Chapter 22: The Classic Beastman-and-Elf Plot, But This Time I’m the Main Character
“You nasty brute, serves you right! Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh!”
Taking advantage of the chaos, the golden-haired little elf stuck out her tongue and made faces at the beastman, whose jaw had smacked the ground like a dog eating dirt.
“Huff... huff huff…!”
The beastman scrambled up, cracked his dislocated jaw back into place, and realized he’d been played by this little runt. He let out a few deranged howls like a rabid boar. A mixture of lust and rage surged through his blood as he took off after Teresa, completely ignoring the unconscious Moon Elf girl. His attention had locked wholly onto her.
Teresa could only curse her short legs for not moving any faster.
She wasn’t out of breath—elves weren’t that physically weak, and she hadn’t reached her limit yet. But her legs simply wouldn’t pick up speed, likely because she still hadn’t fully adjusted to this body.
The Blindness Potion wasn’t lethal. It wasn’t going to save the world—at best, it could trip up a beastman and blind him temporarily.
Sure, a flash that strong might blind a human for a long time. But against a beastman? Not so much. Even though she’d bought herself some time, the difference in physical ability was just too great. The beastman’s strides were wide and fast. Teresa’s were short and not that quick.
She thought about deactivating her transformation—but then the beastman might stop chasing her. Besides, even as a human, there was no guarantee she’d outrun him.
What kind of karma had she accrued to deserve this mess?
Like a clay idol wading through a river—she was barely holding up. If she’d just minded her own business from the start…
Still, even amid the panic, Teresa kept her cool. She knew one thing for sure: she wasn’t going to outrun a beastman.
So instead, she began calculating—her odds, her next move, and how to win.
At the moment, her only hope of wounding the beastman was with the flintlock, which was nearly done cooling. But rushing a shot meant she might miss. Even if she did hit him, it wouldn’t guarantee a fatal blow. And if she didn’t kill him outright, all she’d succeed in doing was making him angrier.
A non-lethal hit would only push him over the edge. At that point, she'd be better off not shooting at all—maybe then he’d go easier on her after pinning her down...
Yeah, right. Like that made a difference.
Feeling the last Flash Potion still at her waist, Teresa regained her calm.
One more shot. That was all she had left.
She planned to repeat her earlier trick. She wasn’t worried the beastman would wise up—this species had single-digit IQs unless they were fighting or pillaging.
“Mr. Nasty Beastman! Catch this!” Teresa shouted as she yanked the cap off the vial and hurled it straight at his face.
Bam!
Another point-blank flash to the face. This time, the beastman was smarter—he paused to brace himself so he wouldn’t trip again.
And that was exactly what Teresa was counting on.
As he flinched, Teresa abruptly turned, dropped to a crouch, and raised her gun.
Boom!
The muzzle flared, and smoke poured from the overheated barrel. The searing hot bullet slammed right into the beastman’s face. His agonized howl rang out through the woods.
But Teresa’s heart sank.
She’d hit him—but it wasn’t enough.
She had overestimated the power of firearms in this world—or underestimated the beastman’s insanely tough hide and steel-like bones.
That head... was made of iron.
She’d aimed for the top of his skull, not the vulnerable eyes. So even though it hurt, it wasn’t fatal. He’d recover... and when he did, he’d be pissed.
This is bullshit.
Now she really understood why firearms weren’t respected in this world. If even low-tier demons like beastmen couldn’t be killed by a direct headshot—what was the point? You got one shot before your gun overheated, the damage was garbage, and the usability was a joke.
Just as she expected, the beastman got back up, still screaming in rage.
Teresa didn’t speak beastman, but one look at his bloodshot eyes told her exactly what he was screaming.
Probably something along the lines of “You filthy [bleep] elf, I’m gonna wreck your [bleep]!”
She didn’t reply, nor did she run. She just touched her waist.
No more flash potions.
That white-rarity item she used to dismiss when gacha-pulling now felt so valuable.
Now she finally understood—how important these tactical alchemy tools were in combat. Just one more vial could’ve bought her precious seconds.
Was this really the end?
It should’ve been.
The beastman advanced. Teresa, holding her overheated gun, was at her limit.
