Chapter 31 Going and Returning!
"Quick, look! They're coming!"
An urgent cry rang out as the group focused on distant shadows emerging several hundred meters away. The dark figures drew closer until they merged with the two prairie wolves already present.
"One, two, three..."
The bald man squinted while counting. "Eleven total—including the original two."
The group's spirits sank. They didn't need the count confirmed—the grim reality was plain to see.
"Shit! That's too damn many!" Someone spat on the ground with a curse.
"Seven or eight we could handle. Eleven? That's trouble. If we'd taken out those two earlier—"
"Xiao Fan tried," another interrupted. "Those crafty bastards weren't having it."
All eyes turned to Chen Guodong. Chen Fan discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on his longbow. The wilderness lived up to its deadly reputation—a lone traveler would be reduced to bones here.
"Fall back." Chen Guodong's decision hung heavy.
Relieved murmurs mixed with protests. A broad-chested man brandished his short spear. "They're just low-tier beasts, Guodong! One volley could drop three!"
"Look how they hesitate—they fear us!"
"That aurochs could feed the whole village for days!"
Chen Guodong fixed his gaze on the spearman. "Gao Yang—say we kill three. Eight remain. You guarantee zero injuries in close combat?"
The challenge hung in the air.
"Rabies," Chen Guodong pressed. "Remember last time?"
The bald man gripped Gao Yang's shoulder. "Our village can't spare more lives."
Gao Yang sheathed his spear with a resentful clank. The group retreated, abandoning butchered aurochs meat—though not before salvaging a prime cut under Chen Guodong's silent approval.
As they withdrew, eleven wolves descended on the spoils. Jaws crunched bone; bloodied muzzles tilted skyward in triumphant howls. They never noticed the hunters doubling back—500 meters... 400... 300...
"Pointless," the bald man hissed. "They'll have devoured half already."
Chen Fan's smile glinted. "Who said we're here for the ox?"
The bald man froze mid-step. "You're targeting... the wolves?!"
Nods confirmed it. Collective breaths drew sharp.
"Brilliant!" Gao Yang's face flushed crimson. "Screw being prey—we're hunters!"
Chen Fan outlined his gambit: "Wind masks our scent. At 100 meters, I drop four. Can you seven handle the rest?"
"Easily!" Gao Yang hefted his spear. "Twenty meters out, our volley hits three. Then it's spearwork—they always bite the shafts first."
Chen Guodong's eyebrow arched. "Four kills—guaranteed?"
Chen Fan swapped to his 80-pound bow. "Watch me."
They advanced—150 meters... 130... 110. The cacophony of feeding wolves grew clearer. At 100 meters, two predators paused, sniffing. Blood-scent deceived them.
"Now?" the bald man whispered.
"Closer." Chen Fan's whisper was steel. "80 meters optimal."
Agonizing meters crawled by until—
"Here." Chen Fan nocked an arrow. The pack feasted, oblivious to death downwind.
