Chapter 117 Undefeated

Don Quixote held Hemingway’s head down, charging forward relentlessly and repeatedly slamming the back of Hemingway’s head into the wall, leaving deep grooves and a bright red line on the surface.

Whether it's the instantaneous collision with the wall, the friction that leaves grooves on the wall, or the terrifying amount of bleeding, theoretically any of these could be fatal.

However, Hemingway was clearly not dead; his arm was still gripping Don Quixote's arm guard tightly, his superhuman strength having dented the guard.

As he continued to advance and attack, Don Quixote could clearly feel the increasing force applied to his arms and see the bloodstains on the wall gradually decreasing.

Finally, after Don Quixote and Hemingway ran across three intersections and crashed into the exterior walls of several office buildings, Hemingway twisted Don Quixote's arm (or gauntlet) with all his might, and Don Quixote fell to the ground under the force of gravity.

Before Don Quixote could react, Hemingway launched another attack, but Hemingway leaped off the wall and performed a beautiful somersault to escape Don Quixote's attack range.

Don Quixote's armor began to disintegrate immediately after detaching from the main body (from Cervantes), and with Hemingway tearing it a couple of times, it quickly turned into a pile of silvery-white fragments, revealing Hemingway's head, which was covered in blood and had large bruises.

After Hemingway did a somersault, his back was to Don Quixote. So what appeared in Don Quixote's line of sight was Hemingway's bloodied, yet constantly healing, back of the head.

“I thought you were a berserker, fearless of injury and even more courageous.” Don Quixote’s severed arm armor quickly reassembled, and at the same time he stretched out his right hand, his armor flowing like liquid and gathering in his hand, solidifying into a huge knight’s lance.

"I intended to break through your defenses with all my might, leaving no room for a counterattack... but I never expected that you would possess such demonic power."

"You too, Asimov too, can't you metal figurines speak properly?" Hemingway's injuries were healing, though the pace was much slower than that of Don Quixote and Shelley, but it was still visibly progressing.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, but they’re certainly interesting.” Don Quixote raised his lance, assuming a rather standard javelin-throwing stance. “Enough with the small talk, so—how about this shot!?”

The massive lance flew from his hand, and Hemingway tried to dodge it, but he didn't manage to get away much.

The lance pierced Hemingway's side, and the lance, without expending much impact, still slammed Hemingway into the wall, the recoil causing his head to make intimate contact with the wall once more.

However, Hemingway acted as if he wasn't the one who had been pierced, pulling the lance that had pierced his abdomen straight out with both hands, before grimacing and touching his wound: "That was really ruthless, damn it."

The hole in his abdomen allowed a direct view of the scene behind him, and also revealed the rapid recovery of his internal organs. However, this rapid recovery did not last long before it diminished to a level that was "just barely visible to the naked eye."

"Brave, truly brave!" The two beams of light in Don Quixote's eyes suddenly flared up, revealing his turbulent inner state. "Your strength is truly admirable!"

Although Hemingway's expression didn't reveal any inner turmoil, his hands trembling slightly from instinct and his subconsciously reduced breathing proved that he still had a normal sense of pain.

So it wasn't that he had supernatural abilities that helped him block out pain; Hemingway simply "withstood" it.

"Tsk, you aluminum can, you've been spouting weird stuff since earlier..."

The lance Hemingway was holding turned into quicksand and disappeared. But Hemingway didn't care; instead, he immediately assumed a fighting stance.

"Oh? Is there anything unclear about what I said or did?"

"Illogical sentences, meaningless use of awkward and uncommon transition words, and even inconsistent grammar in many places, all just to look cool?" Hemingway raised an eyebrow. "Are you a teenager?"

Don Quixote paused for a moment, then silently reached out and once again conjured a massive lance.

Hemingway watched Don Quixote's actions without fear, and even laughed: "Oh ho, getting angry?"

The next instant, his head was struck by the sweeping lance, which was swung faster than his eyes could perceive, leaving him with no way to defend himself.

Taking two steps back with the force of the impact, Hemingway did a sideways roll to dissipate the force. Despite being the injured party, Hemingway smiled and said, "You are indeed furious, so you know that's a fact, right?"

Someone with a mental disorder who possesses their own complete worldview should actually scoff at any mockery of that worldview. Because in their mind, the one who is wrong is definitely not themselves.

It's interesting that someone would get angry over such a simple sarcastic remark. Even if that anger is actually minimal...

"In the end, the so-called severe paranoia is just a guess based on your words and actions. But no psychologist has ever really talked to you, Mr. Cervantes."

"To think you can confuse me with nonsense is futile." Don Quixote's lance, though enormous, felt weightless in his hands.

“I’m not talking nonsense. To be honest, by the definition of paranoia, your behavior is perfectly normal.” Hemingway kept backing away to deflect the pressure, but his words didn’t stop. “Don Quixote’s behavior was abnormal, but it didn’t show any of the characteristics of a ‘mental illness’—you understand? It’s abnormal, but you don’t show any of the characteristics of an ‘illness’.”

That means that the so-called "Don Quixote" is not a manifestation of so-called delusions.

“It’s really unpleasant to hear this conclusion every time.” Don Quixote’s tone became normal, no longer with exaggerated theatricality and nonsensical language. “Do you know what happened to those guys who said that to me before?”

Hemingway didn't respond, and Don Quixote didn't seem inclined to explain further. However, Hemingway had previously read the relevant documents and knew the answer.

It is said that among those who captured Don Quixote, there were always one or two whose injuries were several times more severe than those of the others.

Don Quixote—Cervantes, clad in heavy armor, lunged forward, his lance swinging backward once more to build up momentum, while his left fist struck Hemingway once more.

But the punch missed.

Perhaps the anger that had been touched on a sore spot slightly clouded Don Quixote's judgment. This time, Hemingway dodged Don Quixote's straight punch by sidestepping it, and even used the momentum to jump up and grab Don Quixote's helmet.

Looking at the flashing lights inside the helmet that flickered with emotion, Hemingway grinned, revealing a sinister smile.

"Then let's guess what will happen this time..."

Hemingway strained his hands, and his head collided with Don Quixote's helmet. Along with the sound of skull shattering came a long, resonant echo, like the tolling of a bell.

For whom does the bell toll?