touchnovel Chapter 9 Hunting
Chapter 9 Hunting
In the next cycle, Scáthach appeared at the training room door as promised.
She wasn't wearing her usual tight-fitting combat outfit.
Instead, she changed into a lighter set of dark leather armor, and her long, deep purple hair was tied into a high ponytail, revealing her slender neck and delicate collarbone.
The scarlet spear was slung diagonally behind him, its tip gleaming coldly in the grayish-white light.
"Let's go," she said, turning and walking out of the castle.
Arthur followed behind her, passing through a series of stone gates, and finally walked out of the castle gate.
This was the first time Arthur had seen the outside of the castle since he began his training in the Land of Shadows.
The wasteland, an endless, gray-black wasteland.
The ground resembled scorched and frozen rocks, covered with cracks of varying depths.
Occasionally, a dark red light can be seen flowing through the cracks.
That is the pulse of magic, and the "blood" of this land.
In the distance, there are rolling hills, devoid of any vegetation, only black rocks and grayish-white mist.
In the sky, deep purple clouds rolled slowly, like the breathing of some enormous creature.
A cold, metallic smell filled the air—the smell of death.
"This is the wilderness of the Land of Shadows." Scáthach stood beside him, her wine-red eyes gazing into the distance.
"My castle is safe, but beyond the city gates lies the hunting grounds."
"The hunting grounds?" Arthur asked.
"You are both the prey and the hunter." Scáthach turned her head to look at him:
"The monsters and undead here will attack all living things."
"If you kill them, you become stronger. If you are killed by them, you stay here forever."
She paused, a slight smile playing on her lips.
"Of course, I won't let you die, but injury is inevitable."
Arthur gripped the sword in the stone tightly, his emerald eyes showing no fear, only a calm determination.
"I'm ready."
Scáthach nodded and walked deeper into the wasteland.
Arthur followed closely behind.
After walking for about fifteen minutes, they arrived at a relatively open area.
The fog here is thicker; the grayish-white fog seems to rise from the ground and flows slowly at knee height.
"Watch out." Scáthach suddenly stopped, her wine-red eyes narrowing. "They're here."
Before Arthur could react, a dark figure suddenly darted out of the fog.
The thing was incredibly fast, like an arrow shot from a bow, hurtling straight at his face.
Arthur dodged to the side while simultaneously swinging his sword to block.
The blade collided with something, producing a dull thud.
The creature was repelled and landed on the ground not far away, hissing as it did so.
That was a wolf, no, it wasn't a wolf.
It was a size larger than a wolf, with gray-black fur, empty white eyes, and dark red liquid dripping from the corner of its mouth.
The strangest thing is that some parts of its body are transparent, and Arthur can see the mist behind it through its side.
"Shadow Wolf." Scáthach stood aside, showing no intention of intervening.
"A type of monster. It was a wolf in life, but after death it was corrupted by the magic of the Shadow Kingdom and turned into this thing. It is fast and has fierce attacks, but its defense is very weak."
Arthur stared at the shadow wolf, a faint light beginning to flicker in his emerald green eyes.
He is using "Trajectory of the Stars" to capture "Death Line".
He saw it.
The shadow wolf's "death line" was about three inches below its throat.
There was an almost invisible crack there, like some kind of "destined" flaw.
The shadow wolf pounced again, and this time, Arthur did not dodge but met it head-on.
The sword in the stone drew a silvery-white arc in the air, precisely piercing the crack below the Shadow Wolf's throat.
The blade seemed to pierce into soft mud, encountering no resistance whatsoever.
The shadow wolf let out a mournful howl, its body convulsing violently, and then...
It was like a clump of ashes scattered by the wind, turning into countless tiny black particles that dissipated into the mist.
"Not bad." Scáthach's voice came from behind: "You used 'Godslayer' in your first real battle."
Arthur sheathed his sword, turned around, his breathing was a little rapid, but his eyes were calm.
"It's weaker than I thought."
"It's not that it's weak, it's that you've chosen the right 'death line'." Scáthach walked to his side:
"The essence of 'god-killing' lies here: no matter how strong the opponent is, as long as you can find its 'death line,' you can kill it."
She raised her hand and pointed into the distance.
"But you must remember, not all 'dead lines' are so easy to find. The Shadow Wolf is just the weakest type. The ones that follow will become increasingly difficult."
Arthur looked in the direction she was pointing, and in the depths of the fog, he could vaguely see more dark figures moving.
"Come on." Scáthach patted him on the shoulder, her tone unusually encouraging:
"Today's goal is to hunt down ten Shadow Wolves, and then we'll go find bigger prey."
Arthur took a deep breath, gripped the sword in the stone, and walked into the depths of the mist.
The hunt lasted for an unknown period of time.
Arthur had lost count of how many shadow wolves he had killed.
Several claw marks appeared on his leather armor, and there was a shallow wound on his arm, left by the third shadow wolf during the sneak attack.
His breathing became heavy, but each swing of his sword remained precise.
"Nine." Scáthach's voice came from behind: "Kill one more, and we'll complete today's mission."
Arthur looked around, but the Shadow Wolf was no longer visible in the mist.
These undead creatures seemed to sense the danger and began to actively avoid him.
"They're hiding from me," Arthur said.
