Chapter 496: Chapter 253: Karlosh, Tears Frozen in the Night_4
Without any hesitation, I chose the latter.
As for the reason, it was destined in the mont I was willing to na it.
I began to pursue its tracks in broader and more dangerous areas.
To be honest, its pitch-black fur on the snowy plains was like an ink spot on white paper, too conspicuous for both who followed it, and the extrely alert prey.
Repeated failed hunts made Karlosh’s figure more and more emaciated, as if it would collapse into the snow at any mont, swallowed by the wind and snow.
But like a sharpened ice blade, when the innocence and ignorance sheltered by its elders were worn away, the true sharpness and fierceness could finally be revealed.
Its deanor beca deeper, its posture more stable, and its wolf eyes, as black as its mane, lost their forr gleam, yet were terrifying.
Karlosh no longer chased.
As a Lone Wolf, a Lone Wolf with uniquely colored fur, the hunting thod of pack running and encircling was no longer suitable.
It chose to wait.
Perhaps under a steep, shadowed cliff, or beneath the trunk of a spruce tree broken by a blizzard, leaning askew against a neighboring tree.
Karlosh was like a real piece of black stone, crouched close to the icy ground, breathing long and shallow, with its pitch-black fur perfectly blending with the shadow.
Sotis even with keen eyesight like mine, it took several heartbeats to locate it again.
A robust tundra antelope cautiously stepped into the area, lowering its head to nibble on the moss in the crevices.
Ti froze, as the gaze filled with suppressed killing intent swept over the antelope’s fragile and slender neck.
It seed to notice sothing, ears perked up, and alertly raised its head.
But just as the tundra antelope’s muscles tense, about to leap away in the split second…
That shadow lurking not far in front of it suddenly exploded!
Without warning, the dark shadow was like a tendon longbow filled with strength, suddenly erupting from absolute stillness, transforming into a blurred phantom, flashing through the wind and snow.
I witnessed the entire process of Karlosh’s hunt.
In my mind, the image was of the contours of its muscles smoothly expanding and contracting under the pitch-black fur as it exerted force, the fan-shaped spray of snow from its paws as it launched off the ground, the deadly claws embedded in the antelope’s spine, the crisp crackling sound as its prey’s spine broke…
The concentration of death, the instant release.
An unprecedentedly brilliant inspiration erupted in my mind.
I finally found it, the key that would help reach the pinnacle, beco the tribal chief, and fulfill my childhood dream.
A Battle Skill modeled after the hunting stance of the Winter Wolf, showcasing explosive speed.
From that day forth, I almost beca the wind and snow on the plateau.
Without rest, I followed the black wolf day and night.
It rested, I rested with it; it hunted, I quietly hid nearby.
Karlosh must have sensed several tis, but upon realizing my presence wouldn’t affect its hunt, it ignored .
I continued to maintain stealth mode, never actively approaching.
Out of respect for the solitary hunter, and a mutual tacit understanding ford invisibly between man and beast.
Days passed, one by one.
The Battle Skill I envisaged in my mind gradually took shape, while Karlosh’s figure gradually grew.
Compared to ordinary Winter Wolves, it appeared lighter overall, with four long limbs reflecting powerful explosive force, its deanor representing the shadow it symbolized, even more deep and cold.
Just when I thought such days would persist indefinitely, until I completely finished developing the Battle Skill, or until the other grew tired of my presence.
An accident occurred.
It was another night with blizzard howling.
The adult Centipede Demon once again attacked the severely weakened wolf pack.
As for how I knew this…
Because in the daylight, I followed Karlosh, who suddenly abandoned its nearly-captured prey, inexplicably turned direction, and sprinted toward the vicinity of the wolf den.
At such a far distance, I didn’t understand how it perceived the presence of the Centipede Demon.
But there was no doubt, it hated this powerful Demon, hated that it killed its kin and disrupted its once peaceful life.
The battle lasted all night.
In the Splitfang Highlands, dense magic particles condensed into swirling snow, and the pitch-black night obscured the view, making it impossible to discern the specific situation on the field, and dared not approach lightly.
When I looked again at daybreak, the previously largest wolf pack nearby was completely annihilated.
There was no corpse of the Centipede Demon.
The black wolf Karlosh was also nowhere to be seen.
Since that day, I have never seen that inky cold shade on the snowy plains again.
Did it die?
I couldn’t be sure.
Maybe it’s that yet unfinished explosive skill, just missing the final piece of “soul,” to give life to the entire structure.
Also the countless days and nights once spent roaming the snowy plains, drinking snow and eating at, resisting ice storms together.
I gave up the position of “Hunting Team Captain” in the tribe.
On the icy plains, searching for its tracks.
Finally, on a night with a waxing moon two years later.
Near the edge of Splitfang Highlands, atop a towering cliff.
Against the backdrop of the moonlight, the familiar slender black figure once again entered my sight.
Stronger and more robust than the mory, its skeleton seed to have expanded sowhat, the mane still pitch black, yet carrying a true gravity forged by experiencing life and death.
There were several terrifying wounds on its body, a shocking claw mark tore the fur on its left shoulder; another scar extended from the lower back to the right leg.
It slightly bowed its head, looking at askew.
Those cold wolf eyes steadier than ever.
I understood its intent.
It ca back to find on its own.
Its purpose, undoubtedly for to witness that unfinished revenge.
So, just like those days two years ago, I quietly followed behind it.
Through the icy wind and snow, across ridges, past the long-buried wolf den.
We reached deep within the highlands, to a dark ravine never touched by sunlight.
This was the lair of the Centipede Demon.
The battle ended quickly.
Much faster than I imagined.
An ancient prayer from the tribe about the Night Mother inexplicably surfaced in my mind:
“Grant him the Shadow Foot, to tread upon the enemy’s shadow;
Grant him the Silent Heart, to wait for the mont of thunder;
Grant him the fangs of vengeance, to quaff the blood of the enemy.”
The sleek black silhouette blended into the night, seemingly becoming the shadow itself at that mont.
The movents carried a peculiar rhythm, each step a silent bloom of snow and ice fragnts.
Noise, vibration, and visual blind spots were utilized to the fullest, with the pitch-black fur seamlessly rging with the darkness.
The Centipede Demon seed to sense sothing, a hint of human-like doubt flashed in its compound eyes typical of insects.
In contrast, Karlosh had the patience of eternal ice.
Approaching, erupting.
It lunged forward, just like the hundreds of hunts before, successful or failed.
But its speed, was unprecedentedly astounding.
Even for , it was hard to capture the trace it left in the air.
“Ssss-chhh.”
A tooth-gritting, ice-shattering sound echoed through the air.
The Centipede Demon lost its head.
Karlosh killed its enemy.
I stood on the vast snowy plains, at the end of my sight was the dark shadow gradually sinking into the depths of ice and snow.
A long wolf howl faintly erged amidst the roaring wind.
I knew it wouldn’t co back.
This was the final hunt.
It completed its revenge, and injected the most crucial soul into the already perfected frawork of my Battle Skill.
“Awooo…”
Another wolf howl resounded.
But this ti it echoed by my ears.
The vague yet solid shadow of a wolf head surged nacingly around my body.
About the na of this Battle Skill, I had an idea ever since I first witnessed Karlosh capture prey, thrusting its fangs into flesh.
I nad it—
[Teeth Hunting].
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