The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 63: Bring me their head

Then—an idea hit her.

A crazy one.

An absolutely ridiculous, probably-going-to-get-her-killed one.

But it was all she had.

Because if there was one thing Isabella was good at—

It was dancing.

She had been a celebrity.

And celebrities? They trained in everything.

Acting. Singing. Modeling. And yes—dancing.

In her past life, dancing had always been the one thing that made everything easier. It made her feel lighter. Quicker. Unstoppable.

Could it work here?

Only one way to find out.

She exhaled sharply.

Then—she moved.

Her body fell into rhythm, her feet shifting like she was on a stage, dodging with the fluid grace of years of practice.

Step. Pivot. Turn.

The giant swung again.

She spun away.

Another attack—she dipped under it, twisting effortlessly.

The world around her blurred.

It was like a performance.

But this time, instead of flashing cameras and screaming fans—

It was life or death.

"Oh my God, it’s working." Her voice trembled as she leaped back, barely missing a devastating punch. "I am literally dancing for my life."

The giant let out a furious growl, swinging harder, faster.

Isabella twisted, ducked, spun—a perfect dodge every time.

It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

And it was exhausting.

Her legs burned. Her lungs screamed.

She couldn’t keep this up forever.

She needed to attack.

But how? She still wasn’t used to her fan.

She risked a glance at it.

Five buttons.

One chance.

"Alright, fan," she muttered. "Don’t fail me now."

She pressed the first button.

A sharp gust of wind shot forward.

Not much—but enough.

The giant flinched.

Her eyes widened.

That was it.

That was her moment.

With every ounce of strength she had left, she twisted one last time—

And sliced.

A sharp, clean arc through the air.

The blade of wind hit.

For one terrifying second, nothing happened.

Then—

The giant split in two.

His body fell apart, cleanly sliced, crashing to the ground.

Silence.

Isabella stood there, panting, drenched in sweat.

Her heart was trying to escape her chest.

Her legs? Officially jelly.

She stared at the corpse.

Then at her fan.

Then back at the corpse.

"...Did I just—?"

She sucked in a breath.

Then—she let out a loud, shaky laugh.

She pointed at the system notification. "DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU FREAKING SEE THAT? I JUST DANCED MY WAY TO VICTORY."

Silence.

She collapsed onto the ground, chest heaving.

"I’m never dancing again," she wheezed. "Ever."

Ding!

[Task complete. +1500 points earned]

"...Oh, now you wanna talk to me."

Ding!

[+3 Survival Rate Points]

[+3 Stamina Points]

[+2 Strength Points]

[+20 Agility Points]

[+10 Combat Points]

[+6 Defense Points]

[+1 Intelligence]

[+3 Survival Instincts]

[+5 Combat (Weapons) Skills]

Isabella, still sprawled on the ground, gasping like a fish out of water, lifted a shaking hand and squinted at the glowing blue screen hovering in front of her face.

"...Are you telling me that I almost died and all I get is a +1 in intelligence?!"

She threw her head back and groaned.

"Excuse me? I dodged a walking mountain of death while pulling off a full-on choreography routine, and I get +1?" She pointed at the screen accusingly. "This should be a +10 minimum!"

The system, as always, ignored her.

She gritted her teeth and dragged herself upright, wobbling like a newborn deer. Her legs? Absolutely gone. Her lungs? Burning.

But at least she was alive.

Barely.

She glanced at her stats again, her eyes scanning the ridiculous numbers. "Okay, okay... Agility shot up, combat points increased, and I can actually use weapons now?"

Her fingers flexed around the fan.

A new sensation tingled at the edge of her awareness. It wasn’t quite strength, wasn’t quite skill—but knowledge.

Like her body knew things her mind hadn’t caught up with yet.

"...Huh."

She snapped the fan open, testing its weight, and to her shock, it felt... natural.

Like she’d been training with it for years.

She grinned. "Alright. I’m officially cool now."

Then, her legs gave out, and she face-planted into the dirt.

She sprawled there, unmoving.

"...Okay. Maybe not."

She rolled onto her back, staring up at the sky.

The reality of what just happened finally settled in.

She had actually fought.

Actually killed.

And lived.

Somehow.

Her hands trembled. Not from fear. Not entirely.

But from exhilaration.

Because for the first time since she arrived in this world—

She felt like she had...power.

The small animal let out another soft whimper.

Isabella tilted her head slightly, her gaze landing on the tiny, fluffy, glowing creature still huddled behind the invisible barrier.

"...Right." She exhaled, long and slow. "You’re still trapped."

Her body? Done. Completely out of service.

Her limbs felt like overcooked noodles.

Her muscles were screaming in protest.

Her soul had already left for vacation.

So instead of moving, she stared up at the sky.

She was too damn tired.

"Give me... like, five minutes," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe ten. Or an hour. Or a whole damn day."

She heard the little creature shuffle. A tiny, pitiful whine.

Her eye twitched. "Don’t guilt-trip me, okay? I just fought for my life."

The creature whimpered again.

Isabella groaned.

This thing better be a divine beast or something. If she risked her life for a basic house pet, she was going to scream.

(It did not look basic though)

MEANWHILE...

The night was thick with shadows, the sky smothered in clouds, and the only light came from the flickering flames of torches mounted along the jagged stone walls.

The city smelled of blood, sweat, and damp earth, a place ruled by strength and fear.

Inside a large, open-air hall, where the walls were carved from stone and decorated with the bones of fallen enemies, a man knelt before a massive throne made of rough-hewn rock and animal hides.

His body trembled. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Before him sat the City Master.

A beast of a man.

Tall. Muscular. Covered in scars. His long, matted hair hung over his sharp yellow eyes, which gleamed like a predator in the firelight. He wasn’t draped in fine robes or jewels—he didn’t need them.

The skulls strung around his neck were decoration enough. His power wasn’t something to be seen—it was something felt.

The kneeling man hesitated, his fingers digging into the dirt floor. He did not want to speak.

He knew what would happen the moment the words left his mouth. But silence was worse. Cowards were torn apart.

So, he forced the words out.

"M-my lord... The warrior... The one sent to retrieve the **magical beast... he... he was killed."

The hall went silent.

The air grew thick.

Even the crackling fire seemed to dim.

The City Master did not move. Not at first. He sat still, like a beast ready to pounce.

Then, slowly, he leaned forward. "When."

His voice was deep. Unforgiving.

The man swallowed hard. "I-it happened tonight... deep in the mountains..."

The City Master’s fingers tightened against the armrest of his throne. The stone beneath his grip cracked.

"Who."

"We... w-we don’t know."

A sharp crunch.

The stone shattered in his grip.

A thick, unbearable pressure filled the hall, pressing down on the kneeling man’s chest like an iron weight. His lungs seized. His vision blurred. His body screamed at him to run.

But where? There was no running. No escaping.

He had already signed his death.

The City Master stood. His presence was overwhelming. A living storm.

With one swift motion, he grabbed the man by the neck. Lifted him effortlessly into the air. The poor fool didn’t even have time to scream.

A sickening crack echoed through the hall.

The lifeless body hit the ground.

Blood seeped into the dirt.

No one reacted. No one dared.

The City Master rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly.

Then, without turning, he barked out a command:

"Gather my warriors." His voice was low, controlled, but deadly.

A group of beastmen, their bodies covered in tribal markings, immediately rushed forward and knelt.

"You will go to the mountain."

They nodded.

"You will find the beast."

They slammed their fists against their chests.

"And if you find the one who killed our warrior?"

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face.

"Bring me their head."