Chapter 103: Encounter! A Pack of Mutated Wolves

Bang! Bang! Bang! Rat-tat-tat!

Listening to the gunfire erupting from the dense mountain forest, Wu Yong’s brows furrowed deeply. He was caught in a dilemma. His men had barely entered the woods when the sounds of combat began echoing from all directions. They had run straight into the territory of mutated monsters. He wasn't even sure if they had caught a glimpse of Liang Jing yet, but he had no way of knowing how many casualties they were already sustaining in the monsters' own domain.

He didn't know whether to signal for a retreat or to press on. After all, he was only the temporary commander; if things went well, he would be fine, but if they went south, his fate would be miserable. He desperately hoped the signalman would receive a reply from Political Commissar Gong soon.

"Damn the communications! Damn it all!"

The forest was thick with towering, century-old trees that stood straight as arrows, their lush, interlocking canopy creating a dense layer of foliage. Even the harsh, scorching sun couldn't penetrate the shade. The air was humid and stifling, pressing down on the lungs. Danger lurked in every shadow, with mutated monsters prowling the undergrowth.

Whoosh! Whoosh!
Howl! Argh! Hiss!
Buzz!

Liang Jing was finding it nearly impossible to move. He was trapped in this blood-soaked slaughterhouse and could not leave. He felt a surge of internal anxiety as he killed a few more incoming monsters—basin-sized mountain spiders, level-five mutants with grey and white patterns on their abdomens. They were fiercer and more venomous than any spiders he had encountered before, yet their heads were obliterated by his ping-pong-ball-sized steel marbles; they stood no chance against him.

However, Liang Jing felt no joy. The scent of blood was drawing in more mutated monsters, and as the pile of carcasses grew, the stench became even more pungent, attracting creatures faster and in greater numbers. The situation was spiraling out of control.

Looking at the corpses of mountain spiders, mutated poisonous bees, mutated mosquitoes, and mutated mountain frogs, with red, green, and murky yellow fluids pooling on the ground, Liang Jing felt a mounting sense of regret. He had been too arrogant; otherwise, he wouldn't be in this predicament. A cold glint flashed in his eyes as he remembered something.

If not for his "Combat State," which allowed him to unleash his maximum power with even the slightest movement, and his "Violent Throw" gold-tier ranged skill—and the unimaginable power generated by combining the two—he would truly be finished. Even so, his situation was worsening. He could barely move; his spine was injured, and not even he could recover from such a wound instantly. He had been holding on by sheer force of will and the fact that his vitality was over a dozen times that of an ordinary person. But now, as his adrenaline faded, his body slumped. The injury to his spine made it impossible to even stand straight, let alone escape.

The more he thought, the more his calm exterior gave way to anxiety. He could only hope that his Grey-Black Zombie would arrive soon and carry him away from this reeking slaughterhouse.

The soldiers were lurking nearby, waiting for an opportunity. If they found him and fired a signal to bring in reinforcements, even his strength wouldn't be enough to survive being used as a target.

Yet, hearing the gunfire from all sides, he knew his pursuers weren't having an easy time either. Although they didn't attract monsters with the scent of blood, the sound of their weapons was enough to lure them in. It was, at least, diverting some pressure away from him.

Listening to the increasingly intense gunfire, Liang Jing glared toward the source, a cruel, cold smile tugging at his lips. "Just wait. You'll get what's coming to you soon enough."

He harbored a deep, burning hatred for these men. If an ordinary person had suffered his injuries, they would have died long ago. His spine wasn't just fractured; his internal organs had been violently shattered. Only the restorative power of his life essence and healing potions had allowed him to survive and mend his organs. He had fled into these deep mountains, yet they still wouldn't let him go.

"Dead or alive, they want a body. Do they really hate me that much?"

They wouldn't let him be! They were willing to suffer heavy losses from monster attacks just to deny him a chance at survival.

It seemed this all started because of a conflict with that "Turtle Tu." These people had repeatedly tried to take his life and the lives of those he cared about. He hadn't even killed any of them yet. Was there really such deep-seated enmity? He could understand Turtle Tu holding a grudge, but these men? They claimed to be "protecting one another," but this was sheer malice. As the saying went, the Emperor wasn't worried, but the eunuchs were. Turtle Tu had thrown them a bone, and they were acting like rabid dogs, refusing to let go. Were they just born to be the lackeys of the powerful, trampling on the weak? And doing so with such perverted obsession?

Liang Jing momentarily ignored the disguised Zhang Bao and the heavily wounded, unconscious Political Commissar Gong.

He had never felt such intense hatred or rage toward anyone before. His nature was to be patient and make concessions, but their relentless pursuit had pushed him to the edge. His eyes turned bloodshot with fury.

"Oh no."

His expression darkened further. His zombie, "Brother Huang," seemed to be blocked by something; its speed had dropped significantly. "I must not have checked the calendar today," he thought. "Why is every piece of bad luck hitting me at once?"

Awooooo! Awoooo!
*Swish!*

Liang Jing’s face went pale. He truly couldn't catch a break. He had just thought about bad luck, and then—

He watched as a group of agile figures lurked in the distance. They were about 1.5 meters tall, with sleek, grey-black fur and immense strength, their tails hanging low. They were howling incessantly toward his position.

Wolves! They were wolves!

Liang Jing felt a chill. How could there be wolves here? And so many—at least twenty. They were incredibly cunning, refusing to approach the carcasses of the monsters he had killed, keeping a wide distance. Liang Jing had killed the previous monsters only when they entered the targeting range of his "Violent Throw," meaning the wolves were staying just outside his 200-meter effective radius. Without the red-dot targeting system, his accuracy with the steel marbles dropped significantly beyond that range.

With so many mutated wolves, if they charged at once, he wouldn't have enough time to fire his "Violent Throw" three times—and he could only launch four marbles at a time. If he couldn't kill them instantly, and they closed the distance, he would have no strength left to fight back against level-ten mutated wolves.

He knew how dangerous these creatures were from his experience with the black-backed dogs when he saved Zhang Hu. These wolves were no less formidable. If he weren't injured, he could handle them, but now?

Liang Jing could only hope they remained suspicious and didn't rush him, buying him time to order "Brother Huang" to charge at full speed. He also hoped they would be satisfied with the monster carcasses and have no appetite for him.

Awooooo!

The pack seemed excited by the abundance of corpses, howling and pacing, but their cautious nature kept them wary of the distant Liang Jing. They sniffed the air, their nostrils flaring, until they suddenly fixed their gaze on him—or rather, on the pool of blood beneath him. Their howling grew even more frenzied and excited.

"Damn it."

Seeing the blood on the ground—his own blood—he realized the scale of the trouble he was in. His physical constitution was superior, and his blood, enriched and purified by his life essence, was like a rare delicacy to these wolves with their hyper-sensitive sense of smell. It was just like when the Golden Boss, Baroque, had been besieged by monsters—this "gourmet meal" could offer them immense benefits.

The wolf pack continued to howl at the perimeter, pacing back and forth, as if making a final decision.