The group moved steadily through the wilderness, their initial wariness easing into idle conversation. The terrain was unfamiliar, but their mission remained unclear. So far, the journey had been uneventful—almost too much so.


    Then, without warning, the uneasy calm shattered.


    Everyone froze. The air thickened with disbelief. What had begun as a trivial mishap involving a flower had escalated into something far worse. The man responsible shrank under their stares, his face burning with humiliation.


    Then the stench hit.


    It was vile—like something rotten unearthed after days of decay. A putrid weight pressed into their lungs, making stomachs churn.


    Aaryan reacted instantly. "Move! Don’t breathe it in!" His voice cut through the chaos, his gaze locked on the culprit. "It''s mildly poisonous. If you inhale too much, you’ll end up like him."


    The group stumbled back, hands over their noses, their retreat desperate. Jivak’s glare burned into Aaryan. His fists clenched. “So you knew this would happen after eating the petal, and you didn’t warn us?” His voice was sharp, brimming with accusation.


    A heavy metallic creak broke the tension as the Silver-Armored General shifted. His sharp gaze swept over them, unimpressed.


    “Enough,” he said, his voice like unsheathed steel. “If this is enough to shake you, you don’t belong here. Move, or stay behind choking on your own stupidity.”


    The cold finality in his tone left no room for protest. Sharan exhaled sharply, irritation flickering across his face before pragmatism took over. Without another word, the group packed up and continued, their steps subdued under the General’s silent scrutiny.


    As they trekked up the mountainside, An elder, who had initially dismissed him, finally approached. "You’re not as useless as I thought," he admitted grudgingly. Aaryan only nodded, recognizing the first sign of acceptance.


    Aaryan could feel the villagers’ eyes on him. Pity, disdain, and contempt still lingered in their gazes, but something else was creeping in—admiration. It was subtle, but it was there. Aaryan wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Knowledge, after all, was power—but it didn’t always command respect.


    He let out a small sigh, walking ahead of the group. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. Despite the disdain he had suffered, in that moment, his quick thinking had earned him something far more valuable than respect: survival.


    Though Jivak’s glare still burned at his back, Aaryan knew the man had no choice but to ignore him for now. There was no time for grudges—at least, not until they were safely out of the mountains.


    The day passed quickly. By evening, they reached the mountaintop. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows from the dense canopy above. The scouts had already selected a clearing for their camp, and tents were quickly set up around a central fire.


    As night fell, the leaders gathered around the fire to discuss their mission. The crackling flames filled the silence before Sharan raised his hand, signalling the group to quiet down. His voice, calm but firm, echoed in the stillness of the night.


    “You all know how important this mission is,” he began, sweeping his gaze over the group. “But not all of you may know the full details. I’ll explain now so we’re all prepared.”


    He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing.


    “We are here to capture three wild beasts known as scorpion-tail wolves,” Sharan said. “These creatures are dangerous, and capturing them will not be easy.”


    A ripple of unease darkened their expressions. Aaryan could see it in their eyes—fear, confusion, and the helplessness that always accompanied the unknown. Though most of them didn’t understand the intricacies of cultivation, they all knew the stories about scorpion-tail wolves.


    The tales alone were enough to make anyone’s blood run cold. Even a single scorpion-tail wolf was known to tear through an entire hunting party, its venom making even the slightest wound lethal.


    Aaryan’s heart skipped a beat. He had read about these creatures, but hearing the stories spoken so plainly sent a chill down his spine.


    “These aren’t just wolves,” someone muttered, their voice barely above a whisper.


    Aaryan swallowed hard, his mind recalling the details. Their black fur swallowed the moonlight, turning them into shadows. Their tails—long, segmented, and tipped with venomous barbs—struck with the precision of a scorpion. Their claws could shear through stone, and their hides were tough as mountain rock. A full-grown one could rival a cultivator at the peak of the 3rd stage of Anima.


