After devouring the silver wolf, Lin Feng paused, tongue flicking as he sampled the lingering mix of blood, fur, and venom in the air.
He scanned the surroundings carefully.
Then he saw them—three wolf-like figures emerging from the thick underbrush, moving steadily in his direction.
Lin Feng's pupils narrowed to slits.
"I knew it… there are more wolves in this area."
A wry thought crossed his mind. "Good thing I didn't let the first one use its skill. If it had howled for help, I'd already be surrounded and torn apart."
He quickly assessed himself: Level 5, fresh from a hard fight, stamina still recovering.
"But right now… three at once? No chance. Better to leave while I can."
Without hesitation, he slipped away through the dense foliage, keeping low and silent until the approaching wolves were well out of sight and scent range.
Moments later, the three wolves reached the clearing.
They circled the grim remains of their packmate. Shattered bones lay scattered across the moss, silver fur matted and torn. One wolf lowered its head, sniffing deeply.
The scent of their fallen companion was strong… but layered with something else.
Something strange.
Metallic.
Almost ancient.
The lead wolf—a larger gray specimen—lifted its muzzle and let out a long, mournful howl that rolled through the trees like a warning.
Deep in the dense forest, far from the clearing, an answer came.
A much heavier, deeper howl echoed back from the shadows—low, rumbling, authoritative. It carried the weight of command.
The three wolves immediately lowered their heads and tails in submission, ears flattening.
Somewhere in the hidden den, surrounded by thick roots and shadowed stone, the pack leader stirred.
Red eyes gleamed in the dim light.
A thick scar ran diagonally across one eye.
He did not move yet.
But the scent on the wind had reached him.
And the hunt—quiet, patient, inevitable—had begun.