The black bullets scattered their lethality, their corrosive effect eating away at the giant wolves’ flesh. Though not as instantly fatal as the first shot, any hit spelled certain death. The white bullets, on the other hand, packed concentrated force, piercing clean through their targets—albeit at a slower rate.
The five wolves reeled from the sudden assault. Four were struck in the chaos, two dropping dead immediately. Only the scar-eyed wolf, lurking at the rear, managed to flee.
Xue Ji wasn’t about to let it report back. A flash of blue, and she vanished.
Her brief appearance went unnoticed by Zhao Cheng’s group, but the boy lying on the ground caught a glimpse of her snow-white hair—an image seared into his mind.
The next instant, blue light erupted in front of the fleeing scar-eyed wolf. There stood Xue Ji, fully armed, blocking its path.
No need for secrecy now. A silver gleam flashed as a pristine white longsword materialized in her hand.
The temperature plummeted, making even the wolf shiver. When its eyes landed on the blade, primal terror surged through it. The wolf heard—no, felt—the death wail of an unimaginably powerful kin.
This was no illusion.
The sword, Fenrir’s Last Howl, was forged from the fangs of the Frostfang Wolf King, a beast Xue Ji and her party had slain long ago. A peculiar weapon: its edge was mediocre (struggling to slice fire-lizard meat), yet it resonated intensely with magic—and now, spiritual energy.
But Fenrir’s lingering resentment had tainted its crafted arms, rendering them too hazardous for her comrades. They’d left them to Xue Ji as trophies.
What the scar-eyed wolf sensed was the primordial dread of Fenrir, the mythic winter wolf. Against such a relic, low-tier monsters like it stood no chance—a chasm of bloodline hierarchy.
Fear ignited the wolf’s survival instinct. It flopped onto its belly, wagging its tail and panting like a husky the size of a sedan.
Xue Ji spoke—not with sound, but spiritual energy. Heartvoice, her self-crafted spell, allowed seamless communication with intelligent non-humans.
“Answer my questions. No lies.”
“Awoo! (Nervous)”
“Think your replies. No barking.”
“Awoo~ (Dejected)”
…Was it upset about being silenced? A chatty wolf?
“Where’s your pack?”
“Central forest. By the lake.”
“Take me there.”
She mounted the wolf, which sprinted toward the lake with growing zeal. Secretly, it rejoiced—mocking the “stupid humans” it had ambushed and this “gullible” woman. Once surrounded by the pack, could she really take them all on?
The humiliation of being ridden morphed into visions of reward: delivering this tasty human to its alpha, aiding her breakthrough, and lazing around as a hero. Saliva dripped at the thought.
———
Meanwhile, Zhao Cheng’s group, saved by Xue Ji’s intervention, searched for their savior—only to find a military jeep nearby.
Rescue teams arrived shortly, assuming fellow instructors had intervened. But the leader froze at the sight of the four dead wolves.
“Who took these down?”
Baffled silence. To avoid traumatizing them, the leader brushed it off as a joke and pivoted:
“Why did you enter an unverified zone?”
Under his glare, Zhao Cheng admitted, “Our instructor, Gu Hong, vanished. We waited, but then heard howling. When smoke surrounded us, we panicked and ran.”
The leader’s face darkened. “Gu Hong, you said?”
After sending the group back for treatment, he stormed to his vehicle and grabbed a comms device.
“Gu Hong went missing mid-patrol. His tracker’s stationary. Launch a full sweep—something’s infiltrated.“
The response was immediate: “Reported to HQ. Search commences in one hour. Contingency activated.”
———
Unbeknownst to them, “Gu Hong” hung upside-down from a banyan tree, cloaked in shadows. His hypnotic eyes tracked the retreating vehicles, sharp fangs glinting as he chuckled—a predator eyeing prey.
A bat flitted past as wind stirred. Then, he was gone.
———
In the medical truck, a boy named Song Liangpeng writhed in agony. His skin had paled to corpse-like white, and beneath his collar, two puncture wounds oozed malice.
A craving took root in his mind. Visions of “Gu Hong’s” crimson eyes surfaced repeatedly, each wave dragging him deeper into delirium. Fear faded with his weakening breath; darkness swallowed him whole.
His heart soon stopped.
Yet in that void, he recalled her—the flash of snow-white hair—and clung to it. Medics resuscitated him, stabilizing his pulse.
Night had fallen. Dark creatures stirred.
But for now, the moon still ruled. Their time would come.