Chapter 232: Battle Royale (9)

“Cleaver” wasn’t exactly sharp-minded. After a brief moment of confusion, he quickly shoved the question out of his head and, dragging the enormous cleaver that never left his side, ran excitedly toward Everly’s direction.

While running, he shouted cheerfully in his loud voice, “Hey, Kurt!”

He called him “Kurt” instead of “younger brother” because Kurt had always looked down on his intellectually impaired older brother and would not allow him to expose their relationship in front of outsiders. Privately, however, the two brothers were actually quite alike in temperament and got along fairly well.

Due to a genetic illness, “Cleaver” had an abnormally massive build. When he ran while shouting, he looked like a moving mountain of flesh. Combined with the blood smeared across his body and the huge blade he never let go of, the sight alone would instill deep, instinctive fear in anyone who saw it.

Everly was no exception.

As a viewer of horror films, she had a very clear understanding of “Cleaver’s” oppressive presence. The moment he started running toward her, there was a split second when her hair stood on end and a chill ran down her spine—she very much wanted to turn and flee without thinking.

But reason stopped her.

She couldn’t run—absolutely couldn’t run. Kurt, as the younger brother, had always been domineering toward his older brother; he would only boss him around and would never simply turn and run. If she fled at a moment like this, wouldn’t that be practically announcing to “Cleaver” that she was an imposter?

On the contrary, staying put gave her a high chance of fooling him.

Kurt had been born prematurely and had always had a somewhat frail constitution. Even after growing up and seeking countless renowned doctors, he remained slender and short. In terms of both height and build, he was quite similar to the female Everly. Although their facial features and hair color were different, the classic horror-movie element of an animal mask conveniently made up for that.

In terms of physique alone, the gap between her and Kurt was already quite small.

In addition, when Kurt had been leading the way earlier, Everly had carefully observed his stance and walking posture.

At this moment, facing a life-or-death crisis, she performed beyond her usual limits. Mimicking Kurt’s habitual manner, she hunched her shoulders, tilted her head, and cast a gloomy sideways glance at “Cleaver” from beneath her eyes—perfectly reproducing the self-loathing yet arrogant aura of this deranged killer.

As expected, even after standing right in front of Everly, “Cleaver” still didn’t notice anything wrong.

“Hey Kurt, how was that girl just now? Pretty good, right? Now that you’re done playing, can I go back?”

Everly didn’t speak. Instead, she raised her hand and waved toward the direction of the stronghold. The gesture was simple and easy to understand—even someone as intellectually limited as “Cleaver” could grasp his “younger brother’s” intent.

“You can go back? Great!”

With that, he hoisted his beloved giant cleaver onto his shoulder and turned to run toward the base.

But after only a few steps, realizing there was no movement behind him, “Cleaver” stopped again and turned back suspiciously.

“Kurt, why aren’t you following? You’re not going back?”

As he spoke, his rarely useful brain suddenly sparked with a trace of clarity. He recalled the question he had briefly pushed aside earlier.

“Come to think of it, why are you in the forest so late? Didn’t you say that girl just now was the last target of the day?”

From the moment he suddenly stopped, Everly’s heart had already been rising into her throat. When the killer—who, to be fair, was not particularly intelligent in horror-film terms—asked even more questions, her heartbeat went wild, thudding like a motor.

What should she do? He was asking so many questions all at once. She couldn’t avoid answering—but if she spoke, she’d immediately give herself away. She couldn’t imitate his voice. Or should she just kill him right now, here in the woods?

Holding potassium cyanide, a highly toxic substance, Everly did in fact have the ability to kill Kurt. But this poison was supplies obtained from the hospital, and the game’s organizers were fully aware of its origin.

After using it, Everly would have to properly deal with “Cleaver’s” body. Otherwise, if the “big spender” died, the game organizers might very well inspect the corpse. And once an autopsy revealed he had been poisoned, who would they suspect? The answer was obvious.

Everly did not want to see that outcome. Disposing of a body was also extremely troublesome. Moreover, she had already set everything up at the stronghold—changing plans at the last minute would force her to take many unnecessary detours. So unless absolutely necessary, she did not want to easily alter her plan.

