Traversing the dim, deep, and secluded forest, Elara cautiously extended her perception. The mountain path, long blurred and indistinct to ordinary eyes, was as clear as day to her.
Her caution was not a defense against the wild beasts of the forest, but rather an instinct etched into her very marrow.
It was common knowledge that since the Stonefist Outpost's relocation to the Sunset Peaks, the already scarce wildlife, large and small, had long been systematically cleared out. Never mind ferocious beasts; even the various wild venomous snakes had mostly ended up in the cooking pots of the numerous outpost disciples or as components in their pouches.
This meticulousness, this habit of maintaining high alert in unfamiliar environments, was not innate. It was something she had deliberately cultivated after her narrow escape from Physician Morus, born from repeated, hard-won reflection. This valuable habit would, in her future endeavors, help her avoid many unforeseen incidents, minimizing the risk of danger.
The mountain wind seemed to be strengthening, howling in gusts, an eerie, "woo-woo" sound that prickled the skin.
From a distance, Elara sensed she was about to emerge from the edge of this forest.
She let out a soft sigh of relief. Moving through this pitch-black, ink-dense forest alone had left her feeling quite oppressed.
Elara quickened her pace, her strides larger than before, as if eager to leave these unsettling woods as swiftly as possible.
Suddenly, a fierce gust of mountain wind buffeted her head-on.
After the wind subsided, Elara abruptly halted, sensing something amiss. She frowned, then tilted her head, listening intently.
A moment later, Elara's expression slowly grew solemn. Faint, almost imperceptible footsteps reached her ears. Although their owner trod lightly and was still some distance away, there were indeed two people approaching her, and they were drawing nearer.
With a flicker of her body, Elara, like a spectral lynx, silently slipped into the dense woods bordering the path, her movements agile and utterly soundless.
She came to a halt behind a thick, sturdy tree some thirty yards from the path. Her entire body curled into a compact form, completely concealed within the tree trunk's deep shadow. Viewed from the front, not a trace of Elara was visible.
Having secured her hiding spot, Elara felt a measure of calm return.
It wasn't that she was overly sensitive, but for two individuals to appear in such a remote place, on a moonless, blustery night like this, was highly irregular. Ten to one, it was some unsavory business.
She had no desire to invite a fatal disaster—to be hunted down and silenced—merely for unintentionally stumbling upon someone else's private affairs.
However, if she could glean others' little secrets while ensuring her own safety, Elara was quite amenable. She wasn't the pedantic, rigidly moralizing sort; she wouldn't refuse a "good show" that had, in essence, delivered itself to her doorstep.
"...descend the mountain...arrangements secure...opportune moment...personnel...the leader..." Snatches of deliberately hushed voices drifted intermittently from the distance. The wind on the mountain was fierce at this moment, scattering most of their words, allowing only a few blurred phrases to reach her ears.
Elara was taken aback; she hadn't expected to actually overhear such a significant secret. In this land spanning hundreds of leagues, the only one who could be addressed as "the leader" was likely the head of the Shadow Wolves—Lycus "Golden Wolf" Thorne. For the name of this great enemy of the Stonefist Outpost to be uttered here was truly thought-provoking.
This Lycus Thorne, in the minds of most Stonefist Outpost disciples, was a veritable, bloodthirsty archfiend. In various rumors, he was depicted as barrel-chested and bull-necked, with a sallow, fanged visage, and an incomparably tyrannical temperament. It was said he consumed raw human flesh and drank fresh blood for every meal, an almost inhuman entity, thoroughly terrifying many of the younger disciples within the outpost.
However, according to Rory Stormblade, the reality was quite different. That Lycus Thorne was not only not imposing or frightening but was, on the contrary, slender and handsome, and not very old—only in his early thirties—the very antithesis of his rumored image. Yet his nature—to kill at the slightest provocation, iron-fisted and merciless—was as terrifyingly real as the legends claimed. Otherwise, how could he, with his appearance alone, command those defiant, untamed ruffians, mostly former horse bandits?
Elara replayed the various pieces of information about Lycus Thorne in her mind and couldn't help but draw a sharp, chilled breath. She quickly pressed her body tighter against the tree, her breathing becoming even fainter, shallower.
"...this time...procure...the list is vital...strike..." More low whispers drifted over, much clearer now. The two individuals must be closer to Elara.
Elara held her breath, not daring to exhale audibly. She knew that if she were discovered, only death awaited her. These two were undoubtedly spies dispatched by the Shadow Wolves; they would never allow a third person who knew their secret to live.
"...the plan...must be...flawless...swiftly..." Gradually, the voices of the two conversing grew even lower; it seemed they had reached the most critical juncture of their discussion.
After a short while, their voices became slightly louder again, but then they faded into indistinctness, and only the soughing wind brushed past her ears. They had already passed the stretch of mountain path before Elara's hiding place, their figures gradually receding into the distance.
For a considerable time, Elara remained crouched behind the tree, not daring to stir. Only after repeatedly using her "Breath of Eternity" to confirm that there was indeed no one else within several dozen yards did she slowly, cautiously, rise.
She had truly cheated death this time. Fortunately, she had detected the spies' movements in advance; otherwise, she would have met them head-on. Given their identities, she would certainly have been silenced. More tragically, with her current skills, there would likely have been no hope of escape, not even the slightest.
Elara didn't move from her spot immediately. Instead, she gently rubbed her chin, gazing in the direction where the two had vanished, a profoundly thoughtful expression on her face.
Judging from their fragmented conversation, it appeared they were planning some action detrimental to the Stonefist Outpost in the near future, an action that seemed significantly connected to a certain list.
What surprised Elara even more was that, despite not having seen the specific figures or faces of these two individuals, she had recognized one of their voices.
Although she had only interacted with him once or twice, thanks to her extraordinary memory—far surpassing that of an ordinary person—she still connected one of the speakers to that inconspicuous steward from the outpost's main kitchen.
This man, who had once sold her wild rabbits and who, in her impression, was a man with a perpetually grasping air, a wispy mustache, and an altogether mercenary and vulgar appearance—was actually a spy sent by the Shadow Wolves? This revelation was a considerable shock, putting her nerves to a significant test.
However, upon careful reflection, it didn't seem entirely out of the realm of possibility. Only someone with such a position could frequently travel in and out of the outpost, making it less likely to arouse suspicion when relaying messages.