    For a group of villagers, facing them wasn’t just dangerous—it was suicide.


    Sharan seemed to sense the rising panic. His voice grew sharper, more commanding. “There is no need to panic. They fled from the city generals who had been hunting them. All we need to do is help capture them, and we’ll share in the rewards. This mission will help the village chief’s plans for the future.”


    Aaryan’s thoughts flickered. He couldn’t believe things were this simple. His expression remained neutral, but his mind raced with doubt. If the city generals had been hunting these beasts, what chance did a group of villagers have? Something didn’t add up.


    Taking a measured breath, he finally spoke, his tone respectful but firm. “Forgive me, Junior Chief, but with three of them, even injured, how can we be sure our numbers are enough?”


    A few villagers turned toward Aaryan, gratitude flickering in their eyes. He had voiced what they had been too afraid to ask. For the first time, some of them looked at him with subtle admiration, their previous disdain softening into something more neutral—perhaps even respectful.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Nayan’s glare darkened as he turned toward Aaryan, about to rebuke him for questioning the leadership, but before he could speak, the Silver-Armored General shifted. His presence alone was enough to command attention, the dim firelight reflecting off the cold steel of his armor.


    “The beasts are not fully matured and have sustained heavy injuries in our previous confrontation,” the eagle-nosed man said, his voice measured, carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”


    His words were final, brooking no argument. The villagers exchanged uncertain glances but ultimately said nothing. If the Silver-Armored General believed the wolves were no longer a significant threat, who were they to question him?


    Having explained the situation, the leaders dismissed the group. The villagers dispersed, heading to their respective tents, some murmuring among themselves, while others remained silent, lost in their thoughts.


    Aaryan’s gaze lingered on the chief, whose weary eyes darted between the village hunters. He clenched his fists. If the chief got a beast core, he could afford pills for his sons...


    Before he could dwell on the thought, an elder scoffed, “It’s like a suicidal mission for people like us, and I have no intention of sacrificing myself for the gains of others.”


    The words struck Aaryan like a cold breeze—practical, ruthless, but undeniably true


    The leaders broke up, and the group returned to their tents for rest. But the following days brought nothing but frustration. The wolves remained elusive. The group expanded their search area, scouring the dense forest for any sign of them, but after a week, there was still no trace. The pressure was mounting.


    By the ninth day, Aaryan was on patrol when a scream shattered the stillness of the camp. The usual chorus of crickets had gone silent. The faint rustle of leaves in the wind felt... wrong. As if something unseen was watching, waiting.


    Rushing back, he found the group in chaos, A blur of black—fast, too fast—ripped through the night. A scream—raw and desperate—cut through the air before vanishing into the void. Shadows danced wildly as the fire flickered. Someone ran past, their breath ragged, their eyes wild with terror. He knew immediately what had happened.


    The wolves weren’t just hunting them. They were toying with them. Too intelligent for a frontal assault, they picked their targets carefully, striking in the dark and vanishing before anyone could react.


    Torn cloth fluttered from a broken tent pole. a bloodstained boot lay abandoned, its owner lost to the night. A low wind carried the scent of iron and damp earth. Aaryan’s fingers brushed against something wet.


    Sticky.


    Blood.


    One of the young men staggered back, his face pale as he stared at the blood-soaked ground. His voice trembled with fury and fear.


    "The chief picked us for this? Sent us off without telling us what we were walking into? Damn him!" His fists clenched at his sides. "Damn all of this!"


    The silver-armored leaders quickly assembled a search party. They returned late that night, empty-handed. As they entered the camp, hushed murmurs spread among the men, fear thick in the air.


    Later, in a secluded part of the camp, Nayan and the silver-armored leaders gathered. Sharan stood with arms crossed, his expression grim. Aaryan, lingering nearby, listened.


    Sharan’s voice was quiet but firm. “This isn’t a hunt anymore. We’re being picked off. If we don’t change something, we’ll be the ones buried here.”


