Chapter 126: Patience
Soren did not dare to get too close.
The Predators had the ability to countertrack, and the Werewolves had a keen sense of smell; if he got too close, they would be able to detect the scent of a living person. At this moment, Soren was completely shrouded in shadows, leaving no trace of his presence. He moved only within the shadows, never exposing himself in areas without cover.
The distance gradually narrowed.
Soren progressed very slowly, almost making no sound as he walked. There was a gray wild rabbit beside the grass, and it remained oblivious even when Soren passed within a meter of it, continuing to nibble at whatever it was eating. Ahead, traces of a campfire could be seen; it seemed the Predators had spent the night there. Nearby lay the carcasses of skinned beasts—presumably, they had hunted and roasted a wild boar the night before, with half of the boar’s head still uneaten.
A Half-bl**d Orc appeared ahead, gazing fiercely at the foot of the mountain, rubbing its battle axe in its hands.
“%*&*（#……%*（……”
A series of sounds overwhelmed Soren’s comprehension, seemingly a dialect of the Half-bl**d Orcs, laced with remnants of pure Orcish. This language was unintelligible without prior study, and he could only infer meanings from their expressions and gestures. The Half-bl**d Orc appeared to be quite angry, continuously pointing down towards the mountain as if wanting to launch an attack.
The number of Predators had significantly decreased!
Soren spotted the pitch-black High-level Werewolf, which had an additional sword scar on its face, coldly watching the Half-bl**d Orc.
It seemed they had not completed their hunt.
“Something must have happened!” Soren advanced along the shadows, creeping around two hundred meters towards the foot of the mountain, his expression gradually becoming grave. The vegetation on the ground appeared overly vibrant.
He reached for a vine and murmured, “What is this? Binding Spell? No, it doesn’t seem to be just a simple spell effect!”
The power of spells wouldn’t last this long.
Everything in front of him had clearly persisted for two or three days; these plants were teeming with life for some reason.
“Druid?”
Soren inched closer, discovering that the foot of the mountain had transformed into a sea of plants. Green vines were everywhere, as if they had come to life, swaying gently in the wind. Unnatural traces of movement could be observed. The thriving plants formed a barrier, blocking off countless vulnerabilities; in certain areas, fresh bl**d was evident, and thorns from the vines had pierced living creatures, sustaining their existence with their bl**d. However, there were also signs of wilting near the edges.
“Is this animated vegetation? Or is it altered by Divine Power?”
Soren slowly unsheathed his curved blade, reluctant to approach the extremely vibrant vines, as such things were undeniably troublesome; a stroke of bad luck could see even a Legendary Wanderer ensnared within. Just a glance at the corpses caught in those vines sufficed to tell; they were definitely the bodies of high-level Predators, at least six of them having perished there, all professions of level 15 or above. It seemed they had attempted fire attacks, but these supernatural vines showed no fear of flames.
Soren saw the Elven Guardians, their numbers had dwindled significantly; only three remained standing, while four or five lay on the ground, their fates uncertain, likely dead. The initially handsome Elven Noble was still there, but he looked utterly disheveled, with three claw marks on his face and his brow split open, his countenance distorted with rage. Judging by the wounds, it appeared he had barely escaped being attacked at the temple.
“It doesn’t seem like a burst of Divine Power? Could it be due to some Legendary Item?”
Soren stared at the distant Elven Noble, his expression revealing a hint of despair. Having been trapped here for nearly three days and losing most of his guardians, those remaining were mostly injured. They were clearly cornered by the Predators, relying solely on the vines to hold out this long.
Time slowly passed.
The despair on the Elven Noble’s face became increasingly evident. A guardian whispered something in his ear; however, it was too far for Soren to hear clearly.
These vines could not exist forever.
If no one came to rescue them, they would surely perish at the hands of the Predators!
The sky grew darker.
Soren quietly dropped to the ground from a tree trunk and slowly advanced along the shadows; the patience of a Wanderer was profound. Soren’s patience was even greater. He did not rush to attack and made no movements that would reveal his presence, behaving like an observer, constantly watching the movements of the group at the foot of the mountain, maintaining a distance of about one to two hundred meters. Despite the ongoing disputes among the Predators, their vigilance never waned. Soren was confident he could strike with a fatal blow, but was uncertain if he could retreat afterward.
He also did not approach the elves.
Firstly, Soren had no way to help them escape, and secondly, they might not believe him; he was not enthusiastic enough to risk his life to aid someone completely unrelated to him. There were still twelve Predators, half of whom were around profession level 12, while the other half were all high-level professionists above level 15. The Half-bl**d Orcs made up half of their number; although the High-level Werewolf was powerful, its say seemed diminished.
