Chapter 247: Saving the Queen 13

"What the fuck is that thing?"

Ransolph's mind screamed as his legs propelled him forward, each stride driven by sheer terror. He refused to glance back at the monstrous entity he had just witnessed.

In his 33 years of life, he had encountered and battled many creatures, but none had been as horrifying as what he had just seen.

Even though he had only laid eyes on it for a fleeting moment, he knew with certainty that it was beyond anything he had ever faced—a monstrosity that defied all conventional understanding of what a monster could be.

As he ran, he couldn't shake the grim realization that his subordinates and everyone else in the vicinity were likely dead, victims of the abomination now prowling the village.

With ragged breaths and pounding heart, he pushed himself forward, channeling his desperation into every step.

He willed himself to move faster, surrounding himself with a makeshift aura to enhance his speed. Finally, the gates of the village came into view, a glimmer of hope on the horizon.

But his relief was short-lived as dread replaced it in an instant.

The monstrous being was already there, blocking his path to freedom, its presence casting a shadow over any hope of escape.

As Ransolph lay there, paralyzed by fear, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the monstrous being before him.

The mere sight of it sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn't muster the strength to move, not even to defend himself.

The monster regarded him with a mixture of contempt and amusement, its sharp, menacing features twisted into a smirk that sent a chill through Ransolph's very core. His legs gave way beneath him, and he fell to the ground, his body trembling with fear.

With each step the monster took closer, Ransolph's terror only deepened. The dark aura surrounding it seemed to seep into his very soul, filling him with an overwhelming sense of dread.

"Pathetic," the monster sneered, its voice dripping with scorn. "After everything you've done to this village, to think you're nothing but a coward. How truly disappointing."

Ransolph could only watch helplessly as the creature drew nearer, its presence looming over him like a dark cloud.

The sharp edges of its cloak cut into hiw own cheek, drawing blood that dripped down in rivulets.

"I thought you would have thicker skin," the monster taunted, its voice a chilling echo in the air.

"At least act strong and arrogant, will you? You're making this whole thing boring."

Unable to contain his curiosity, despite the overwhelming fear coursing through him, Ransolph managed to croak out a single question, his voice barely above a whisper.

"W-what are you?"

As Ransolph lay there, battered and broken, the monster loomed over him with a sadistic grin, relishing in his agony.

With a swift and merciless punch, it sent Ransolph flying across the ground, the sickening sound of bones cracking echoing through the air.

He tumbled uncontrollably until he came to a jarring halt against the entrance of the main house, his face a mangled mess of blood and bruises.

Despite the excruciating pain coursing through him, Ransolph found himself unable to even scream, his throat filled with blood and his body wracked with agony. Each breath felt like fire, each movement sending waves of pain shooting through him.

As he lay there, on the precipice of death, Ransolph couldn't help but reflect on his own mortality. The once mighty bandit king, now reduced to nothing more than a broken and battered shell of his former self. It was a cruel twist of fate, one that he couldn't help but find darkly humorous.

But any semblance of humor was swiftly extinguished as the monster reappeared before him, its presence suffocating. With a single motion, it brought its foot down upon Ransolph's outstretched arm, the force of impact shattering bone and sending waves of agony coursing through him.

The sound of breaking concrete filled the air as Ransolph's hand was severed from his body, blood gushing forth in a torrent of pain and despair. Despite his best efforts to scream, his voice was drowned out by the overwhelming pain, his consciousness slipping away as darkness enveloped him.

In that final moment, as death loomed ever closer, Ransolph couldn't help but wonder why his body fought so fiercely to cling to life, even in the face of such overwhelming agony.

As Ransolph writhed in agony, his body broken and battered beyond recognition, he cursed himself for harboring even a sliver of hope in such a hopeless situation. The very instinct that had allowed him to survive for so long now seemed like a cruel joke, taunting him as he lay on the brink of death.

But his thoughts were abruptly interrupted as another wave of excruciating pain tore through him, his muffled screams echoing through the air. The monster, indifferent to his suffering, pressed its foot down on his other arm, the bones snapping like twigs under its relentless force.

Flesh and blood mingled in the air as Ransolph's body was crushed beneath the monster's merciless heel.

"If I remember correctly, that corpse had both of its feet crushed... or was it the head? Well, who cares..."

The monster's words drifted through the air, a chilling reminder of Ransolph's impending fate. With a sadistic smirk, it turned its gaze upon him once more, its eyes gleaming with malice.

In a cruel twist of fate, the monster proceeded to crush Ransolph's remaining foot, each agonizing moment driving him closer to the edge of oblivion.

Despite his desperate screams, he knew deep down that it was all in vain.

The resilience of this broken man, clinging to his waning spirit amid torment, sparked a flicker of dark amusement within the monster's soul.

In the suffocating silence that followed, the air heavy with the scent of blood and despair, the monster's grin widened.

'It's pre was still alive and well...'

A flicker of surprise danced across the monster's twisted features before it morphed into a chilling smile. "Wrong... I'm not the devil."

In an instant, darkness engulfed the creature, twisting and coalescing until a figure emerged from the shadows.

A man, handsome and imposing, stood before Ransolph, his black hair cascading like midnight and his eyes gleaming with disdain.

"I'm the hero," the man declared, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

With a flourish, a golden sword materialized in his grasp, a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped them.

And with that declaration, Ransolph met his 88th demise, a final chapter in his tale of agony and despair.

....

Looking down at the lifeless body of the bandit leader sprawled below me, a deep sigh escaped my lips.

It was rather boring torturing him like that... although he did last longer than I expected I'll give him that.

His demise lacked the exhilaration I usually found in such endeavors.

With a sense of detachment, I kicked his corpse with the reinforced aura of my foot, causing it to shatter into a million pieces.

I had instructed my sister to conjure scenarios in his mind, to torment him with false hope even in his final moments.

But despite the satisfaction of seeing justice served, there lingered a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

My thoughts turned to the countless souls this man had severed from their lives. I couldn't shake the feeling of responsibility for their peace.

So, I took it upon myself to recreate the horrors they endured, hoping to offer them some semblance of closure.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the stillness of the room.

"Boss!"

I realized then that I had neglected to deal with the other henchmen.

I had hastily ascended to confront the bandit leader here in his bedroom, leaving his underlings unchecked.

Without hesitation, the holy swords materialized in my hand, casting a radiant glow that pierced the dimness of the chamber. It was time to clean up the mess I had inadvertently left behind.

"Meralda, alert the others to kill every last bandit you see" I commanded, to Meralda who was floating right next to me.

'Now then time to clean up this place....'

After ensuring that every last bandit in the village had been dealt with, we turned our attention to the task of healing and comforting the villagers.

It was a bittersweet moment as we announced their newfound freedom, their cries of joy mingling with the sound of bodies being kicked and scorned.

Yet, beneath the surface elation, a somber reality loomed. The scars of captivity ran deep, etched into the very fabric of the community.

The village, once a bustling hub of life, now lay in ruins, its infrastructure irreparably damaged by the tyranny of the bandits.

As we surveyed the aftermath, it became painfully evident that this village would struggle to regain its former vitality.

The population had been decimated, with only a handful of elderly residents and a smattering of children remaining.

Among them, a solitary beastwoman sex slave was also present but I doubt she'll make a difference.

In the face of such devastation, the prospect of rebuilding seemed daunting, if not impossible.

Perhaps it was best to abandon this desolate outpost altogether, to seek refuge in a more hospitable locale where hope still thrived.

'Our first mission as a heroes ended rather.... Depressingly.'