Maybe this was the last bit of freedom she’d ever have.
A “hot weapon” elf girl chained to the gate of a beastman camp…
But she hadn’t given up.
Until the very last second—there was always a chance.
Holding to that belief, she reached for the Golden Butterfly Hairpin at the side of her head and opened the Golden Chalice Gacha interface.
Two hard-earned chips. No hesitation—she tapped to draw.
Let’s see what I get.
She tossed the flintlock aside, placed a hand on the hairpin, and reached out with her other hand, calm as still water.
Whatever came out—she’d accept it.
If it was something harmful, she’d use it.
Not on the beastman—but on herself.
If she couldn’t kill him, she’d rather die than be defiled.
But fate was cruel. Even in moments like this, she was still cursed with bad luck. It wasn’t white rarity this time—but it wasn’t much better.
Blue.
The item that materialized in her palm was a small, squat glass vial containing a deep red potion.
Familiar yet unknown. Just one glance, and Teresa knew exactly what it was for—no need for Divine Appraisal.
But there was no time.
The savage beastman lunged at her.
Smack! Smack!
Teresa was slammed to the ground, just like every bad ending she’d ever seen in those terrible doujins. Only this time, the protagonist wasn’t some nameless elf girl from a random village.
It was her.
If only I’d known men could get isekai’d and still end up like this…
Was this punishment for all those nights spent gleefully abusing nameless elf heroines in those “special” doujins?
Unable to move and pinned beneath him, Teresa could only wish she could bite her own tongue and end it all.
Whatever happened next... well, that was just basic biology, wasn’t it? Teresa—armed with encyclopedic theory but zero practical experience—had already imagined dozens of possible sequences: foreplay, climax, aftermath…
Even just the first few moves could easily kill her.
She couldn’t move. But the beastman wasn’t in a rush to begin. He knew his prey couldn’t run, so he took his time.
Like a cat toying with a mouse before devouring it.
He laughed with disgusting glee as he stared down at her, then noticed the red potion that had rolled from her hand.
“?”
He grunted, confused, and picked up the vial. Flipping it over, sniffing at it—trying to figure out what it was.
But beastmen weren’t equipped for such "advanced technology."
He kept poking and fumbling with the vial, unable to make sense of it.
They learned by experience. If they recognized it, fine. If not—even drinking it wouldn’t help them understand.
But if he did drink it…
Seeing him tinker with it more and more, Teresa grew uneasy. She used the last of her strength to shuffle herself away, hoping to avoid the fallout.
Then, the idiot did it.
He tugged at the safety pin.
And again.
And again.
Poke poke poke...
BOOM BOOM BOOM!!
Teresa had already crawled a safe distance away, but even so, the explosion rocked her pointed ears and scorched her little face with a wave of hot air.
As expected—he really pulled the pin.
Just as she’d guessed, the squat little vial had contained a potent and unstable alchemical explosive. Once the pin was removed, it exploded after a short delay.
No wonder it looked like a grenade.
When the smoke cleared, the beastman lay on the ground—torn and broken. If the flintlock couldn’t pierce his defense, this potion certainly had.
And yet, the beastman still clung to life.
“Ababa… ababa…”
His face was obliterated—truly disfigured beyond recognition. Muscles shredded, bone exposed, blood vessels ruptured across his chest and neck. Yet still, he didn’t die.
His bloodshot eyes pleaded for mercy, arms twitching in the air, unsure what had just happened.
He tried to lift himself.
But a snowy-white foot stepped down on his chest, pinning him in place.
The beastman grunted in pain—then froze as a thick flintlock barrel was shoved into his half-destroyed mouth.
“Leaving you alive would only harm more girls. So... sorry, Mr. Beastman.”
Teresa looked down at him, head tilted, her expression flat as a still pond—eyes cold, devoid of light, as if gazing at a corpse.
“I guess I really can’t let evil, unrepentant demons go.”
“So... go meet your Demon Lord.”
BOOM!
The sound of gunfire echoed again.
The beastman stopped struggling. He lay limp, black smoke curling from his mouth.
Teresa dropped the flintlock and collapsed limply onto the ground.
The beastman… was dead.