Chapter 68: Fang Wolf [1]

Rael left the blackened clearing of the spider fight behind and pushed deeper into denser forest. The trees here grew closer together, their trunks thick and moss-dark, the canopy overhead knitting into a near-continuous roof that broke the twin sunlight into scattered coins on the ground. The air smelled of damp bark and old leaf litter. After the sharp chemical burn of venom and the lingering heat of his own fire, the cooler quiet felt almost clean.

He had been walking for some time when the low growl reached him.

It was not close enough to be an immediate threat, yet not far enough to ignore. Rael slowed, angled off the faint game trail he had been following, and moved toward the sound with deliberate care. Each footfall tested the ground before committing weight. He kept trunks between himself and the source, using the forest the way the spider had earlier used its webs—cover first, vision second.

Through a gap in the undergrowth he saw it.

A Fang Wolf stood over the torn remains of some smaller forest animal, muzzle buried in raw meat. Dark fur, heavier through the shoulders than an ordinary wolf, jaws built around a pair of oversized fangs that curved just enough to catch light. Blood darkened the ground beneath its front paws.

[Monster Detected]

Species: Fang Wolf

Level: 15

Tier: Savage

"Argh! Bloody wolfs again." He has been through so much because of these wolfs in the first realm.

Rael held still and watched. The wolf ate with focused hunger, ears swiveling independently, but its attention remained on the meal. He shifted his weight to ease a root under his boot.

The branch snapped.

It was a small sound, almost modest, yet in the relative silence it might as well have been a shout. The Fang Wolf’s head snapped up. Its ears locked forward. Yellow eyes found him through the leaves and held. The growl that rolled out of its chest was lower and more continuous than the first—one predator acknowledging another that had stepped into its space. Hunger and fury mixed in the sound. Fresh meat was good; warmer meat that still moved was better.

It did not charge at once. The wolf took one slow lateral step, then another, studying him. Rael used the pause. He noted the exaggerated length of the fangs, the heavy muscle bunched in the hind legs, the way its weight sat ready to explode forward. This was an animal built for short, devastating bursts rather than long pursuit.

He made a quiet decision while they watched each other. No magic. Not for this fight. Swordsmanship practiced on polished floors and against human opponents was not the same as swordsmanship tested against something that wanted to open his throat. If he kept leaning on Inferno Bolt and Frostheart for every threat, the gap in his close combat would only widen. This single wolf was a chance to close that gap by force of repetition.

The Fang Wolf moved.

It closed the distance in a single explosive lunge, front claws reaching, jaws already open for a follow-up bite. Rael drew the Ironfang short sword in the same motion that brought his feet into the basic Blackthorn middle guard. Steel met keratin with a jarring clang. The impact traveled up his arm and drove him back three full steps; his boots tore shallow tracks in the leaf litter. The wolf’s raw power was greater than its level suggested.

It did not press the advantage immediately. Instead it began to circle, head low, eyes never leaving his blade. Rael turned with it, keeping the sword between them, weight centered the way the old tutors had demanded. He could feel the difference between drill and reality in every small adjustment—the way the wolf’s shoulders telegraphed less cleanly than a human’s, the way the forest floor gave underfoot at unpredictable moments.

He decided to invite the next attack.

Rael let his right side open a fraction, blade angle shifting just enough to look like a mistake. The wolf took the invitation without hesitation. It drove hard toward the exposed flank, fangs aimed to lock and tear. Rael’s pivot was small and late enough to sell the opening, then sharp. The wolf’s momentum carried it past the space he had occupied. As it went by he cut once, a short descending slash that opened a clean line across its ribs. Blood welled dark against the fur.

The animal recovered with frightening speed. It landed, twisted, and came again almost before the first wound had fully registered. Rael met the second rush with a parry that redirected rather than stopped the force, then a third, then a fourth. Each exchange taught him the same lesson more clearly: the wolf’s threat lived in the first explosive second. If he survived the burst and kept his footing, the following movements were slightly less precise, slightly easier to read.

He stopped chasing.

Instead of advancing when the wolf retreated a step, he held position and waited. The creature prowled the edge of the small clearing they had trampled, looking for a new angle. Rael kept the sword in a high guard and forced his breathing to stay even. Patience was part of the form; the tutors had repeated it until the words lost meaning. Out here the meaning returned.

The Fang Wolf committed.

It launched in a straight, full-power line, everything committed to overwhelming him before he could react. Rael’s pivot this time was earlier and cleaner. He stepped off-line at the last moment, let the bulk of the animal pass under his shoulder, and brought the short sword across in a single decisive cut aimed at the neck and upper shoulder. The blade bit deep. The wolf’s forward drive turned into a collapsing slide. It hit the ground hard, tried to rise once, and failed. The yellow eyes stayed open for a few seconds longer, then emptied.

[+15 Souls.]

Rael stood over the body, sword still raised, until he was certain no reflex remained. Blood dripped from the tip of the Ironfang and spotted the leaves. His own breathing was heavier than he liked, but the cuts he had taken were shallow—one across the forearm where a claw had grazed him during the second exchange, another scrape along the ribs where the armor had done its job.

He looked down at the still form.

"Fast, but predictable."

The system remained quiet on the matter of levels. No surge of experience, no notification of growth. The wolf had been only a single level above him and the fight, while sharp, had not demanded the same intensity as the spider. He would need harder opponents—and more of them—if he wanted the numbers to keep moving.

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