Chapter 103: Summoning the Durro Beast

“Boom!” A blast echoed through the air, and the orb armor shattered into countless fragments from afar. Afterward, like the other Imperial Demon Digimon before it, it dissolved directly into data—some of which enhanced One Beast, while the rest transformed into a stone.

One Beast muttered softly, “Finally, that true Daruo Beast is dealt with.”

Actually, this true Daruo Beast wasn’t too difficult to fight, but the key was its orb armor’s formidable defense. It was fortunate that this true Daruo Beast’s overall combat power was only 1,500 points, and that One Beast was still in the mature stage. If either of those variables had changed, the situation would have been entirely different.

For example, if One Beast were at its perfect form now, no matter how high the orb armor’s defense, a single punch from him could obliterate heaven and earth. Conversely, if One Beast was still in the mature stage but the true Daruo Beast had reached its full perfect form combat power, no matter how strong its attacks or how well it found the weak spots, it simply couldn’t pierce through his defense.

Whether it was attack or defense, beyond the strength of skills, the power of the equipped items and the fundamental overall combat power had to be considered.

It was like comparing a golden time-digital alloy hammer to a layer of time-digital metal coating. The former had greater strength than the latter, but if the latter’s overall combat power far surpassed the former’s, even standing still, the former wouldn’t be able to break through.

After defeating the true Daruo Beast, One Beast’s spirit was somewhat exhausted. However, thinking about the two perfect form Digimon still waiting at the end, and knowing that once those two were defeated, his mission would be accomplished, he felt a renewed determination.

According to the official update, completing the Twelve Imperial Demons dungeon would grant a special reward. Though the official didn’t specify what this reward was, it was unlikely to be something worthless.

After all, if the reward were low-grade, not only would it tarnish their reputation, but it would also embarrass the officials publicly.

Next to the true Daruo Beast’s chamber was the room for the Chaoduro Beast.

The Chaoduro Beast was a holy beast-type data species, a perfect form Digimon, with the ultimate move [Feeding the Dog]. It was one of the Twelve Imperial Demons, representing the “Dog” in the Chinese zodiac. It also served under the White Tiger Beast, one of the Four Holy Beasts, and was known for its strong sense of justice, refusing to rest until every matter’s right and wrong was clear.

When One Beast entered the Chaoduro Beast’s room, he found himself surrounded by a picturesque scene. Not far away was a small grove, and where he stood was a vast sea of flowers. Around this floral expanse flowed a small creek from west to east. The Chaoduro Beast sat by the creek’s edge.

Gazing at the Chaoduro Beast’s back, One Beast fell silent, realizing he had once again fallen into a cutscene. He understood that to confront this Chaoduro Beast, brute force alone wouldn’t suffice.

Such was the lament of the game—if the developers designed a Digimon to be defeated only by a specific method, no matter how hard others tried, it couldn’t be overcome otherwise.

In reality, even if Chaoduro Beast was stronger, if it turned its back on One Beast without any guard, One Beast would teach it a lesson on how to behave. Or rather, how to behave as a beast.

[Chaoduro Beast’s Room Rule: While inside the room, Chaoduro Beast is invincible. The only way to defeat it is by correctly answering three questions posed by Chaoduro Beast.]

“Answer questions...” One Beast murmured. Clearly, this stage was a battle of wits.

Though he couldn’t guarantee victory, having lived as a Digimon for who knew how long, his knowledge far surpassed that of ordinary beings.

If the developers wanted players to pass this stage, they wouldn’t have made it impossibly difficult. Otherwise, if no one could clear the game’s final stages, they’d face a collective outcry.

With these thoughts, once the cutscene ended, One Beast approached Chaoduro Beast.

“The first question: If your wife and your mother fell into a river, who would you save first?” Chaoduro Beast asked, its back still turned as One Beast took a step forward. The question struck him like time had frozen, rooting him to the spot.

One Beast suddenly realized he had underestimated the game’s designers. This question was laden with their subtle malice. It was an age-old dilemma—whichever choice he made would be wrong, yet ignoring either was impossible.

“If it were me, I’d choose to save neither,” One Beast finally said, placing one foot firmly on the ground as he stared at Chaoduro Beast’s back.

“Why?” Chaoduro Beast inquired.

“One person falling into a river is actually quite unlikely,” One Beast explained. “You have to be near the riverbank for that chance to exist. Even then, it’s not guaranteed you’ll fall in. Otherwise, all riversides would be forbidden zones.”

“The chance of one person falling in is already small, let alone two people at once. And what are the odds that those two happen to be my wife and my mother?”

“This world is no stranger to coincidences, but when something is too coincidental, it ceases to be coincidence and becomes intentional. Since they did this on purpose, as a son and a husband, it’s not really my place to interfere with their choice,” One Beast responded.

Chaoduro Beast pressed on, “But what if they fell in to see which one you care about more?”

One Beast replied calmly, “If they can’t tell whether I care more for them personally and resort to such a test, then I respect their decision.”

Chaoduro Beast retorted, “You would be condemned by thousands.”

One Beast answered, “That’s their choice. All I can do is respect it. If they don’t need me to choose, then I don’t have to choose.”

What he implied was that if these two women could disregard his feelings and stage such a scenario, why should he, a mere man, care about theirs? They were all equal beings—there was no hierarchy in compassion.

“The second question...”