Deep within the dense forest, “Cleaver,” through his mask, stared puzzled at his younger brother not far away.

Because the other party still hadn’t answered his question, he irritably shook his head, growing visibly impatient.

“Kurt, you—”

Just as “Cleaver,” unable to suppress the more volatile side of his personality, was about to press further, “Kurt” finally moved.

Under “Cleaver’s” gaze, “Kurt” lifted his chin slightly and let out a cold, mocking, questioning “hm?” through his nose. Then, very naturally, he reached into the pocket of his leather apron and pulled out a whip stained with blood.

Th-that was…

The moment he saw the whip, “Cleaver” shuddered violently. Even the hand holding his giant blade began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Don’t… don’t—no… please don’t punish me, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have asked! I’ll leave right now, don’t hit me, don’t hit me!”

He backed away, his pleading voice panicked and fearful beneath the mask, sharply contrasting with his massive, muscular build.

In truth, “Cleaver” was somewhat afraid of his younger brother. Kurt was intelligent—sometimes he treated “Cleaver” very well, and other times extremely badly. No matter how strong his body was, facing Kurt’s ever-changing methods of torment, “Cleaver” still felt deep-seated fear.

And from childhood to adulthood, his younger brother only ever took out that whip when he was extremely angry.

Because of this, “Cleaver” had developed a psychological trauma toward the whip. The moment he saw it, he would break into a cold sweat, his limbs would stiffen, and his whole body would tremble uncontrollably.

Everly remembered that the original film even had such a scene—

In the middle of the movie, after the male protagonist and his three companions had gathered some supplies on the outskirts, they decided to head toward the mountain peak together. On the way, they accidentally strayed into the brothers’ hunting ground and were ambushed by the two butchers.

Under the male lead’s direction, the four of them worked together and managed to kill Kurt, the younger brother. When it came time to deal with “Cleaver,” however, his physical strength was so overwhelming that, without powerful weapons, the group was pushed into a desperate situation.

“Cleaver” wielded his blade and cut down two of the male protagonist’s companions.

When it was the male protagonist’s turn, pushed to the brink of death, he casually grabbed a weapon from the ground and struck at him without thinking. It was merely a final act of desperation before death—but unexpectedly, that weapon happened to be the whip Kurt had dropped.

The moment “Cleaver” saw the whip, his charge abruptly halted.

At that point, the director inserted a montage explaining the brothers’ dark past.

After the flashback ended and the film returned to the battlefield, the male protagonist had already seized that brief moment of hesitation from “Cleaver” and finished him off with a well-placed arrow straight into the eye.

Recalling this scene, Everly had originally only pulled out the whip as a tentative gamble—but the effect turned out to be astonishingly good.

Her impatient “hm?” combined with the whip in her hand directly triggered the deep-seated fear buried inside “Cleaver.”

Afraid that pressing further would make his younger brother truly lose his temper, “Cleaver” no longer cared about waiting for any answer. As soon as he finished his plea for forgiveness, he immediately turned around and ran at full speed toward the stronghold. The way he moved, it looked as if staying even one more second would get him beaten again.

Everly stood in place and listened for a while. Only after the sound of “Cleaver” running faded into the distance and could no longer be heard did the heavy weight in her chest finally settle back down.

Phew… finally safe. That was really dangerous just now…

Now that “Cleaver” was gone, Everly no longer had an urgent reason to leave the second ring area.

After all, the main reason she had been in such a hurry to leave was the fear of running into “Cleaver.” Since he had already returned, she might as well stay and observe the situation first.

Thinking this, she looked around and quickly found a large tree. In a few swift movements, she climbed up and hid herself in its branches.

……

While Everly was resting and concealing herself in the tree, on the other side of the forest, “Cleaver” had already arrived at the entrance of the stronghold.

“Kurt is so scary. Even though I already let him play with three girls, why is his mood still so bad…”

Not having been beaten by his younger brother made “Cleaver” a little happy. But Kurt would only be out temporarily and would return after dark. If his mood was still bad by then, he would once again be subjected to his brother’s abuse. This realization made “Cleaver” feel a bit gloomy again.