The Predators were roasting meat, having sent someone to hunt a goat.
Someone cautiously approached the vines, but upon seeing the thrashing thorns, immediately retreated, their expression clearly fearful.
Soren sat on a tree, gazing at the distant campfire, then turned to the shadows at the foot of the mountain, pulling out a piece of jerky to chew on. At this moment, it was a battle of patience; the most crucial aspect of the hunt was patience.
Night fell.
The Predators hardly slept, sitting silently around the campfire, their morale dampened and anger rising from the repeated failures that had interrupted their ritual.
The Half-bl**d Orc was picking its teeth with a dagger, glaring furiously at the back.
Soren heard faint sounds coming from the vines; however, before he could act, the pitch-black High-level Werewolf revealed a sinister grin, stealthily making its way closer in the darkness. The other Predators had grotesque expressions; they exchanged glances but made no moves, instead raising their voices slightly.
An Elven Guardian crept out.
The vines seemed to be under control, not attacking him as he left their range. He stealthily moved outward, appearing to have taken on some Ranger skills. Those inside the vines were visibly on edge, while Soren’s dark vision took effect; the night was not much different from day for him. The Shadow was quite suited for nocturnal activities.
Suddenly!
Just when the Elven Guardian thought he had escaped and was trying to pick up speed to relay a warning, a shadow lunged from the bushes, accompanied by a flash of cold light; the claws pierced directly into the Elven Guardian’s abdomen. The Werewolf seized him by the neck, lifting him directly off the ground, and as the claws withdrew from his right arm, bl**d and entrails poured out. A shrill scream erupted. An eerie silence fell over the vines, followed by an angry roar from someone.
The Werewolf sneered as it lifted the Elven Guardian, making its way towards the campfire.
Two strong Half-bl**d Orcs rose, fiercely exchanging glances before showing cruel smiles. They directly skewered the still-breathing Elven Guardian with a wooden stick and placed him over the campfire to roast!
The most pitiful wails filled the air.
The Elven Noble within the vines turned as pale as a sheet. The remaining Elven Guardians also appeared utterly colorless.
Soren set down the jerky.
He suddenly found he had no appetite, silently putting away his rations. The faint sounds of agony continued intermittently; he gripped his curved blade and froze in place, looking up at the sky.
It was still early.
The moments before dawn were when people were at their most relaxed; even high-level professionists would feel a bit of fatigue during this time.
The screams from the campfire grew increasingly faint.
Soren expressionlessly observed that direction, his grip on the curved blade turning somewhat pale from exertion.
The air was filled with the scent of meat.
However, as this aroma wafted outward, the Elven Noble suddenly heaved, vomiting uncontrollably with tears and mucus spilling forth. He looked incredibly disheveled. The Predators erupted into derisive laughter. A Half-bl**d Orc seized the mangled corpse, ripped off a leg, and tossed it into the vines, loudly proclaiming something that seemed to suggest it was well-cooked and ready to eat.
One Elven Guardian appeared to go insane, attempting to rush out, but was restrained by another.
Going out would also mean d*ath!
The Elven Noble was thoroughly collapsed on the ground, displaying a somewhat deranged expression, as the roasted leg lay right before him.
As a member of the noble class, he had likely never experienced such a thing.
This was the harsh reality of wilderness survival!
Soren remained very silent, his figure leaving no trace in the darkness. He kept a close eye on the campfire, occasionally glancing at the sky.
It was almost dawn.
The Elven Guardians inside the vines were nearing collapse; the Predators’ methods were unbearable for these pampered individuals.
Some Half-bl**d Orcs were sleeping, but others remained vigilant.
In the night.
The High-level Werewolf’s green eyes were fixated on the movements nearby, but as time passed, it slowly closed its eyes; they had been here for nearly three days now— it needed some rest. The power of the spell was waning, and they noticed that some of the vines had begun to wilt; it wouldn’t be long before those damned vines disappeared.
Soren silently observed from his position.
Although the High-level Werewolf had closed its eyes, its posture on the ground remained alert, ready to spring into action at any moment.
It had not fallen asleep; it was merely pretending to doze.
Time ticked on.
A battle-type Half-bl**d Orc had begun to snore, and the vigilant Predators looked slightly fatigued; the Werewolf’s posture also tilted slightly.
On Soren’s face, which had remained expressionless, a trace of emotion finally emerged; he squinted slightly, drawing out his curved blade, and slowly approached in a wide arc.
Little by little, he edged closer.
………………(To be continued ~^~)
