NOVEL NEXT Chapter 71: Bait
The fight between the boss and the alpha was on the verge of beginning, and tension quietly spread through the pack.
The first to pick up on the shift were the three white wolves.
They were stretched out across the ground, their postures calm yet calculated.
Even though their bodies were nearly identical in size, there was no mistaking the difference in authority between them.
At the center sat the strongest among them, a white wolf with a deep scar carved across his forehead, the mark giving away both experience and power.
His presence kept the air around him heavy, while the two at his sides, though not weak, clearly stood a tier below.
They carried strength, but it wasn't the same commanding weight that radiated from the scarred one.
Stationed just behind that trio were the rest of the remaining pack, five gray wolves spread, their heads low but their eyes watchful.
They held their ground, waiting to see how things would unfold.
One of the gray wolves that had laid a little too far from the group, nearly disappearing into the trees at the edge of the forest, suddenly froze when its nose caught a strange scent that only he could smell.
The smell was faint due to it being quite far back, but it was way too tempting for him to ignore.
Saliva dripped from his mouth almost immediately, and he started dragging its tongue across its snout, unable to resist the hunger that smell stirred up.
He stood up and followed the scent.
The noise of branches and bushes shifting caught the attention of the other wolves laying in the area.
Their ears twitched, heads snapping toward the source.
It didn't take them long to notice what the first one had found after following him.
One by one, they lifted their noses, caught the same scent in the air, and quickly understood what was happening.
The smell was food — something that pulled at their instincts far more than keeping watch.
With their focus shattered, the gray wolves abandoned the sight of the three white wolves without hesitation.
The pack hierarchy, the looming fight, the three white wolves— all of it meant nothing in comparison to the immediate promise of, probably the most delicious, food.
Step after step, they crept toward the scent, tails low but their pace eager, too caught up in scent to think about anything else.
It didn't take long before they reached the source of that irresistible aroma.
There, hanging absurdly from the side of a tree trunk, was an opened can of century tuna.
The metallic glint of the can caught their eyes, while the oily, salty smell rolled across the clearing and made their jaws ache to bite down.
It was bait, but none of them had the sense to question it.
To them, this was treasure, laid out in the middle of nowhere, and they were too focused on the taste to realize just how strange the entire setup was.
The wolves locked eyes with one another, their instincts making it clear that there would be no sharing.
That single can was worth tearing each other apart for, and not one of them had the patience to back down.
Desire outweighed caution, and in the same instant, all five of them lunged forward, claws stretched and jaws snapping, ready to rip and tear their way to the prize.
But, they never reached it.
What stopped them, was a single, merciless strike sweeping across their charge, and in that heartbeat, the sound of slicing flesh and splintering bone filled the place.
Every front limb they had was severed in one motion, paws and forearms falling uselessly onto the dirt.
Blood sprayed out in wide arcs, painting the ground beneath them red as their bodies collapsed with violent thuds.
The wolves thrashed, their snarls breaking into panicked whimpers as they scrambled in shock, unable to process how fast the tables had turned.
Their eyes darted frantically, searching the trees, trying to find the source of the attack.
The fear in their movements was obvious, but one of them still gathered what little courage it had left and tilted its head back, lungs tightening as it prepared to howl for help.
But alas, the sound never came.
A blade carved straight through its body in a diagonal slash that split it clean in two.
From shoulder to stomach, flesh and muscle were ripped apart, organs spilling across the forest ground in a steaming mess.
The head was hacked into pieces immediately after, struck again and again until it no longer resembled anything alive, only a pulped mass that smeared the dirt.
The remaining wolves stared in disbelief, their gazes dragging toward the twitching corpse of their fallen companion.
Their ears pinned back, their bodies trembling, then, they finally saw him.
The figure who had stepped out from the shadows of the trees, his presence cold and unrelenting, his weapon already dripping with the blood of the first kill.
The night still worked in his favor, its darkness clinging to him until the moment he chose to step forward.
Hidden in the shadows, he had been nothing more than a rumor between the trees, but once he moved out into the open, the faint silver light of the moon finally revealed him.
The sight wasn't spectacular, but it was cool enough to get the wolves staring.
His appearance was simple yet unsettling.
The matte black helmet kept his face concealed, the visor pulled down so not even the faintest glimmer of an expression could be seen.
The rest of him followed the same pattern: black clothes that left no skin exposed, gloves that tightened around the hilt of his blade, and boots planted firmly in the blood-soaked dirt.
The weapon in his hands caught the moonlight and reflected it across the trunks around him, the shine making the forest seem colder.
For a moment, he stood there silently, not moving, letting the wolves remain caught in their own confusion.
Then, without warning, a muffled scoff slipped out, the sound carrying enough arrogance to make it sting.
His voice followed right after, dripping with sarcasm and smugness, as if he had been waiting all this time just to drop a line that would annoy anyone listening.
"Did you really think I'd give you guys my treasure?" Lanz asked, his words mocking, his stance exaggerated in a way that made it clear he was posing just to make the scene look cooler than it actually was.
[EXP +7]
He tilted his head slightly, blade still glinting, and added with a smirk hidden beneath the visor, "Over my dead body."
End of Chapter 71..
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ALT SYSTEM — USER PROFILE: ZERO
Level: 15
EXP: 95 / 150
Next Reward: Quick Sever
Global System Tracking: DISABLED
World Rank Association: UNLINKED
Stats:
STR: 20 | AGI: 10 (Affinity) | VIT: 5 | DEX: 5 | INT: 17 | WIS: 5
[Available Stat Points: 0]
[Derived Stat — MANA: 85 / 90]
Skills:
[Crimson Slash Lv. 1]
[Phantom Stride Lv. 2]
[Instinctive Blade Lv.1]
[Predictive Guard Lv.1]
[Skill Fusion Menu: Active]
[Dev Tree: Tier 0 Access Granted]
[Developer Node – Fusion Core Anchor: Active]
[Skill Slot Available — Unassigned]
Equipment:
Aged Blade Fragment (??? Rarity) (Bound)
Training Ring (+1 VIT)
Bag :)
Ring of Genorya - ???