With these mixed feelings, he reached the entrance of the base.

The oil lamp Everly had hung on the door before leaving was still burning. In the dim forest, the small flame flickered and swayed, spilling a faint warm yellow light outward.

“Cleaver” assumed the lamp had been left by Kurt for illumination and thought nothing of it. He took the lantern down from the handle, opened the door, and stepped into the dark house.

The first step inside revealed nothing unusual—only an overwhelming, nauseating stench of blood.

However, when “Cleaver” took his second step forward, his outstretched ankle suddenly hit something thin and flexible.

What is that…

As the question flashed through his mind, his leg—driven by momentum—had already pulled hard against that threadlike object, dragging it forward until it hit the floor.

It was a fishing line tied by Everly at ankle height.

“Cleaver,” wearing a mask, already had limited visibility and could not easily see what was on the ground. On top of that, the room was very dark, and the transparent fishing line blended perfectly into the environment, making it nearly impossible to detect.

The end of the line was connected to a mechanism carefully designed by Everly.

This trap was her upgraded “new version,” inspired by the spike trap the “Hunter” had set in the abandoned hospital!

The moment the hidden trap was triggered, in the darkness ahead, more than ten sharpened wooden stakes immediately shot forward like arrows, whistling toward the defenseless “Cleaver.”

These thin wooden stakes were also scavenged by Everly from the “Hunter’s” traps.

Most of them were aimed at “Cleaver’s” body.

Although the wooden spikes came in with great force, “Cleaver,” after all, was the strongest individual fighter on the entire island. Just before the spikes struck his face, he instinctively tilted his head back, narrowly avoiding those aimed directly at his eyes.

As for the remaining spikes, “Cleaver” didn’t pay them much attention.

His body was unusual—covered in a thick layer of muscle, giving him extremely strong defense. Ordinary wooden spikes would at most pierce the skin; they weren’t lethal. Only his head was truly vulnerable, so that was the only part he bothered to protect.

And things did indeed go as “Cleaver” expected. After the spikes flew in, most were blocked by the thick leather apron on his body. The few that managed to pierce his skin only caused minor bleeding.

Unfortunately, “Cleaver” had celebrated too soon.

While he was focused entirely on dodging the wooden spikes, he failed to notice that on the beam of the ceiling, a barrel filled with gasoline had also been struck by one of the wooden stakes.

The wooden stakes did not break through the barrel wall, but they did cause the already slightly tilted oil drum to lose its balance.

Whoosh!

As the barrel tipped over, a large amount of gasoline spilled down, drenching “Cleaver” from head to toe.

As a fundamentalist slasher-type killer, “Cleaver” was no stranger to gasoline. He knew how terrifying it could be when exposed to an open flame—and in his hand right now was a lit oil lamp!

The top of the lamp had a parasol-shaped metal cap, and beneath it were four small holes that allowed air to circulate around the flame inside the glass. In theory, as long as “Cleaver” held the lamp steady and retreated from the room quickly, he would be fine.

However, no one had expected that the barrel contained not only gasoline, but something else as well.

When the final remnants of liquid in the barrel splashed onto him, a searing pain erupted. His exposed skin reacted as if it had touched a branding iron—within moments, its pale tone turned into charred black.

“Ugh… ah… ahhhhhh!”

“Cleaver” screamed in agony, watching helplessly as the gasoline burned his hand. His strong fingers rapidly turned into something like charcoal. At the same time, a wave of intense dizziness surged through him. His throat burned, his tongue went numb, and breathing became extremely difficult.

He quickly lost control of his limbs. His grip on the oil lamp loosened, and the lamp hanging from his fingertips swayed uncontrollably before suddenly dropping—

Crash!

At the moment the glass shattered, flames burst upward. The fire not only scorched “Cleaver’s” eyes but also illuminated a corpse lying in the corner of the room.

It had familiar brown hair, its face smashed beyond recognition, and it was wearing the same T-shirt and work pants the girl had worn that afternoon.

“Cleaver’s” body jolted.

So that’s how it was…

Unfortunately, he realized it too late.

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