Chapter 21: First Hunt (II)
The two Shadow Wolves vanished simultaneously, their forms flickering like dying embers in the gloom.
Malrik’s pupils contracted, his world narrowing down to a single point. Fast. He didn’t think; he reacted, his body twisting on pure, primal instinct.
A razor-sharp claw whistled through the air, shearing through the space where his neck had been a heartbeat earlier. The sheer velocity of the swipe created a violent gust that left his skin stinging, but before he could even draw a breath, the second wolf lunged from his blind side.
"Damn it!"
He slammed the shaft of his spear sideways, the reinforced metal catching the beast in mid-air.
Clang!
The impact sent a numbing shock vibrating through his arms, forcing him back three staggered steps. They’re coordinating, he realized, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.
The first wolf blurred between the trees, a streak of midnight ink impossible to track. Malrik thrust blindly into the shadows, but his spear sliced through empty air. Too slow. A flash of crimson eyes erupted beside him, and claws raked across his shoulder armor.
Screech!
The metal screamed under the assault, a jagged tear appearing in the plating. Pain flared—a hot, white-knotted spike—but the armor held. If he had been a fraction of a second slower, his arm would have been left behind on the forest floor.
The assault was relentless, a suffocating rhythm of tooth and claw. Malrik retreated, desperately trying to keep the reach of his spear between them, but the Shadow Wolves were masters of distance, erasing his advantage at will.
A feint from the first wolf drew his spear out of position, and in that split second of over-extension, the second wolf was already behind him.
He ducked, feeling the wind of claws sweeping over his head, shearing off locks of his black hair.
Calm down. Panicking is a death sentence.
He inhaled sharply, forcing his frantic heart rate to settle. He stopped chasing their blurring forms with his eyes and began watching their anatomy. The way their shoulders tensed, the subtle shift in their legs, the coiled spring of their muscles. They had to drop their center of gravity to leap. And once they were committed to the air... they were helpless.
Malrik saw his chance. He loosened his grip, his stance opening just enough to look vulnerable, a jagged crack in his defense. The wolf on the right took the bait, exploding forward like a black arrow.
Now.
Malrik planted his foot, stepping into the strike rather than away from it. His spear shot out, a silver streak cutting through the gloom. The wolf tried to veer, but it was too late. Thrust! The steel pierced the beast’s shoulder. It wasn’t a kill shot, but it was enough to trigger a furious, piercing howl that tore through the silence of the forest.
Malrik’s face paled. No. He glanced toward the dark maw of the cave. Silence, for now—but that howl was a dinner bell, and the rest of the pack would be arriving soon.
"I don’t have time for this," he hissed.
The wounded wolf ripped itself free, spraying hot blood across the dead leaves. It was enraged now, its eyes burning with a murderous, crimson ferocity. The second wolf moved in to cover its companion, their assault doubling in speed and malice. Malrik gritted his teeth, his arms burning, his vision swimming with exhaustion. If another one arrives, I’m dead.
The wounded wolf lunged again, teeth bared. Malrik didn’t move. He counted the heartbeats. One. Two. Three—
The beast leaped, fully extended in mid-air. No footing. No way to change direction. Malrik pivoted his waist, channeling every ounce of his remaining strength into a single, fluid rotation.
BOOM!
The spear tip punched through the wolf’s open maw and burst out the back of its skull, the beast’s own momentum driving it onto the blade. It collapsed at Malrik’s feet, a limp, lifeless weight.
[Ding.]
A translucent message pulsed in his peripheral vision, but Malrik ignored it. His eyes never left the second wolf.
It was already charging.
The second Shadow Wolf didn’t wait. The moment its companion hit the dirt, it surged forward—a blur of black fur and pure, unadulterated rage.
Malrik barely had time to rip his spear from the fallen carcass before the beast was upon him. Clang! The force of the swipe rattled his teeth and sent a jarring numbness shooting through his arms. He stumbled backward, his boots carving deep, desperate furrows into the soft forest soil.
He was trapped in a relentless rhythm. One slash, then another—a flurry of claws that sliced through the air with terrifying precision. Malrik became a wall of desperate defense; he blocked, deflected, and redirected, but he was losing ground. Every exchange sapped his strength, and his breath turned into a jagged, ragged rasp. At this rate, he thought, his heart drumming against his ribs like a trapped bird, I’ll collapse before it even gets tired.
Then, the wolf vanished.
Malrik didn’t need eyes to know what was coming; his instincts, honed by years of anticipation, screamed a warning. Above! He lunged forward, throwing his weight into a reckless roll just as the wolf’s claws pulverized the stone where he’d stood a heartbeat before. Boom. Fragments of rock stung his back, but he didn’t stop, forcing himself to his feet even as his lungs burned for air.
"You’re faster," he wheezed, wiping a streak of sweat and dirt from his brow, "but you’re not smarter."
The wolf didn’t charge this time. It circled him, its crimson eyes narrowing into slits of predatory patience. Malrik mirrored its movement, his feet light on the mossy floor, his breathing slowly finding a steady cadence. It was just the two of them now. No coordination, no baiting—just a duel. A faint, grim smile ghosted across his lips. "I only need one chance."
When the beast lunged, Malrik thrust his spear. The wolf twisted aside, effortless and graceful, just as it had done a dozen times before. But this time, the spear was a lie. Malrik loosened his grip, letting the shaft slide through his palm. The reach extended, a sudden, lethal increase in distance that caught the beast off guard. The steel grazed the wolf’s ribs, drawing a thin line of crimson.
The beast recoiled, hissing. It finally knew fear.
The tide of the battle shifted. The wolf hesitated, its movements marred by doubt, and Malrik’s confidence surged to fill the void. His footwork became a dance of precision, his strikes sharper, more deliberate. When the wolf finally launched a desperate, blurring charge, Malrik didn’t bother tracking the motion with his eyes. He closed them.
Listen. The rustle of dead leaves. The shift of air pressure. There.
He pivoted in a wide, fluid arc. The edge of his spear ripped through the beast’s leg, and as it stumbled, Malrik drove his entire weight into the final thrust. The steel bit deep, piercing through the throat. The wolf let out a strangled, bubbling growl, shuddered, and then—silence.
Malrik remained motionless, his chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly drained from his limbs. He didn’t dare relax, his gaze darting toward the dark, jagged maw of the cave. Ten long seconds passed. Twenty. Nothing emerged. Only then did his shoulders slump as he exhaled, his legs threatening to give out beneath him.
"Guess... I got lucky," he muttered, his voice barely audible in the sudden stillness of the forest.
Ding.
The chime echoed in his mind, sharp and sterile, followed by the soft glow of system messages:
[You killed a Lv.5 Shadow Wolf.] ×2
[Level Up.] ×2
A sudden, warm current rippled through his veins, acting like an invisible balm. His raw, aching muscles eased, the fire in his shoulder cooled, and the fog of exhaustion began to lift. He clenched his fist, feeling the hum of new power vibrating under his skin.
So this is what a Level Up feels like.
Before he could savor the sensation, two more lines scrolled across his vision:
[Raiseable Soul Detected.] ×2
Malrik froze. He looked at the mangled corpses, the remnants of his struggle. Slowly, the exhaustion melted away, replaced by a cold, predatory focus. The corners of his lips curled upward, then widened into a smile—not one of relief, but of something far more sinister.
"So," he whispered, tightening his grip on the spear, his voice low and hungry. "This is how it begins. The first soldiers of my army."
He raised his free hand, watching as tendrils of green dark mana began to coil around his fingertips like liquid smoke. "Rise."
_________
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