    Nayan’s tone was sharp. “We finish this. No matter what.”


    Sharan let out a humorless laugh, gesturing at the dwindling camp. “Look around. If this keeps up, there won’t be anyone left to fight.”


    A silver-armored leader scowled. “If we falter, the villagers will break.”


    Sharan’s fingers tightened against his arms. “They’re already breaking. Keep pushing, and they’ll shatter.”


    Nayan’s knuckles whitened. His voice was cold. “Then I’ll make sure they don’t.”


    Sharan held his gaze before shaking his head. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, louder, “Fine. But don’t be surprised when this all collapses.” He turned and walked away.


    Nayan watched him go, his face unreadable. Then he turned to the others. “Keep the men in line. We’re not leaving until the job is done.”


    Unease settled over the camp.


    The next two days were no better. Four more men disappeared. Fear spread like a disease, and morale crumbled. No one cared about rewards anymore—they just wanted to survive.


    Yet returning to the village seemed just as dangerous. Aaryan saw it in their eyes. The villagers weren’t just afraid of the wolves—they feared the wrath of the village chief. Failure was not an option. They were pawns in a game far beyond their control. Quiet murmurs of betrayal and exploitation rippled through the group.


    Frustrated by the growing unrest, Nayan wasted no time asserting his authority. He dragged two men into the center of the camp, His knuckles white from how tightly he clenched his fists, as if holding himself back for just a moment longer. Without hesitation, he struck the first man across the face, sending him sprawling into the dirt.


    "You think this is a game?" Nayan snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "Spreading rumors? Doubting my command? You think that’ll keep you alive?"


    The second man cowered, shaking his head, but Nayan’s fist drove into his gut, cutting off his breath.


    The crack of fists against flesh echoed through the camp, each blow hammering the message home.


    When he finally stepped back, his voice was deathly calm. "Anyone else feel like running their mouth?"


    No one dared to speak.


    Aaryan clenched his teeth.


    No matter how much I struggle, the outcome is already decided for me. If only I had the strength to change it.


    The realization hardened into resolve. I will hold my fate in my own hands. No one else will control it.


    As he made his way back to his tent, he overheard two of Nayan’s lackeys talking in hushed voices.


    "I heard the village chief is taking the junior chiefs for disciple selection at the cultivation sect," one said eagerly.


    The second man let out a laugh. "Not just that! He’s buying rare pills to make sure they get selected. With our boss becoming a cultivator, who in these villages would dare go against us?"


    Aaryan’s mind sharpened like a blade.


    No wonder they’re willing to risk everything for these beasts. The village chief must have struck a deal, offering men in exchange for resources. With those riches, securing spots in the sect would be a mere formality.


    For them, this is an opportunity. For us, it’s a death sentence.


    His instincts weren’t wrong. The village chief was staking everything to secure his son’s future. That was when the city generals had approached him with a proposition. They had suffered heavy losses trying to capture the scorpion-tail wolves and, unable to afford more setbacks, turned to the village chief for reinforcements. If the wolves carried beast cores, they would be worth a fortune. Even without them, their bodies could be used to refine valuable pills and elixirs.


    For the village chief, it was a perfect deal—he could offer disposable manpower in exchange for wealth and resources. He had no concern for the lives lost. Whether the mission succeeded or failed, he would come out ahead.


    Aaryan exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the villagers. Their shoulders sagged with exhaustion. Their eyes were empty, resigned to their fates.


    Is human life really worth so little?


    The ambitions of a few had outweighed the lives of hundreds.


    Feeling the weight in his chest, he walked toward a small group huddled around a dim fire and sat down quietly.


    In the past, they would have mocked or ignored him. Now, no one had the energy. Their futures were uncertain. The threat loomed over them like a stormcloud.


    Aaryan sighed. Who was the real hunter here? The wolves… or the village chief?


    He sat in silence, staring at the flickering flames, before finally rising and heading back to his camp.