Chapter 318: Chapter 15 Deathmatch_2

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The horse, pained, broke into a run, its hooves beating the ground. Pierre gave Winters a complex look and galloped away, disappearing into the shadows of the trees at the river bend.

Old Sergei and Ralph crossed the river on a single horse and returned to Winters’ side.

“My lord! This won’t do! We need to scatter them! Everyone retreat!” From a dozen meters away, the old Hunter couldn’t help but shout loudly.

The giant bear in the river was already impaled with over twenty javelins. The riders pulled on the ropes in all eight directions to the west, rendering the beast seemingly immobile for a time.

“Why?”

“The animal has an injury in its mouth, it can’t eat. As long as we tire it out, it will inevitably weaken,” the old Hunter said, rushing to Winters’ side, speaking anxiously, “Now this is only drawing out its ferocity!”

Winters understood the Hunter’s point. He leaped onto his red-maned horse and, under the amplification of a loudening spell, shouted toward the Dusacks, “Let go! Spread out! Spread out!”

But it was already too late—the inability to move was only an illusion. The giant bear, roaring, thrashed its body. Several Dusacks who didn’t react in time were dragged down from their saddles, and the ropes slipped from everyone else’s hands.

Without their riders’ control, the Warhorses could no longer resist their instinctual fear of the beast and ran away in panic, leaving their riders behind.

Winters, seeing a Dusack thrown from his horse, didn’t have time to think. He took a javelin from the saddlebag of a rider nearby, jabbing the horse’s ribs to maintain his grip and charged full speed at the giant bear.

The combined strength of man and Warhorse converged at the tip of the spear, striking the beast’s flesh. Winters felt as though his right shoulder had been brutally torn off, but the javelin in his hand also plunged deep into the bear’s back.

The giant bear let out a pained roar, twisting around to swipe at Winters with its front paw. The red-maned horse skillfully dodged the counterattack, and after several stamps, it was back to a safe distance of about a dozen meters.

While the bear was distracted, the other riders managed to rescue the fallen Dusacks.

The giant bear did not launch another attack. It stood in the river, panting heavily, surveying the humans around it.

Steam mixed with blood spurted intermittently from its nostrils and mouth. Over a dozen javelins were stuck in its body, and the blood that flowed copiously from its wounds turned the river beneath it dark red, extending downstream.

Humans and beast stood in a standoff.

The bear let out a mournful cry; this wild creature was now at the end of its road.

In its eyes, there was no anger. In the dim gaze of this creature, Winters saw only despair, sadness, and pain.

“You ate a human, and this was bound to happen one day!” Holding a spear, Winters turned his horse forward, aware that the beast before him could not understand human language, “This ends here! I will put an end to your suffering!”

As if possessing a spirit, the giant bear let out another mournful cry in response to Winters’ words.

It shook its head twice—the heavy arrow shot by Ralph was still lodged there—and charged toward the riders downstream.

The Dusacks in front did not dare to confront the rampaging beast head-on and quickly steered their horses aside. The giant bear, however, did not pursue the riders to tear them apart, but broke free and ran downstream along the river.

“From the smallest cricket to the largest bear or tiger, no creature, aside from humans, will give up the will to survive,” the old Hunter said quietly, coming to Winters’ side, “That animal doesn’t understand your words. To it, everything is just instinct.”

“We pursue! Two on a horse won’t be fast, so we keep only one rider per horse. Those with mounts, follow me; the rest, come from behind. Give a horse to Ralph!” Winters organized the troops before him in a collected manner.

Taking the opportunity, Winters picked up two muskets. The Dusacks who had fallen from their horses dismounted their companions’ horses; several headed upstream to find their own Warhorses.

Sergei signaled a rider, and the designated Dusack reluctantly handed over his Warhorse to Ralph.

A troop of riders quickly got themselves in order, following the blood trail downstream.

Old Sergei suddenly remembered something, his face turning pale as he exclaimed in shock, “No good! Those Bumpkins are behind us; they might run into that beast!”

Premonitions often come true when they’re bad.

Realizing the seriousness of the situation, Winters led the Dusacks in a full gallop, following the blood trail that never left the river. The riders sped through the mountain valleys.

After racing about three or four kilometers downstream to a shallow crossing, they lost the trail of the giant bear.

It was not that there were no bloodstains, but that bloodstains were everywhere.

Clearly, the militiamen who followed had encountered the wounded giant bear here, some killed, the rest scattered in fear.

“Damn it! They really fucking ran into it!” Old Sergei cursed loudly, “With human blood and bear blood mixed together, how the hell are we to track? If those Bumpkins are incompetent, then they damned well shouldn’t have caused chaos!”

“Those who volunteer for the militia are brave men!” Lieutenant Montaigne glared fiercely at Sergei, “Mr. Morozov, refrain from insulting them!”

Old Sergei fell silent, embarrassed.

“Can you make it out?” Winters asked the Hunter.

Ralph dismounted, studied the ground carefully for a while, then pointed towards the woodland in the southwest direction of the riverbank, “The beast should have gone that way!”

The expressions of the Dusacks were fearful. On the open riverbanks, they could engage the giant bear on horseback, but in the woods, it was the beast’s home ground, and riding would be very cumbersome.

“Ralph and I will take the lead,” Winters said, loading ammunition into the two muskets, “Don’t fight head-on; everyone, be cautious.”

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