Chapter 400: New Believer

After learning that the Players had returned to the Long-Ears’ village at the Western Continent, both Rangka and Laybit clearly felt relieved.

Even so, they did not waste any time to continue on their journey home, with the Curly-Horns’ Woolsprout in tow.

The Long-Ears were champions at marathons. Though their endurance were not as strong as that of humans’ (Humans of this world were somewhat different from Earth humans, with stronger physical aspects), their top speed and acceleration were far above than that of humans or most other nonhumans. In other words, they were their own best horse and therefore needed no horse.

That was exactly why although Rangka thought that bringing the Curly-Horns’ princess along back to their tribe lands was nothing but dead weight.

Still, he eventually decided that it was not the case.

While the Sheeple did not have the habit of rearing livestock, but they did domesticate horned antelopes as a way to travel for long-distance trade.

Those antelopes were once so abundant everywhere over the Vierlin Plains they were a disaster, but now they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, only their endless corpses and bones was proof that their kind had once flourished, and that fact only made it clear how much damage Swordtail Grayclaw’s tyranny had inflicted upon the plains.

As a matter of fact, the Curly Horns had kept the horned antelopes’ enclosure were some distance away from their village, so as to avoid the prying eyes of the meat-eating nonhumans. It was basically a cavern dug of the ground which entrance had been covered in tall gra.s.s, which could not be seen if not observed carefully.

Moreover, Saber-Tooth Tigermen feces were placed around the enclosure to interfere with the sense of any predators and meat-eating nonhumans. That was why although the antelope in the enclosures looked skinny and weak due to lack of gra.s.s, their spirit and health were still a.s.sured.

And once Woolsprout swapped walking for riding the one-horned antelope, she moved more than a notch quicker.

With that, they would be able to return to the village soon.

Nonetheless, as the old saying goes, ‘the road to happiness is strewn with setbacks’—soon after leaving the Curly-Horns settlement, Rangka felt danger with his sharp Long-Ear senses.

They were being shadowed!

However, shadowing was clearly not their day job, or perhaps those pursuers were simply not worried about Rangka’s group. They strutted along without hiding their enmity, staying behind them unhurriedly.

Rangka, who was the brains of his own group had no intention of stopping either, and simply clenched his teeth as he led Laybit and Woolsprout in running.

He had a hunch that Swordtail Grayclaw had learned that the oppressed nonhumans were considering an alliance to rebel against his tyranny. Therefore, he had sent his elite champions to ambush and kill envoys of those tribes to prevent them from communicating, without igniting a major tribal war!

That move was simple, direct but effective. Even if the oppressed nonhumans were in a hurry to form their alliance, the fact that their own envoys were not returning would cause doubt towards their potential allies—no matter how understanding they might be.

While that doubt would be wiped away should any one envoy survive, on the more likely outcome that they did not, the tribal chiefs would have to make huge gestures and personally meet one another, or the misunderstandings would not go away.

Moreover, the intent of Swordtail’s plan seemed to be for buying time, instead of sabotaging the alliance of the oppressed tribes…

And that hunch left Rangka extremely uncomfortable. Who knows what could happen when Swordtail really showed his hand?!

“Uncle, we can’t continue on like this!” Laybit said decisively then. “Our stamina would continue to drop, and when we fatigue, we are not getting away if they attack!”

“I know!” Rangka said, taking a deep breath and turned to Woolsprout. “Could your antelope carry one more?”

“It might.” She nodded.

“Good. Laybit, you’re light. Ride along with Lady Woolsprout and escape.”

“Wait! What about you, uncle?” Laybit knew what Rangka was getting at—he appeared to have no plans of leaving.

“Someone has to slow them down,” Rangka sighed with melancholy. “Or none of us are getting away.”

Even so, he did not believe that he was wrong in saving his nephew—even before the Players came to them, the older Long-Ears had all made their resolve to sacrifice themselves for the younger generation when a decisive moment comes.

The only thing he regretted was being unable to personally witness the revival of the Long Ears, for it was his conviction that as long as they had good ties with the G.o.d of Games’ believers, that day would eventually come.

“But, uncle—”

Even before Laybit could finish, Rangka had seized that girly nephew on his and threw him over the antelope, with the creature rearing its hooves and darting away in its surprise.

After one last look at the departing figure of his nephew, Rangka turned around.

Their pursuers had noticed that something was not right, and appeared behind bushes that were half the height of an adult human.

It was a burly nonhuman who was almost two meters tall. Its shoulders were equally wide, and it has a thick hide over its body as well as a long rhino horn growing over its nose.

And it was riding a giant serpent that was over twenty meters long and had a nose resembling an elephant’s trunk!

“To ride Grootslang, the Elephant Snake of the marshes beneath Mount Vierlin… you must be Sutan, the former champion of the Ryhorn Tribe.”

Rangka whipped out his weapons: two daggerlike knives with a troubled face—after all, those trinkets might not even pierce his foe’s skin.

“Sutan is still a champion!” The white-skinned Ryhorn roared resoundingly.

“No, you’re not. Not after you’ve sworn fealty to Swordtail and raised your blade against the weak. You are just a butcher now!”

Even if Rangka knew that he would never win or even so much as give Sutan a scratch, he braced himself to mock the Ryhorn—adding some heartfelt words in the mix, naturally.

“Rubbish! I, Sutan will always be a champion!”

Infuriated, the white-skinned Ryhorn bobbed its head repet.i.tively. It was a funny look, but Rangka couldn’t laugh.

Because it was a sign that a Ryhorn was going on a rampage.

The Ryhorn hence raised its greatsword that resembled a door and was larger than Rangka himself. Spurring on Grootslang the Elephant Snake at the same time, he roared and charged towards Rangka.

‘May the ancestral spirit protect me…’

But halfway through that thought, Rangka had another that was exceedingly sacrilegious.

‘Us Long-Ears have never held back in prayer and offerings, and did not stop our ancestral worship even when we were chased to the dangerous coastal areas. Even so, our own ancestor clearly wouldn’t respond to our tribe and almost leaving us on the brink of extinction.

‘I’m dying anyway, so why should I offer my prayer to that ancestor who has never sympathized with his own tribe?’

Hence, Rangka promptly changed his prayer.

‘May the G.o.d of Games watch over me—even if it’s for a moment. Please grant me the strength to stop this b.a.s.t.a.r.d and buy Laybit a chance to survive!’

While Rangka had tried to pray to the G.o.d of Games under the Players’ urging, he never received any response.

This time, however, his prayer was immeasurably devoted, as if he would offer all his faith with a single breath as he softly voiced the prayer of the Church of Games.

“O Master of Games, grant us new life…”

In the next instant, he seemed to hear an incorporeal voice beside his ears.

[The ball has received your faith!]