Chapter 123: I Want to Change Teammates (Part 2)

I noticed a hazy, transparent figure drifting past me—in truth, this shadow looked far too plump to be easily ignored. A warm current finally flowed through my heart, which was frozen to the point of forming icy residue: in the moments when I faced mortal peril, someone after all stood by my side, supporting me, covering me, and helping me...

"Hold on, I'll come help you as soon as I finish looting them..." This utterly heartless remark from Yangtze Delta caused damage far exceeding the fiercest heavy wooden club of a Bigfoot savage—and it kept me bleeding continuously.

A barrage of clubs fell, and over four hundred points of health surged around me, making it difficult for me to breathe, see, or hear. I had gone beyond anger, feeling only that the place I inhabited was no longer the human realm.

I gritted my teeth and persevered, though I had no idea for how long—at any rate, I felt that enough time had passed for Yangtze Delta, that habitual thief, to turn this group of long-haired aborigines completely inside out. Finally, I heard his voice softly transmitting:

"Lure them toward the boulder on the rear right; I've set a row of traps over there."

The orc's lowered, hissing voice was as turbid as a pile of mud, but at that moment, it sounded to me like sweet celestial music. This life-saving news came right on time. I suddenly felt that this comrade Yangtze Delta, despite being somewhat greedy for wealth, was essentially a rare and exceptional comrade—no, this habitual thief was simply a paragon of moral character for the people of the Faewick Continent.

Following Yangtze Delta's guidance, I saw a massive boulder to my rear right, not completely covered by the accumulated snow. A gray, rough crevice of the boulder was still exposed, resembling a narrow climbing path.

I advanced steadily and cautiously, step by step, leading this group of primitive people utterly devoid of strategy toward this path leading to death. My retreat ignited the fighting spirit of these barbarians; their eyes turned red with the frenzy of battle, wishing they could swarm forward and pound me into minced meat with a flurry of clubs. Little did they know that further up the path lay a danger far more ferocious than any beast they had ever seen, and the giant beast of death had already bared its fangs, waiting to mercilessly devour them...

"Snap..." The contraction of a heavy-duty metal spring emitted an intimidating, crisp sound, resembling a giant beast grinding its hungry teeth, biting down on a hooked prey and severing their fragile life force...

Oddly enough, why did my leg suddenly hurt so much?

I lowered my head, and a rusted animal trap was tightly clamped shut, its two rows of sharp teeth having deeply embedded themselves into...

...my leg?!

Consequently, my health suffered the greatest loss since I began fighting upon stepping onto this hillside. Six hundred points of health gushed ruthlessly from my head, and I instantly turned into a fountain of blood. What made it particularly hateful was that this heaviest blow had been dealt not by my enemies, but by my own teammate.

Fortunately, I had just gulped down a large vial of health restoration potion, which very luckily allowed me to cling to life amidst the dangerous friendly fire from my "own people."

"Why the hell is this piece of junk buried right here?" Right at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to take the iron clamp off my leg and lock it around Yangtze Delta's neck.

"It was put right there to begin with!" Yangtze Delta defended himself.

"Why didn't you even give me a heads-up?" If anger had a temperature, I surely would have been burned to ashes by myself right then.

"How was I supposed to remind you? That whole place was crammed full of traps, just to make sure not a single one of them could escape." Yangtze Delta revealed his form, pointing triumphantly behind me.

I turned around and gasped involuntarily: in that brief moment just now, this green-skinned lunatic who set the traps had planted all sorts of vicious and malicious trap mechanisms across the entire surface of the huge boulder as if he were planting giant radishes. Their density and variety were simply appalling. Yet I had to admit that his work was indeed remarkably effective; the large mob of Bigfoot savages besieging me was currently suffering immensely in this trap field as dense as a sorghum crop. Many savages were simultaneously suffering from six or seven types of traps—roasting, electrocuting, freezing, deadly poison, sharp spikes, tiger benches, chili water, bindings, whips, and candles... they spared no cruel method whatsoever. Their deaths were too ghastly to behold. The two or three lucky ones who managed to escape were also heavily injured and posed no further threat.

While marveling at Yangtze Delta's extraordinary combat achievements, another question lingered in my mind:

"Did you... never think about how to prevent me from getting hit by your traps?" I heard my voice sound as cold as a frozen river.

