Chapter 20: One Circle

Neo felt exhausted. Vital energy was clearly not the same as stamina potions, and even stamina potions had issues such as diminishing effects and time intervals between uses. He had been running at full speed for over an hour—a feat that could already be considered one of the craziest things he had ever done in his life.

Of course, it wasn’t just Neo who was tired. The pursuers were also nearing their physical limits, and their situation was even worse.

It was because of the potions. The potions—includingDatha—what he had seen and heard before was all about how good it was to take potions and gain demonic powers: endless stamina, immense strength, sharp senses, and reduced pain—BULABULA.

All of this seemed true; any member of the Dark Cult could testify to it. But more importantly, no previous operation had required Datha to expend so much energy over such a long period.

In fact, aside from the Creator, no one else could create so-called perfect potions that would grant mortals various abilities without any side effects.

Dark evil energy was a variant of negative energy, while life represented positive energy. Thus, maintaining balance between life and dark evil energy was a topic that even the name of which was taboo for that fallen Demon King—a subject requiring millions or even billions of years of in-depth study. How could potions made by lowly figures like Datha possibly find perfection in this balance?

Potions were essentially poisons. Every time a user transformed into a demon, it came at the cost of their lifespan. Even if they didn’t use such powers, just taking the potion would ensure they wouldn’t live beyond five years, dying in agony as they vanished forever. Overuse would further shorten their lifespan, even leading to death.

Datha was now doing just such a dangerous thing. A potion as thick as an adult’s index finger, filled with ink-like, foul-smelling liquid—this was the energy agent used by those who transformed into demons. Datha was using Type II potion; it tasted terrible, but its effects were strong.

He gulped it down bravely. This was already the second time he had taken an energy potion. If he had known that foul smell actually came from maggots in undead corpses, used to numb the pain caused by dark evil energy—essentially drinking poison to quench thirst—he might not have drunk it so carelessly.

Since the first attack on Neo, Datha had organized seven attacks with him as the main attacker, yet Neo was still alive, able to run—fast at that!

The Dark Evil Blade Slash was an energy-based attack technique that consumed a lot of energy. Moreover, in this dense forest, it required additional effort. Even Datha had to admit that the cumulative extra strain had given him enough strength to run like this for another hour in the open fields!

Of course, the most miserable one couldn’t possibly be Datha. The weaker one was, the more they had to sacrifice to make up for it. This theory was evident among those who had transformed into demons—several of them had already secretly taken the fourth dose of Type I energy potion. Although its dosage couldn’t compare to Type II, its effect on life was comparable.

Using four energy potions in a row felt like flying through raging flames. This claim was finally confirmed by those who tried it. Unfortunately, Datha didn’t have the mood or extra energy to concern himself with such matters now; his entire focus was on Neo. To put it simply, even for his former beloved, Datha had never been this devoted before. It was a devotion rooted in a desire for the other person’s death! So Datha only superficially noticed that three demonized beings, who had been growing weaker, regained their strength and fiercely followed him, with one even launching a powerful attack on Neo—though it failed, causing another wound for Neo. “Hmm, good, keep doing that!” Datha, who was usually sparing with words, rarely gave approval. Where there’s good, there’s bad, and it shows easily. The current state of the demon hounds was terrible—so bad that even the heartless Datha found it pitiful. During the transformation process, the demon hounds gave everything they had, which meant their rewards were also the greatest. Ordinary people who weren’t even strong before transformation could reach the strength of level 2 or even 3 professionals after transformation, with some even gaining rare talents. Their weaknesses were also obvious: degenerated intelligence and irritability made them terrible managers—they couldn’t handle their power properly and only squandered it recklessly. In short and intense battles, their flaws could be masked by their bravery and recklessness. But now, that bravery turned into pathological excitement—too extreme, too unrestrained. The demon hounds often stumbled and fell, and in their desperation, they even harmed their own kind who got in their way, reminiscent of descriptions like “crazy exhaustion, death if they stop.” The demon hounds couldn’t stop moving; they were heading toward destruction, but they didn’t care. All they cared about was causing more harm to Neo. Neo had just survived the toughest 10 minutes he had imagined. But as it turned out, there’s no worst—only worse. The main reason was the injuries—dozens of them, big and small. He kept using his bloodline talents to recover, so they weren’t fatal, but the negative effects were inevitable: blood loss that couldn’t be replenished quickly, wounds tearing open from intense movement, sweat soaking through his clothes causing massive heat loss, and muscle strain leading to pain and weakness… There were many problems, but the original theme of the competition remained unchanged—or rather, it became even more apparent: “To see who’s more resilient!” Whoosh! Using a crooked beech tree to dodge a fierce swipe from a claw, splinters flying, Neo took the chance to slash a wound several dozen centimeters long on his attacker before continuing to run without hesitation. Blood loss! This was Neo’s most frequent combat tactic in this chase. Once their blood was nearly gone, their lives were also nearly over. Being covered in blood was already a common sight among the demon hounds.

