神级狩魔人

Chapter 8: A Bolt in the Dark

As the wolf pack started to surround them, Roy and his team noticed more pairs of eyes staring at them. They gleamed a menacing green, and when the beasts revealed themselves under the moonlight, they saw they were surrounded by a pack of lean wolves that had different colors of fur.

They surrounded the search party, but because of the light from the torches, stayed some distance away, though they still bared their fangs and snarled. Roy and the others could see that the wolves were ready to strike at any time. There were twenty around them at a glance, and they were all as big as calves. Their size alone was terrifying enough. 

Everyone formed a circle by reflex, and they unsheathed their steel swords. 

Roy was kept in the center by the men, and all he could see beyond was the wolf pack. The men might’ve been unable to smell the stench from the wolves, but Roy could. They emanated the rotten odor of blood and meat, making Roy gag. 

When he looked closer, he could see the mindless cruelty and desire for fresh meat welling up in the eyes of the beasts. He’d seen videos about wolves in his past life, and he even played games that had them in it, but nothing prepared him for the shock he felt when he saw them in real life. 

An uncontrollable shiver crept up on him. Those wolves weren’t livestock that were tied up and had anesthetic fed to them. Those wolves were feral hunters, capable of tearing human flesh easily with their sharp fangs. 

One-Eyed Jack swung his torch slowly, keeping the wolves at bay with the burning flames. “Look out, everyone. These beasts are known for their cunningness.” The old sailor obviously had his fair share of battles in his younger days. He was calm, and there wasn’t a hint of fear on his face. 

Fletcher and Thompson had seen more than enough gore in their lives. The pack didn’t scare them, and they held their sword steady as they faced the wolves.  

Seeger gave the animals a threatening glare. He held his steel sword with both hands, positioning it at his right, the weapon’s blade facing forty-five degrees upward. His back was taut, his muscles relaxed. Seeger bent down slightly, his left leg pointing at the wolf pack. His right was behind the left, pointing forty degrees outward. Obviously, the blacksmith from Skellige was trained in swordsmanship. His sword handling was fluid and professional. 

Roy was the weak link of the team. He was pale and drenched in cold sweat. 

“Stay close, men, and move slowly. Don’t panic, and no sudden movements,” Jack said calmly. The team slowly moved toward the cemetery like an impenetrable fortress. 

The moment they took a step, the wolf pack became agitated, and they howled into the night, piercing the silence. The wolves facing them pounced, determined to claw through their prey. 

“Away, you beast!” Jack roared, and he slammed his leg into a wolf’s head, sending it flying through the air. At the same time, he slashed at the beast, drawing a silvery arc through the air, and it cut through the wolf’s thigh. 

It whimpered in pain and shuffled backward. 

“I might be old, but that ain’t mean I can’t fight, ye bastard.”  

One-Eyed Jack wanted to go for the kill, but the other wolves stepped in and blocked the blade from their injured comrade. A pair of wolves snarled at Jack, intending to tear him apart, but they knew a frontal assault was risky. Instead, the wolves decided to kite Jack, searching for his weakness. 

Jack swung his sword and torch vigorously, trying to keep the wolves at bay, but his age showed in battle. He wouldn’t hold on for much longer. He started sweating, and his movements were getting slower, clumsier.