Yangtze Delta's smile instantly vanished, and he looked slightly stunned: "Well... I suppose not..."

A vividly tragic scene immediately surfaced in my mind: what if, after stepping on that bear trap, I couldn't stop my momentum immediately and continued pushing forward, then... these fresh novelties like roasting, electrocuting, freezing, deadly poison, sharp spikes, sharp blades, tiger benches, chili water, bindings, whips, and candles would naturally be mine to taste and savor one by one.

"Didn't you know to pepper the surroundings with traps while leaving this pathway open so I could pass safely?" I firmly grabbed the orc fatty by the neck—his cumbersome belly forced me to stretch my arm out straight just to barely manage this—and shook him frantically, asking through gritted teeth.

"I... I... I was so flustered at the time that I didn't think of these things... But, but... *cough, cough*..." He waved his hands desperately to beg for mercy. Finally catching his breath, he coughed wheezily and said to me, "...There's one thing... *cough, cough*... I need to tell you right away, otherwise... *cough, cough*... it'll be too late... *cough, cough*..."

"What is it? Spit it out!" I said viciously.

"If you have a health potion, you'd better drink one right now..." As he spoke, he employed his despicable "Stealth" skill and scampered far away, "...That trap you stepped on just now is poisonous, and your health is still draining away..."

As if to verify the correctness of his words, a miserable green string of characters reading "--7" popped up above my head right on cue.

O Gods, I beg you to replace me with a reliable teammate, even if it's just one...

"Boom!" The roaring explosion rang out, sounding the death knell for the few surviving Bigfoot savages. The elven beast tamer wild goose array supported the gun barrel with both hands, pressed the stock against her shoulder, closed her left eye, and stared intently forward through the front sight on the barrel. Her skin was fair and tender, yet at this moment, it seemed to glow with an excited flush brought on by the slaughter. The biting wind and snow swept her jet-black long hair behind her, resembling a heart-pounding pair of black wings, evoking inescapable legends of beautiful demons harvesting souls in the dead of night.

As her slender finger gently pulled the trigger, brilliant flashes of fire periodically erupted from the thick muzzle, adding a passionate splash of color to the cold, white world of ten thousand miles, blooming like petals of death flowers stained red with blood.

One Bigfoot savage after another perished under her sniper fire; those seemingly powerful, robust, ferocious, and tyrannical highland barbarians were utterly vulnerable before this slender female. Their lives were as fragile as newly laid eggs, which, facing firearms representing advanced technological civilization and means of slaughter, shattered to pieces with a mere gentle tap.

Finally, I was liberated from the grueling predicament of being besieged and hunted by a group of unreasonable savages, constantly facing the peril of losing my life. Only then did I deeply realize what a precious and rare enjoyment it is in a person's lifetime to leisurely take a few deep breaths, sit on the ground with a fully relaxed body, and chew a few slices of "whole wheat black bread" while waiting for one's health to slowly recover.

I transformed all the gratitude deep within my heart into a burning gaze, casting it entirely upon the gun-wielding female standing proudly against the wind with her long hair dancing not far away. It was precisely her existence that made me feel there was still a shred of light, a shred of warmth, and a shred of hope remaining in the world I inhabited; it prevented me from completely losing faith in nouns like "companion" and "comrade-in-arms" that ought to command absolute trust, and made me feel that I was not fighting a lonely battle—and while not fighting alone, I didn't have to constantly guard against a poisonous blow from behind and a poisonous clamp from beneath my feet...

"Boom!" The dashing long-haired elf swiftly cleared away almost all the remaining savages around us. When the last savage had less than perhaps one-twentieth of his vitality remaining, he finally felt the terror of death, turned his body around, stuck out his hefty rear, and scampered backward with a "quack" of shrieking terror. Aiming at his bloated and ugly backside, Wild Goose fired a cold shot, and two distinct, brilliant characters instantly burst above his head...

...Miss...

As if celebrating his escape from the jaws of death, that ugly, fat fellow let out a harsh, strange laugh, seemingly giving his backside a deliberate wiggle before continuing to sway forward.