"Because they were afraid." Scáthach walked up to him. "The undead have instincts too."
They can sense death.
It is not the death they bring upon others, but "their own death".
You just killed nine of them; your sword is tainted with the scent of their kind as they vanished.
They smelled it and didn't dare come.
Arthur looked down at the sword in the stone.
There was no blood on the blade.
When the Shadow Wolf dissipates, it leaves no blood, but a faint layer of grayish-black mist appears on the blade, like some kind of mark.
"What about the tenth one?"
"wait."
Scáthach leaned against a black rock, arms crossed:
"There will always be one desperate, starving ghost that can't resist and will ignore the fear."
They waited for about fifteen minutes.
A larger, darker shadow finally emerged from the fog.
It wasn't a shadow wolf. That thing was three times the size of a shadow wolf, with thick limbs, two curved horns on its head, and dark red eyes that looked like two burning embers.
"Shadow Fiend." Scáthach's wine-red eyes lit up. "Two levels higher than Shadow Wolf, not bad. I'm lucky today."
Arthur stared at the Shadow Demon, his emerald green eyes beginning to scan for the "death line".
But what he saw was not a clear crack, but a blurry, ever-changing shadow.
The Shadow Fiend's "Death Line" was constantly moving, as if it were alive.
"Can't find it?" Scáthach asked.
"It's moving." Arthur frowned. "I can't see it."
"Then force it to stop," Scáthach said.
"Godslaying isn't just about using your eyes; sometimes, you need to use your own sword to create that 'death line'."
Arthur understood.
He charged toward the Shadow Demon, the sword in the stone piercing its chest.
The Shadow Fiend let out a low growl, and its massive claws slammed towards Arthur's head.
Arthur dodged to the side, simultaneously swinging his sword at its foreleg.
The blade slashed into the Shadow Demon's leg flesh, making a sound like cutting into wet wood.
Shadow Fiend winced in pain, his body tilting slightly.
In that instant, Arthur saw it.
The ever-moving "death line" stopped, just below the Shadow Fiend's throat, roughly the same position as the Shadow Wolf, but deeper.
Without hesitation, Arthur leaped up and plunged the sword in the stone into the crack.
The Shadow Demon's body trembled violently, and then, like the Shadow Wolf, it turned into countless black particles that dissipated into the mist.
"Good." Scáthach stood up from the rock, a hint of satisfaction in her wine-red eyes. "The tenth. Today's mission is complete."
Arthur sheathed his sword, turned around, his breathing rapid, blood flowing from the wound on his arm, but a faint smile on his face.
"I did it."
"This is just the beginning." Scáthach walked up to him, looking down at the wound on his arm:
"When we get back, I'll teach you how to treat your wounds with runes. Wounds caused by the monsters of the Shadow Kingdom can't be healed by ordinary methods."
She turned and walked toward the castle.
Arthur followed behind her.
On the way back, Scáthach remained silent.
Arthur didn't say anything either.
Only the wind howled across the wasteland, like some ancient lament.
As they reached the castle gate, Scáthach suddenly stopped.
"Arthur".
"Um?"
"You did very well today," she said, without turning around, "but I want you to remember one thing."
"What?"
"God-killing is not a skill to show off; it is a skill to protect oneself."
Scáthach's voice became very soft: "Don't forget why you learned it in the first place."
Arthur remained silent for a moment.
"I won't forget," he said.
Scáthach nodded and walked into the castle.
Arthur stood at the doorway and glanced back at the wasteland.
The grayish-white mist flowed slowly in the darkness, and the traces of the shadow wolves and shadow demons had completely disappeared, as if they had never existed.
But he knew they had existed; the scent of their disappearance still lingered on his sword, and the wounds they had inflicted remained on his arm.
"I will become stronger," he told himself. "Strong enough to protect everyone."
Then he turned and went into the castle.
In the castle of the Land of Shadows, Scáthach stood alone on the terrace.
She held in her hand a roll of bandages and some runic ointment, which she had just taken from the storeroom.
She waited a long time before Arthur finally appeared at the end of the corridor.
"Come here," she said calmly. "Sit down."
Arthur sat down in front of her.
Scáthach crouched down and began to treat the wound on his arm.
Her movements were very gentle, as if she was afraid of hurting him.
But with her strength, she could have been even more brutal.
"Scáthach." Arthur looked at her focused profile.
"What?"
"Have you treated Cú Chulainn's wounds like this before?"
Scáthach paused for a moment.
"...Yes, it happened." She continued what she was doing. "That kid was more mischievous than you. Every time he came back from a hunt, he was covered in sores."
"He must be giving you a lot of headaches, right?"
"A headache is the least of his worries." Scáthach's lips curled into a slight smile. "But he is one of the best students I have ever taught."
She finished bandaging the last wound and stood up.
"Alright. Go and rest. We'll continue in the next cycle."
Arthur stood up and looked down at the neatly bandaged arm.
The bandage was tied beautifully, even with a small bow.
Scáthach probably did it on purpose.
"Thank you," he said.
Scáthach did not answer, and turned to walk into the shadows.
Arthur watched her retreating figure, a slight smile playing on his lips.
"You're really not good at expressing gentleness," he said softly.
Then, he turned and walked towards his room.