-on contest would only damage its own beak! Having deflected the strike, the butcher bird felt a twinge in its neck; the awkward angle required to meet the blade had left its neck twisted and uncomfortable.

It had barely a moment to catch its breath before the opponent’s knife, swung in an arc to dissipate force, came hacking down again with renewed ferocity! The butcher bird had no choice but to peck at the blade once more, blocking it yet again.

But this was only the beginning—the barrage was relentless! The opponent’s knife fell upon it like a torrential downpour, one blow after another, each faster and more cunning than the last. The butcher bird found itself running ragged, its pecks at the blade growing ever more labored.

After a dozen exchanges, the opponent’s attacks had grown smoother, the intervals between each strike shorter. Meanwhile, the bird’s awkward stance left its neck aching and numb; the once-nimble head now moved with a noticeable stiffness. The butcher bird keenly realized it could not continue like this.

In desperation, it summoned all its strength, risking injury to its neck, and pecked fiercely at the descending blade, knocking it far aside and seizing a precious moment of respite.

At last, a chance to reposition! Elated, the butcher bird pressed down with its feet, ready to leap from its disadvantaged spot. If only it could regain the sky and pick up speed, this strange “monkey” before it would be no match.

But—its leap failed!

Incredulous, the butcher bird looked down and saw that, unbeknownst to it, both its feet had sunk deep into the soft earth, nearly to the base of its legs. Pinned by the constant pressure of the assault, it had not even noticed itself slowly sinking!

A minute miscalculation leads to a disastrous outcome. It had tried to spring away, but could not. Meanwhile, the opponent, fully recovered, had even found time to gather strength for a blow swifter than any before.

In a life-or-death instant, the butcher bird’s short, narrow wings beat furiously. It could no longer afford to peck at the blade; brown feathers on its wings and tail lit up, shrouding it in a gray mist. Throwing its head back as far as it could, it barely avoided having its throat cut, escaping with only a long, narrow wound to its chest.

Like a replay of the blazing vulture’s demise, blood sprayed from its breast, but now the bird tore up earth as it broke free! Its wings, veiled in gray mist, flapped with desperate force, and in the blink of an eye the mist enveloped its entire body. Then, with a roar like an engine’s ignition, the butcher bird accelerated to full speed in less than a second, darting straight for Catherine’s left flank!

This attack was no different from before—and once again, Catherine easily deflected it, preparing her next onslaught. She did not expect, however, that after being batted away, the butcher bird would pivot in midair at an impossible angle, completely defying the laws of physics, and with another thunderous roar, dive at her again!

The shock was profound. Catherine simply could not understand how the butcher bird had managed to shed that immense momentum and change direction so quickly. Was it some furious, instinctive burst? But there was nothing magical about it! If the butcher bird truly had such terrifying control, it would already rank among the fifth-tier magical beasts!

Regardless, Catherine had only half turned; her dagger gripped in her right hand, while the bird’s attack came from her left. There was no time to block with her right—so she gritted her teeth, and lashed her left arm upward like a whip, striking like the tail of a raptor.

Blood spurted! The blow connected, sending the butcher bird flying, but flesh and blood had met unyielding steel: the bird’s beak tore away a hefty chunk of meat below Catherine’s left radius.

The agony was excruciating, but Catherine had no time to dwell on it. The butcher bird, once more knocked aside, again twisted at an unnatural angle and came hurtling back with a roar.

Now Catherine was certain—this was no accident. The bird’s impossible turns were a skill it possessed!

Ling Mo’s light, drifting voice reached her: “Stop wondering. Do you see that gray mist around the butcher bird? That’s its innate skill, ‘Inertia Severance.’ It can partially cancel out inertia, allowing it to change direction in ways far beyond its natural limits.”

If only you’d said so sooner! Catherine cursed inwardly. This time, the bird attacked her right side, easily deflected by her dagger. Yet the ‘Inertia Severance’ skill was so overpowered that before Catherine could even finish turning, the butcher bird had already reoriented in midair and lunged once again. She had no choice—she raised her left leg and managed to kick upward, sending the bird flying yet again. But her pants were ripped wide open, and three deep, bloody gouges were carved into her left calf.

Thus, the battle abruptly shifted into the butcher bird’s tempo. For every two attacks, Catherine was forced to block one with her own flesh. Each time they crossed paths, new wounds were added to her body—flesh torn, blood flowing freely.

This method of attack was truly worthy of the name “butcher bird”—akin to death by a thousand cuts! Catherine marveled inwardly, wishing she could ask Ling Mo how long the bird’s ‘Inertia Severance’ could last, but she dared not speak. She had already lost much blood; her body, which should have been feverish with exertion, was growing cold, her mind clouding. Her strikes began to falter. If she spoke now and released her held breath, she feared she would collapse on the spot, utterly spent.

Still, Catherine knew she was not suffering alone. The butcher bird, though built sturdily as a magical beast, could not shrug off the repeated blunt impacts and collisions with Ling Mo’s dagger. Its flight path was growing less precise; she had even managed to shear off half its tail feathers, forcing it to expend more energy simply to fly straight. Its last attack on her left missed—no new wound was added.

Now it was a contest of willpower. Catherine was wounded in many places, mostly limbs; the butcher bird had only two injuries, but both were critical—chest and tail. If she could endure five more rounds, she would gain the upper hand. Just five more rounds!

She counted silently, keeping track:

First round: unscathed.
Second round: superficial wound to the left abdomen.
Third round: penetrating wound to the right shoulder.
Fourth round: unscathed.
Final round—victory was within reach...

But what was this? Why had the butcher bird’s speed suddenly increased so dramatically?

All but spent, the bird, in its last angular turn toward Catherine’s left, drew in the last wisps of its surrounding mist, focusing them entirely on its tail. In that instant, all its tail feathers exploded into brown powder, transforming it into a strange, tailless bird. Yet its speed as it hurtled toward Catherine surged even higher!

Catherine’s keen instincts told her this final blow was aimed straight at her heart! Should she try to strike it away again? No—she’d miscalculated, there was no time! Dodge? Even less time for that! After enduring so much, victory so near, was she to be undone by this final cunning move?

A surge of viciousness rose within her; her eyes burned red, every muscle taut. She simply raised her left arm before her chest, dagger clenched tight in her right hand, and stabbed savagely at the butcher bird as it cannoned toward her.

There was a dull thud and a sickening crack.

The dagger struck home with a soft, unresisting sound, piercing straight through the butcher bird, entering at the breast and exiting at the back, skewering it as one would a roast fowl. But she was still a moment too late; the bird’s hard, sharp beak crashed into her left arm. Already battered by repeated injuries, her arm could take no more—the skin burst, tendons tore, and bone shattered in rapid succession. Her left arm broke cleanly, white bone jutting out, most of her wrist and hand spinning away to land far off in the dirt.

(P.S.: Friends, a new week has begun! The author really needs your recommendations and bookmarks, and hopes for your support! Last week, the book peaked at 17th on the fantasy weekly charts, which made me so happy! If it can reach the top ten this week, I’ll release a ten-thousand-word update as a thank-you!)