A trace of unwilling anger rapidly clouded Wild Goose's face. She cried out in a crisp voice, "Don't run, stand right there!" and then struggled to stride forward in pursuit.

I've mentioned before, across this snowy expanse, the movements of us outsiders are severely hindered by the snow layer. Unlike many other troubles in this world, this particular trouble does not seem to diminish or vanish simply because one encounters a beauty. For instance, based on my observation, a beauty's posture of pigeon-toed walking with legs splayed while struggling to trudge through the snow was just as arduous as us males. And her struggle to pull her legs and feet out from the deep snowdrifts like pulling radishes was similarly unflattering.

Therefore, amid Wild Goose's futile pursuit, the Bigfoot savage—who was already right on the edge of firearm range—ran further and further away, quickly moving entirely out of her attack range.

At this point, anyone could see that it was completely pointless for Wild Goose to keep chasing like this, and the further she pursued, the greater the gap between her and her target. The problem, however, is that most of the time, making a woman realize her own mistakes is no easy task; and even more often, making a woman realize her mistake, acknowledge it, and consequently give it up or correct it is harder still.

So when Fiying shouted at her, "Wild Goose, come back," our violent female gunner turned a deaf ear.

So when Yangtze Delta yelled, "You can't catch him," the elven beast tamer remained relentless.

Chord Song Elegy made no attempt to dissuade his lover—in fact, this unfortunate fellow had buried his head deep beneath a snowdrift and dared not lift it for quite a while now. If not for the fact that he shook his paralyzed legs and backside at regular intervals, I would have suspected he had been dead for a long time.

As an adventurer concerned with the life and death of his comrades and possessing great team spirit, I felt I still had an obligation to dissuade my teammate from doing such a futile and foolish thing:

"Wild Goose, stop chasing, he'll come back..." I shouted—of course, given that even her good sister and guild leader Fiying hadn't been able to call her back, I harbored zero expectations that my words would have any impact on her.

Then a miracle occurred: at my affectionate summons, Wild Goose instantly halted her steps, then rapidly spun around, rushing back toward us with the exact same frantic acceleration as before. This forced me to indulge in wild fantasies while my vanity was immensely gratified: Ah, as a male, having too high of a charm can sometimes be a troublesome affair. Actually, she really didn't need to save face for me to this extent. Could it be...

Five seconds later, I discovered my charm extended far beyond that...

Charging back in a pigeon-toed sprint behind Wild Goose were no less than twenty infuriated, berserk savages running on their big feet, and leading the pack at the very front was none other than that lucky bastard who had been mauled by Fiying down to a tiny sliver of life. In a sense, Wild Goose had finally successfully caught up with her prey—the distance between the two of them was now well within the range of a bullet.

Could it be that these fellows all heard my fervent call, felt inspired, and came pursuing me? If that was the case—I smiled bitterly—then having too high of a charm really was not an ordinary kind of trouble...

"War warrior, I've lured them over, hurry up and engage, hurry up..." Our elven beast tamer young lady panted heavily as she shrieked toward us—primarily toward me.

Our beautiful beast tamer miss seemed to have confused two things: first, "luring them over" and "being chased over by them" might look similar on the surface, but subjectively they were vastly different; second, facing this large, formidable horde of ferocious barbarians, I possessed no authority to initiate an attack whatsoever. All I could do was stand at the front, grit my teeth, take a brutal beating, and struggle to endure without being bludgeoned to death by them. Therefore, in that sense, she had no business demanding that I "hurry up and engage," because from the very beginning, I belonged to the one being engaged...

A thick wall of flesh once again bore down upon me, and wooden clubs rained onto my body like a storm. I crouched on the ground with my head in my arms, emitting a mournful groan. Wild Goose's lithe figure swept past me, casting a look of utmost sympathy toward this unfortunate wretch beneath the clubs before hurriedly rummaging through her backpack for something. A moment later, she slapped her forehead and shouted in exasperation, loud enough to ensure I couldn't possibly miss it: "Oh no, my armor-piercing rounds are all gone..."

The howling gale swept the piercing screams toward the distant edge of the earth; those were the most painful yet truest soul-shattering cries from the depths of my heart:

Supreme God, you don't need to replace me with another teammate; you might as well just replace me instead...