“It’s almost time to harvest.” The condition of the hunters had always been a focus of Nio’s observation, and now he knew that the first batch of wheat was ripe.
Nio began to deliberately feign weakness, slowing down slightly and intentionally giving the demon dogs some opportunities.
Thus, death spread like an epidemic—rapid and relentless. The first dead demon dog crashed violently into a large tree; rather than being killed by the impact, it was the collision that gave it a reason to stop, and it did so, forever.
The second dead demon dog met a more dramatic end—while charging in a clumsy manner, it was struck by Nio’s blade, causing it to fall prematurely and get trapped in a tree branch, its limbs dangling. It howled and struggled for a while, like a cooked shrimp with its back arched.
Then came the third, the fourth, and finally, the last.
All the demon dogs died in the primeval forest—completely exhausted. (Think about what “energy” means here if you want to.) Nio also paid a price for this. Datha seized the opportunity to launch two more fierce attacks, inflicting new wounds on Nio. By now, aside from two sharp blades, he only had that nearly empty, tattered pouch, whose contents could be used to set traps or as keys to activate them.
After crossing a frozen stream, climbing a small hill, and passing through another valley, the jungle ahead still existed, but it gave a sense of openness.
Nio panted heavily, taking a few steps before resting his hand on a tree trunk to catch his breath, then speeding up again—somewhat like a gibbon. But compared to before, his speed had dropped significantly.
The transformed beings were even worse off, running with exhausted eyes. Their manes, once messy and unimposing, now looked as if they’d just been pulled out of boiling water—drenched and steaming, with stiff limbs, as if burned.
If one paid close attention, visible, uncontrollable muscle tremors could be seen beneath their fur—caused by exhaustion. As for those who had taken the fourth energy potion, they weren’t just exhausted; they were shedding their skin. The dark evil force had eroded their bodies over time, causing irreversible deep transformation. This kind of transformation lacked the ability to shape the body, so the transformed beings gained no benefits from it. On the contrary, their bodies were collapsing, though externally, they became more demonic: dark red skin, blue magical patterns, short horns, sharp fangs, and eyes emitting a sinister yellow light…
“The second batch of wheat is ready, but this time we’ll need more tools for harvesting!” The map of the trap area appeared in Nio’s mind. He led the hunters in a large circle, now returning to the starting point from the northern foothills.
When the trees ahead thinned and the familiar V-shaped valley appeared, Datha knew where they were!
“Damn!” Datha cursed loudly. Not only because of Nio, but also for himself.
How could he get so obsessed with chasing someone that it drove his men to this state? Why couldn’t he give up when things became impossible and stop insisting on pushing himself to the limit?

How can one be that stupid?
Three questions—Datta couldn’t come up with a satisfactory explanation for himself. He couldn’t even explain it to anyone else.
When others asked, “How did you end up like this?”
He said, “Ugh! Forget it. We were chasing someone who kept running fast. We chased after him desperately, exhausting even the hounds, and we were almost dead from exhaustion too…”
It sounded stupid just to hear about it, and doing it was even more foolish. Yet his group actually did such a stupid thing and became fools!
That’s what made Datta angry now.
Of course, his hatred for Neo was stronger than his hatred for his own stupidity.
The culprit, the root of all problems, was him—that damned wolf, that damned mountain cat, that damned one-horned rhinoceros (a beast with extraordinary endurance), that damned hybrid of who-knows-what bloodlines…
Datta had used every curse he could think of to curse Neo. At the same time, he didn’t want to be a fool anymore, but he refused to give up! The wolf ahead also seemed out of breath, on the verge of collapse, but Datta really couldn’t bear to stop chasing.
“Brothers, we’ve come back around. But today, even if we have to chase to the ends of the world, I’m gonna kill that wolf!” Datta roared hoarsely, his voice strained.
In fact, as Datta said, the Demonized ones were also fully united in their hatred, determined to fight to the death.
When exhausted to a certain extent, one’s mind would blur—similar to being slightly drunk from alcohol.
Many things seemed unimportant, while others felt absolutely necessary, to be done right now!
For the Demonized ones, killing Neo was the thing they had to do at all costs. Their twisted fighting spirit had completely turned them into messengers of revenge.