Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 960 - 37: The Hunt (Part 8)_2

Chapter 960 -37: The Hunt (Part 8)_2

Winters looked around; the smoke was so thick that one couldn’t distinguish between human or beast beyond ten meters. It seemed that the smoke was also poisonous; it didn’t take long before his eyes started to sting.

A quick escape on horseback? The seriously injured Little Lion wouldn’t be able to withstand the jostling. Moreover, a blind action could very likely be falling right into a trap.

Winters was unclear about the enemy’s weaponry or their tactics, but he surmised that the enemy forces couldn’t be large; otherwise, they would have swarmed him already. Why would they be so cautious like this?

He made a decision.

He drew out steel darts, closed his eyes, held his breath, and listened intently.

He noticed that Batu suddenly stopped in his tracks, and the three White Lion Cavalry halted as well.

Out of respect, the three White Lion Cavalry maintained silence. However, after a few breaths and no action from Batu, the situation became critical, and every breath seemed unbearably long. The youngest White Lion Cavalry could no longer contain himself.

Just as the young White Lion Cavalry opened his mouth, Winters spotted the enemy’s flaw: a low growl of a fierce beast and a hissing sound like a snake spitting out its tongue.

Winters didn’t hesitate for a moment, firing five steel darts in rapid succession toward the source of the noise.

A miserable groan came back from behind the smoke, followed by a series of footsteps.

There were more people!

Suppressing the phantom pain, Winters once again entered a spellcasting state and hurled his spear with full force towards the fleeing figures.

Casting spells with full force twice in a row, the phantom pain nearly caused Winters to faint. The spear, carrying a massive kinetic energy, pierced through the smokescreen and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Winters didn’t hear the sound of the spear penetrating a body, but the three White Lion Cavalry were also top-notch fighters and had already charged in the direction he had indicated.

Glancing at Little Lion, who had fallen into unconsciousness, Winters stayed put, not following them.

“Boom!”

“Boom!”

Without warning, two deafening booms erupted not far from Winters.

The blast carried hundreds of sharp projectiles, instantly dispersing the smoke and sweeping across the land. Limbs and soil were thrown into the air, then falling down in a light patter.

Dust and gunsmoke once again enshrouded the area, and no more sounds could be heard from the direction of the Red-armored Cavalry and White-armored Cavalry.

…

[Within the hunting circle, outside the smokescreen]

“Has [Herde Language] died?” Bai Xuan, hiding among the withered grass, cautiously observed the prey: “[Herde Language] died?”

As the best falconer among the tribes, camouflage and hiding were Bai Xuan’s specialties. If one didn’t come close and look carefully, no one could tell that a person was hidden among the yellow-brown withered grass.

Bai Xuan lay in silence, yet a different voice kept nagging in his mind: “[Herde Language] Dead? Dead?”

Talking to oneself was one of the occupational hazards of a falconer.

Capturing a mature falcon usually required traps. Falconers would set traps for at least four or five days, sometimes up to a month. Spending too much time alone, falconers unconsciously got used to conversing with themselves.

“[Herde Language] Should we do it again?” Bai Xuan carefully weighed pros and cons. Only the slight sound of burning grass came from within the smokescreen, and nothing else; it seemed as though they were dead.

Bai Xuan made up his mind and picked up the bone flute hanging around his neck.

Bai Xuan wasn’t surprised that the White Lion was protected by a Chosen One. Since he could be hired to kill the White Lion, it was not strange for the Red River Tribe to have their own Chosen One protect the White Lion.

Follow current novℯls on ƒгeewёbnovel.com.

On the great plains, Chosen Ones were extremely rare. Unless it was absolutely necessary, one Chosen One would not attempt to kill another.

But if blood had already been spilled onto the ground, it had to be a fight to the death, otherwise there would be endless troubles.

“Talent” was a matter of life and death; every Chosen One tried to conceal their own “talent” as much as possible, but Bai Xuan had already figured out his opponent’s hand.

“[Herde Language] A Chosen One who’s skilled at dart throwing?” The spear that had passed by like a shooting star just now still left Bai Xuan with lingering fears: “[Herde Language] Why haven’t I heard of this before?”

But it didn’t matter anymore. Now that he knew his opponent’s “talent,” Bai Xuan had a way to cope.

Bai Xuan just felt it was a pity—another Chosen One was about to return to the spirits.

