It was Blind Third!
Li Yan had already suspected as much.
Ordinary beasts didn't carry such a smell.
Could the whispers be true—had this wolf gained some uncanny power?
Li Yan grew wary, swiftly unslung his bow, nocked an arrow loosely, and signaled Black Egg to crouch low and follow his steps.
This simple move revealed their difference.
Guanzhong had long been home to wandering heroes, its plains steeped in a thousand years of war. Martial arts ran deep, especially in Li Clan Hamlet, once a fortress where kids learned to fight young.
Even the Red Fist had unique forms in every village.
Black Egg had trained since childhood. In idle seasons, his only pastime was practicing spear thrusts and fists, his spear shaft polished smooth as porcelain.
But his steps betrayed him—heel, then sole, pressing grass with faint rustles despite his care.
Li Yan was different.
He landed on his forefoot, bow steady, arrow level, gliding like a panther, spine straight, silent as a ghost.
Steadiness and agility, opposites, merged seamlessly in him.
Black Egg, watching from behind, felt a pang of envy.
Martial arts took sweat, but talent was king. This light-stepping technique was a realm he could never reach.
Villagers praised Li Yan, but only for his veteran grandfather and his late father, once a swordsman.
After all, what could a fourteen-year-old do?
But Black Egg thought otherwise. He'd secretly seen Li Yan train, awestruck, and sought him out first when trouble struck.
Lost in thought, he saw Li Yan suddenly stop.
Black Egg halted, peered ahead, and his eyes widened.
Behind Li Family Village stood old earthen walls, remnants of a past dynasty's fort, now just broken ruins.
Before dawn, the light was dimmest.
At the broken wall, a large shadow writhed.
A massive, scruffy wolf was dragging a pig.
Its teeth clamped the pig's ear, tail lashing like a whip, forcing the beast along. The pig, bloodied, followed in eerie silence.
Pigs were clever creatures. At slaughter time, they'd squeal, sensing doom, but this one, as if bewitched, didn't dare grunt.
The wolf had one eye—Blind Third!
The wolf had slipped into the village at dawn.
And why weren't the dogs barking?
This eerie scene chilled Black Egg, but hatred overcame fear. Eyes red, he slowly unslung his spear.
Li Yan, startled but cool-headed, signaled him to hold.
Yet he didn't shoot immediately, instead adjusting his breathing as he drew, eyes narrowing, a cold gleam gathering in his pupils.
In his years in this world, martial arts were his greatest passion.
This world's martial arts resembled national arts, without talk of spiritual qi, but breathing techniques were plentiful and vital.
Steady breath meant focused strength.
Just as in his stealth, with calm mind and steady breath, his muscles and bones obeyed perfectly, moving like a cat, harmonious and unified.
This was no small thing—it was the essence of martial arts.
Ordinary people, even lifting stone locks or thrusting spears daily, gaining strength and knowing moves, would falter in combat—breath uneven, mind shaken, swinging wild fists.
Archery was the same.
The strongest bow, endless practice, meant nothing without a hit.
Breath was the key to controlling strength!
Blind Third might be special, but it fell into a trap and lost an eye, proving it was still flesh and blood.
They were downwind, catching Blind Third's scent first, creeping closer while it stole the pig, now just a hundred meters away.
Li Yan believed one shot could kill it!
Creak…
The bowstring tightened, the arrow steady.
But then, Blind Third's fur bristled, its head snapped up.
It sensed them!
Li Yan didn't know what gave him away—perhaps it felt his killing intent—but there was no time to think.
Buzz!
The arrow flew, swift as a shadow.
Li Yan aimed for the neck.
Wolves were said to have "iron heads, steel tails, soft waists", their spine between hips and ribs unprotected, soft, and vital.
Few knew the spot between eyes and nose was weakest, a strike there stunning or fatal.
But that spot was hard to hit, especially with Blind Third's uncanny nature, so Li Yan targeted the neck.
Pfft!
The arrow struck, piercing fur.
