Weariness

Nord watched the distant sun gradually sink below the horizon. The surrounding mountains and forests remained just as quiet, as if nothing had changed. Yes, nothing had changed.

Two days had already passed, yet Nord and the others still had not found Distant Mountain Stronghold. Over the past two days, every animal, every plant, every sight along the road indicated that Distant Mountain Stronghold was close at hand, but Nord still could not find it. It felt like searching wholeheartedly for something—you knew it might be right beside you, seemingly within reach, yet impossibly far away.

Old Mor's eyes revealed his unwillingness to accept it. He was unwilling. The surrounding environment reminded him every moment that he was home, yet now he was shut out at the door. Others might find such feelings difficult to understand. Old Mor looked helplessly at Nord, a trace of pleading in his eyes.

Nord sighed inwardly. He understood Old Mor's feelings. As a Chinese man, Nord knew the feeling Old Mor had of wanting fallen leaves to return to their roots. But though Nord understood, he could not personally experience Old Mor's sorrow and heartache. Looking at the hunters around him, who were already showing signs of exhaustion, Nord decided he could not indulge Old Mor's willfulness any longer.

Nord had spent more than a month with Old Mor, and he deeply admired this old hunter, who was usually quiet but handled everything in perfect order. Especially Old Mor's miraculous Archery Skill—it left Nord in awe. Although Nord had begun training with a bow every day, who knew how long it would take before he reached Old Mor's level?

This was also the first time Nord had seen Old Mor like this. Normally, his face was expressionless, while his weathered eyes carried calmness and faint sorrow. In Nord's previous life, that image would have been every young girl's favorite. But now, Old Mor had become fragile, as though one careless movement could shatter him. Perhaps every man had a soft side hidden in his heart.

Today, Nord would have to be the bad guy. Avoiding Old Mor's gaze, he turned to the weary hunters and said:

"This expedition ends here. Rest today, and we'll head back first thing tomorrow morning."

Hearing the news, the hunters all breathed a sigh of relief. Old Mor also seemed to let out a breath, sitting blankly where he was as he stared lifelessly at the evening glow on the horizon.

Harry did not know how to comfort Old Mor either. He was in a terrible mood himself. His wife and children were still in the stronghold. He had only been away for a little over half a month, yet it felt as though years had passed. He truly had no idea how Old Mor had endured twenty years. Harry felt that after being away from the stronghold for so many days, he had matured considerably.

So, he walked over and sat beside Old Mor. Without saying a word, he silently watched the sunset.

Nord paid no attention to those two people nursing their wounds alone. This was something they had to sort out for themselves. Instead, he walked over to Ryman and asked what they should do next.

"Ryman, what should we do now? Old Mor, in his current state..."

"Lord Nord, leave it to me. You can always trust your captain of the guard, Ryman!"

Ryman gripped the hilt of his sword tightly and gave Nord a determined assurance.

Seeing Ryman's exhausted face, and the confidence and determination in his bloodshot eyes, Nord chose to trust him. With a solemn expression, he nodded, then turned and left.

Watching Nord's departing figure, Ryman took out his bow and carefully adjusted the tension of its string.

Late at night, beside the campfire.

Ryman and the others, who had kept watch for half the night, had already gone to sleep. It was now Old Mor's group's turn. Ryman had not changed the watch schedule and still had Old Mor stand watch. Neither Nord nor Old Mor said anything about it.

Sitting before the campfire, Old Mor's thoughts were no longer here. They seemed to have flown to Distant Mountain Stronghold, back to his childhood. Every person and every road in Distant Mountain Stronghold appeared before him. He had thought that after so many years, he had forgotten it all. Yet everything remained so deeply etched in his mind, as though branded into his bloodline.

Just as Old Mor's thoughts drifted, a pair of emerald vertical pupils suddenly appeared in a distant tree. They glowed in the pitch-black night, like a pair of exquisite gems, yet also like ghostly flames that claimed lives.

With a light leap, it silently jumped down from the tree. Its black fur was sleek and fine, as though it absorbed all the surrounding light, leaving no trace in the darkness. Looking closely, one could spot a patch of singed fur.

It was the Black Mountain Cat. It was nearly a meter long. After jumping down, it cautiously observed the area for a while. Only after finding no movement did it begin to creep toward the campfire with elegant, silent steps.

The other hunters by the campfire did not notice the Black Mountain Cat's trail. They remained seated, occasionally raising their heads to glance carelessly into the darkness before lowering them again to tend the fire and keep it from going out.

Just like that, the Black Mountain Cat successfully approached a hunter at the outermost edge of the camp. It raised its head to look at the hunters by the fire and found that they still had not noticed it. Lowering its gaze to the human lying on the ground, its emerald vertical pupils filled with bloodlust and cruelty. A strangely human expression appeared on its face—the thrill of revenge.

Just as the Black Mountain Cat stretched out its claws to attack the hunter's face, a sharp crack rang out in the distance, like the vibration of a bowstring. Panic flashed through the Black Mountain Cat's eyes, but it was already too late. An arrow shot through the air and pierced straight through its skull.

Ryman, who had been resting against a tree, had risen at some point. Holding his longbow, he watched the Black Mountain Cat's corpse. Only after seeing that it did not move did he finally relax.

It turned out Ryman had only pretended to rest. His bow and arrows had remained by his side all along as he waited for the Black Mountain Cat to appear, intending to settle the matter once and for all.

The sound of the bowstring not only startled the hunters keeping watch by the fire, but also woke Nord and the others from their sleep. There was no helping it—no one dared sleep too deeply in the mountains and forests. Especially these past few days, knowing the Black Mountain Cat had been following nearby, everyone's nerves had been stretched taut.

Nord got up and found that the Black Mountain Cat had already been shot dead. At last, a weight lifted from his heart. He quickly asked whether anyone had been injured.

The hunters by the campfire stood and apologized to Ryman. Ryman did not blame them. Instead, he reminded them to be more attentive while standing watch in the future and taught them several key points about keeping watch.

After confirming that no one had been hurt or killed, Nord walked to the campfire. Only Old Mor remained there, sitting alone as though separated from everyone else. Nord did not stay long. After saying one sentence, he left.

"We'll come back, and we won't stop until we find Distant Mountain Stronghold! I, Nord Isaac, guarantee it!"

By the campfire, Old Mor, with his back to everyone, wore a face full of shame.

With the threat gone, the group returned to Wild Boar Cave in less than two days. Seeing this familiar base, everyone's faces showed heartfelt joy, including Old Mor.

Thank you all for your recommendation votes. There were quite a few yesterday, so thank you for your support. But the number of new bookmarks was dreadful. Most of the people reading now are old friends, so let's keep it up together!

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