The strange bone flute sounded again. The bone flute’s sound was not loud, but its penetrating power was strong, making it easy to discern amid the noise.

The invisible ripples emanated by the bone flute spread to the edge of the hunting circle. A few neatly dressed hunters heard the bone flute sound and immediately walked to the back of the carriage, removing the covers.

Under the cover was two iron cages, each containing a wolfhound that resembled a wolf.

The hunter brought a total of two carts, each with four iron cages. The other cart with its cover just lifted had four more wolfhounds, but the iron cages on the other cart were all empty.

The wolfhounds, already impatient from the sound of the bone flute, dashed out of their cages, leaped over the felt walls, and headed straight for their master’s hiding place.

Bai Xuan lay in stealth among the withered grass, waiting until the two wolfhounds arrived.

The ferocious wolfhounds, normally too intimidating for hunters to approach, were exceptionally docile and well-behaved beside Bai Xuan.

Having been trained, the wolfhounds rarely barked. So they only whined softly, wagged their tails frantically, and licked Bai Xuan’s cheeks with their moist tongues.

Bai Xuan gently caressed the two wolfhounds, chanting silently. With his touch, the animals grew increasingly excited, joyful, and satisfied.

Almost ready, Bai Xuan took out a sealed iron box from his bosom, which contained several pieces of dark yellow fatty substances. He placed the box in front of the wolfhounds to let them sniff.

Within the hunting grounds, only two people carried the scent of Wolf Spore. One was Bai Xuan himself, and the other was White Lion clad in red armor.

Gunpowder smoke and sulfur might confound a person’s sense of smell, but not Bai Xuan’s wolfhounds.

Lastly, Bai Xuan pulled out a wooden tube.

He removed the lid, revealing the smoldering wood shavings, and expressionlessly ignited the gunpowder fuse hanging from the “little barrel” under the wolfhounds’ necks.

“Go,” Bai Xuan silently commanded in Herde Language, blowing the bone flute once more.

Just like in their previous training, the two wolfhounds obeyed the command faithfully and without hesitation, they dashed into the smoke and lunged towards the target that emitted the scent of Wolf Spore.

Bai Xuan patiently waited.

Soon after, muffled explosions came from behind the curtain of smoke. Waves of air swept over the ground, showering Bai Xuan with fragments of iron, blood, and soil.

Then, everything fell silent.

Bai Xuan continued to wait for a while longer, hearing not even a groan, presuming they were truly dead.

He cautiously threw a few stones into the smokescreen; still no reaction.

“A token,” Bai Xuan silently stood up, carefully approaching the site of the explosion.

As per agreement, he needed to obtain evidence of White Lion’s death… preferably White Lion’s head.

The smoke still enveloped the ground like a filmy curtain, not yet dissipated.

“The smoke box, there’s one less now,” Bai Xuan thought with some regret.

The smoke box was a two-legged creature’s creation, with each use, one less remained. To the tribal chiefs, a smoke box might not be that useful. But to Bai Xuan, it was even more precious than wolfhounds.

The wind picked up, and the wall of smoke slowly drifted.

Bai Xuan felt the wind behaving oddly, but couldn’t quite put his finger on what was off.

Lifting his head, Bai Xuan realized the smoke wasn’t “flowing,” but “spinning.”

The smoke spun faster and faster, and before Bai Xuan could react, it suddenly dispersed in all directions, as if the force restraining the smoke had vanished in an instant.

The ground cleared in a flash, and the smoky wall surrounding the explosion site completely collapsed.

In the battle of Chosen Ones, the outcome hinged on a fraction of an inch.

“It’s over!” It was the first time a sound escaped Bai Xuan’s throat, revealing his position. He wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to conceal himself.

A person covered in bloodied mud leaped out from beneath a warhorse’s corpse, simply raising a hand, Bai Xuan’s consciousness was utterly snuffed out.

Winters spat a bloody phlegm, walked over to the assassin’s body, confirming that the assassin was truly dead.

The assassin’s clothes were bound with dry leaves and yellow-brown shredded hemp cloth, looking like a thicket from a distance, no wonder the hiding was so concealed.

An oddly-shaped bone flute hung prominently in front of the assassin’s chest; he casually tore off the bone flute and tucked it into his pouch.

Only then did Winters feel acute pain in his left shoulder.

Fumbling, he pulled an armor fragment from his shoulder.

“This thing,” Winters threw the bloodied armor fragment onto the assassin’s corpse, “was my own invention.”