Blind Third dodged slightly, avoiding a fatal hit, the arrow piercing its right foreleg, blood bursting.
Without a word, Li Yan nocked another arrow, ready to finish it.
Though not a killing shot, the piercing arrow would slow it. If he was quick, it couldn't escape.
But something shocking happened.
Blind Third didn't flee. It leaped behind the wall, biting the arrow, trying to snap and pull it out.
Cunning as a devil!
Li Yan tossed the bow and charged.
His body shot forward like an arrow, hand on his sword hilt.
His blade, three feet long, two inches wide, was sleek, its guard slim—a fast blade from Guanshan Town, Lintong.
The Guanshan blade, a hallmark of Guanzhong swordsmen.
Over a hundred meters, Li Yan's speed grew, dust rising underfoot. With a click, his left thumb pushed the guard, right hand lightly on the hilt, yet he didn't draw.
A family fast blade, Waist Strike style.
It resembled the sword-drawing arts of his past world's East, but was distinct.
The Waist Strike, a stealthy technique, killed in a rush, the blade flashing like thunder.
Crossing an enemy, no killing intent showed—draw, strike, sheathe, leaving a corpse behind.
Blind Third was flesh, but its intelligence was uncanny, beyond normal reasoning.
Drawing the blade, its killing aura would alert the wolf.
Li Yan chose the Waist Strike, like a beast baring claws at the last moment.
As expected, Blind Third was no ordinary beast.
As Li Yan charged, the wolf snapped the arrowhead, pulling the shaft out from behind, minimizing damage like a human would.
An arrow through the leg would cripple most.
But Blind Third seemed unfazed, baring fangs, nose wrinkling, its lone red eye narrowing, leaping onto the wall, then soaring out.
Five yards high, perfectly timed, it dove at Li Yan.
Beast combat, forged in the wild.
Wolves circled, growled, probed, the strongest lunging for the throat, killing clean, the pack tearing after.
A lone wolf ambushed, lurking by paths, striking the unwary.
Instinct picked the perfect moment.
So it did now.
From the wall, Blind Third plunged. Most prey—fleeing or gaping—bared their throats.
A wolf's bite to the throat felled any foe.
But Li Yan was no prey.
Feeling the foul wind, he grew colder. His phoenix eyes tightened, dragon's gaze burning. As the wolf fell, he spotted its mark, sidestepped, crouched, and flicked his arm.
Clang!
As they crossed, his Guanshan blade slashed up.
Steel flashed, blood sprayed.
Blind Third hit the ground, a gash in its neck, blood gushing, limbs twitching with whimpers.
Five yards away, Li Yan stood, back to the beast, flicking blood from his blade, sheathing it with a fluid motion.
"Fine swordwork!"
Black Egg, watching from afar, shouted, heart racing.
The man-wolf clash, over in moments, left him trembling, sweat beading on his brow and palms.
Li Yan didn't turn, not for show, but for a reason.
His face was grim. He touched his neck, finding a cut, shallow but bleeding, inches from an artery.
Blind Third was flesh, but its speed surpassed any beast. As he slashed its neck, it had clawed back.
"Yan, you alright?" Black Egg ran up, spear in hand, anxious.
"I'm fine," Li Yan said, turning slowly.
Something strange happened. As he turned, the neck wound vanished, the blood seemingly just wolf's blood splattered on him.
Black Egg, oblivious, sighed, eyeing Blind Third.
The beast, soaked in blood, barely alive, still snarled, its venomous gaze fixed on Li Yan, as if searing him into memory.
"You monster, die already!"
Black Egg, furious, thrust his spear, piercing the wolf's good eye, driving into its brain.
Even then, Blind Third thrashed before stilling.
Li Yan frowned, sensing something.
Blind Third was dead, but its unique foul stench grew stronger, spreading around them.
Like an invisible wind, it peaked, then vanished.
Perhaps an illusion, but Li Yan felt a chill down his spine.
He looked around—nothing.
"Black Egg, smell anything foul?"
"Huh? Nope…"