Chapter 784: Act 136 – Breaking the Cocoon III (First Update)
Feeling the monster chasing from behind, Freya was filled with tension yet a hint of excitement, much like someone walking a tightrope, trapped in a dire situation where a single misstep could lead to catastrophic consequences. Often at such moments, confidence surged within, and her mind cleared, unleashing extraordinary potential.
So this is what adventure feels like.
However, the monster was fast on her heels. After only a few paces, Freya glanced back and saw it was almost upon her. The speed was beyond her imagination; she felt anxious and wanted to increase her pace, but she also had to be wary of ambushes from the Pale Sons lurking nearby. Just this moment of distraction cost her dearly as a Pale Son lunged at her, crashing into her shoulder. The force, akin to being struck head-on by a dragon, sent her sprawling, rolling several times before crashing into the snow, her battle flag flung several meters away.
“Ow—” Freya groaned, feeling the pain coursing through her body. There was no time to dwell on it as she heard the monster’s footsteps echoing behind her. She hurriedly climbed to her feet and rushed to retrieve her flag, but the Pale Son that had charged her was relentless, having circled back and pursued her once again.
Right—
Freya’s light brown eyes darkened slightly as she took a deep breath, deliberately slowing her pace. The giant wolf seized the opportunity, growling as it lunged at her; however, this was the moment she had been waiting for. She sidestepped just in time, narrowly avoiding the creature. The whirling wind stirred up by the wolf’s claws nearly scraped her cheek, even leaving several small cuts that oozed blood. But the girl paid little heed as she leaped onto the wolf’s broad back in the instant of passing.
The Pale Son felt the sudden shift immediately, roaring as it bucked to try and throw Freya off. However, Freya had waited for this chance too long to let it slip away. With one hand gripping the flagpole and the other tightly clutching the creature’s silver mane, she remained steadfast against the beast’s frantic movements, pressed firmly against its back.
In its rage and confusion, the Pale Son let out a low growl before bolting forward, apparently hoping to dislodge Freya by sheer force of speed. Yet this running suited Freya’s intentions. Although the Pale Son was only at the early to mid stages of gold-level power, far inferior to the silver monster, strength levels determined body quality only to a degree; in some respects, the difference wasn’t absolute.
Just like an ordinary adult human surely couldn’t outrun a regular gray wolf, or the disparity between a wizard and a warrior at the same power level, this had nothing to do with tiers of strength but was strictly a difference in specialization.
The Pale Son and the silver monster were similar; the silver creature excelled in close combat and could cast illusions and numerous spells, mastering both power and agility, clearly a well-rounded warrior. Meanwhile, the Pale Son, as a four-legged canid even as a dusk type, retained vital instincts of wild beasts, among which speed was one.
Freya did not grasp these ‘knowledge’ intricacies. If Brendel were here, he might analyze it all expertly, but for a girl from the countryside of Buche, who had only barely undergone some training, all she needed to understand was simple—this giant wolf was faster than her.
That was enough.
In the bluster, Freya could barely keep her eyes open, her bangs whipped around chaotically in front of her face, tears mingling with the fierce winds. So, she shut her eyes tightly, gripping the Pale Son’s mane, and as the fierce creature grew increasingly agitated, it leaped, its limbs nearly leaving the ground as it galloped violently. Each crash against the armor made her want to cough loudly, and several times she nearly lost her grip and was thrown off.
But fortunately, slipping a glance back, she saw the silver monster had been left behind far in the distance. Although she was puzzled about why that thing harbored such hatred towards her, it still chose to linger behind.
It seemed to have uttered something about the ‘War Goddess.’ Freya recalled that Brendel had mentioned something similar to her, yet Vaunte had no such War Goddess—be they Crusian, Erluin, or even the gods worshipped by the Wind Elves, only the War Dragon was present.
But she quickly ran out of time to ponder these details. The Pale Son had already taken her across much of the battlefield, and she was about to reach the valley’s bottom. The two of them—one girl and one wolf—whirled through areas where others were locked in battle with other giant wolves. As the intense wind buffeted her face, Freya squinted and managed to glance ahead.
In front was the bottom of the glacial gorge.
Suddenly, gritting her teeth, Freya tightened her grip on the giant wolf’s silver mane, and with her other hand, she finally released its neck. As they passed over a patch of soft snow, Freya gritted her teeth and planted the battle flag firmly in the ground.
“Knights, gather around me—!”
Freya’s shout echoed across the mountains, the flag standing unwavering at the base of the valley. However, amidst the surrounding pack of wolves, one could hardly see what lay beneath the flag. At the moment the flag was planted, the Pale Son had already carried Freya into a narrow gap between ice crevices. Instinctively, she reached for the horn tied at her waist, fearing her voice might not carry to others. But at that moment, the Pale Son jolted suddenly; the horn spun from her hand and flew away.
“Ah—” Freya nearly froze in shock, realizing that it was the emblem of the Broken Sword Knights, and Xiao Peiluo and the others had urged her to guard it well. She hadn’t expected to lose it at such a critical moment, and she stared, dumbfounded, as the horn struck the icy ground and shattered into pieces, feeling devastated.
“You wicked beast!” the girl couldn’t help but scold anxiously.
But the giant wolf was even more dissatisfied than her. No creature would be pleased to carry a little mouse on its back for miles without being able to throw it off. Finally sensing the woman’s grip loosening slightly, it stopped suddenly, twisting its body to the side. The immense force generated by the instantaneous change from extreme movement to complete stillness impacted Freya hard.
Before she could utter a word, she was flung off the Pale Son’s back by inertia. She hadn’t anticipated this change, and as she soared, her heart nearly leaped into her throat. Yet in such a state, the girl’s mind remained clear; she didn’t let go of her left hand, gripping fiercely onto the Pale Son’s silver mane.
Though there was a moment when she felt her hand might break, ultimately this act saved her life. She clung onto the mane as she spun through the air and then crash-landed back onto the Pale Son’s back. The impact made her eyes water instantly.
Even the Pale Son let out a low groan, revealing it wasn’t unscathed, its voice filled more with agitation and discomfort, as if this little mouse had stuck fast and couldn’t come off.
After running several miles, the creature was starting to pant, true to wild beasts’ shared traits—explosive power but inadequate endurance. It had to slow down, even attempt to roll on the ground to see if it could dislodge the girl from its back.
But Freya was already exhausted from its antics; there was no way she’d allow it to slow down now. As soon as the beast showed signs of rolling to one side, she felt a jolt of fear and, driven by instinct, pulled a dagger from her boot, thrusting it backwards toward the Pale Son’s rear.
It was entirely reflexive, a technique learned in horsemanship to spur a warhorse. Even though a warhorse was a knight’s closest companion, on the battlefield, various needs dictated that all knights must learn some special techniques, especially in the absence of spurs.
Freya put this to immediate use on the Pale Son, and it proved effective. The giant wolf let out a cry teeming with both anger and reluctance. Yet in pain, it indeed took off running, as if trying to escape from the terrifying woman on its back.
As the wolf surged forward, Freya once again found herself pressed chest to back. The girl couldn’t help but feel bitter and wonder if this could be considered self-inflicted misery.
This run stretched on for quite a while, and Freya could only feel the surroundings zipping past her, picking up speed until the ice walls rushed into a single blur, almost like a light blue veil.
She marveled at the monster’s terrifying speed, realizing why they could effortlessly pursue them through the forest. After all, most of the knights of the Broken Sword were at least of gold strength. For an ordinary person, not only was it challenging to chase them, but even to keep up was difficult.
As she pondered this, suddenly her view opened up; beyond the ice crevice lay an expansive valley, with towering cliffs on either side, their rocky surfaces coated thickly with ice and snow.
At that very moment, Freya felt the giant wolf dip low, kneeling in the snow, losing its balance and flipping forward. The girl riding on its back could not escape the fate of being flung off. The silver wolf mane that had once brought her luck couldn’t save her now. Freya tumbled through the air, finally screaming as she crashed into the snowbank.
“Ah—” the girl exclaimed in pain.
After what felt like an eternity, she dazedly crawled out from under the snow, lying on the ground, barely able to stand, feeling as if her entire body had come apart.
Recalling the harrowing moments prior, she felt a shiver of fear run through her. She would never have dreamed of experiencing something so utterly insane; it felt as if it were entirely beyond her own rationality.
‘If this continues, I’ll become just like that guy…’
Gritting her teeth, she persisted in sitting up from the snow. She instinctively glanced around the gorge, far in the distance, indeed catching sight of the silver humanoid shadow, swiftly drawing closer.
Freya couldn’t help but gasp slightly, surprised that it was still pursuing her. What level of hatred could fuel such relentless chasing? She looked back at the Pale Son laid out on the ground, now utterly soundless. It seemed to have died from exhaustion after running for so long.
“Ah, how could this be…” she marveled in shock, unable to believe she had ended a Pale Son’s life. If only this had happened back in Buche, it would undoubtedly have become a boast for those braggarts. But now it meant nothing. Clenching her teeth, she stood up. When she had been on that giant wolf’s back, she had nearly wanted to slay it with a sword, yet now, with her temporary mount dead, she felt a sense of worry wash over her.
The monster was nearing fast, and there was no way she could outrun it. Looking around, she knew she had to come up with a plan quickly.
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PS: A surprise is coming your way! Guess what it is?
