Patience

Soren dared not get too close.

The hunters possessed anti-tracking abilities, and the Gnoll had an excellent sense of smell; they could detect the scent of living beings if they got too close. At this moment, Soren's figure was completely shrouded in shadow, leaving no trace whatsoever. He moved only in the shadows, never revealing himself in any open area.

The distance between them gradually decreased.

Soren moved very slowly, his footsteps barely audible. A gray hare lay by the grass, oblivious to Soren's presence as he passed within a meter of it, continuing to busily nibble at something. Ahead, the traces of a campfire were visible, suggesting the hunters had spent the night there. Nearby lay the carcass of a skinned wild animal; they must have hunted and roasted a wild boar the previous night, half of its head still uneaten.

Half-Breed Orc appeared ahead, staring fiercely at the foot of the mountain, rubbing his battle axe in his hand.

"%**(#...%*(...)"

A series of sounds that Soren couldn't understand at all came over, seemingly the dialect of Half-Orc, with a slight hint of Pure-blood Orc language. This language is incomprehensible without special training; one can only judge it by its expressions and actions. The Half-Orc seemed somewhat angry, constantly pointing at the foot of the mountain as if it wanted to launch an attack.

The number of hunters has decreased significantly!

Soren spotted the dark, High Gnoll a sword wound on its face, its gaze fixed coldly on the Half-Breed Orc.

It seems they did not complete the hunt.

"Something must have happened!" Soren moved along the shadows, sneaking around a spot a hundred or two meters away as Stealth towards the foot of the mountain. His expression gradually became serious. As a result, the vegetation on the ground appeared far too lush.

He reached out and picked up a vine, muttering, "This is... Entangle? No! It doesn't seem like a simple Spell effect!"

The power of Spell doesn't last that long.

Everything before my eyes had clearly lasted for two or three days, and these plants were full of Hit Points for some reason.

"Druid?"

Soren approached slowly, discovering that the foot of the mountain had transformed into a sea of plants. Everywhere were lush green vines, seemingly alive, swaying gently in the breeze, with faint signs of unusual activity visible. The incredibly vigorous vegetation acted as a barrier, blocking any openings from all sides. In some places, blood was clearly visible; thorns on the vines had pierced the bodies of some creatures, using their blood to sustain themselves. However, near the edges, there were also signs of withering.

"Is this plant revitalization? Or Divine Power intervention?"

Soren slowly drew his Scimitar, hesitant to approach the vines, which were clearly too vigorous in their Hit Points. These things were incredibly troublesome; even Legendary Rogue could easily get trapped inside if they were unlucky. Just look at the corpses inside those vines. They were definitely the bodies of high-level hunters; at least six individuals of class level 15 or higher had died on these vines. It seemed they had even tried fire, but these supernatural vines were completely unfazed by flames.

Soren saw the Elf guards, their numbers greatly reduced; only three remained standing, while four or five lay on the ground nearby, their fates unknown—many had apparently perished. The handsome Elf Noble from the beginning was still there, but he looked extremely disheveled, with three claw marks on his face, his eyebrows ripped open, and his face contorted in a grotesque grimace. Judging from the wounds, he had almost been attacked in the temple.

"It doesn't look like a burst of Divine Power? Could it be due to some Legendary Item?"

Soren stared at the Elf Noble in the distance, his expression one of despair. They had been trapped here for nearly three days, most of his guards were dead, and those who remained were mostly wounded. They had clearly been cornered by the hunters and had only managed to hold on for so long thanks to the vines outside.

Time passed little by little.

The despair on the Elf Noble's face grew increasingly evident. The guard whispered something in his ear, but they were too far away to hear clearly.

This vine cannot last forever.

If no one comes to their rescue, these people are sure to die at the hands of the hunters!

It was getting darker and darker.

Soren silently landed from the tree trunk and moved slowly along the shadows. The Rogue were all patient, and Soren was even more so. He didn't rush to attack, nor did he make any move to reveal his presence. He was like an observer, constantly watching the movements of the group of people at the foot of the mountain, maintaining a distance of about one or two hundred meters. Despite the hunters' constant bickering, their vigilance remained unwavering. Soren was confident he could kill them with a single blow, but he wasn't confident he could retreat afterward.

He did not approach the Elf.

First, Soren lacked the ability to help them escape danger. Second, the other party might not even trust him; he wasn't so eager as to risk his Hit Points to help a complete stranger. There were still twelve hunters in the group, half of whom were around level 12, and the other half were all high-level professionals above level 15. Half of them were Half-Breed Orc, and while the High Gnoll was very strong, his influence seemed to have diminished considerably.

The hunters are roasting meat; they sent men to hunt a goat.

Some people tentatively approached the vines, but immediately retreated upon seeing the swaying Thorn, their expressions seemingly filled with fear.

Soren sat on a tree, looking at the campfire in the distance, then turned to the shadows at the foot of the mountain. He took out a piece of jerky and chewed on it. At this moment, patience was the key, and patience was the most important thing in hunting.

Night fell.

The hunters barely slept, silently circling around the campfire, frustrated and angry from the repeated failures that had interrupted the ritual.

The Half-Breed Orc was picking his Dagger with a dagger nearby, glaring hatefully at what was behind him.

Soren heard a slight rustling sound coming from the vines, but before he could make a move, the dark, High Gnoll let out a sinister laugh. It crept forward silently, inching closer in the darkness. The other hunters, their faces contorted with rage, exchanged glances but made no move, instead raising their voices slightly.

An Elf guard emerged from hiding.

The vines seemed to be under control and didn't attack him. After leaving their range, he stealthily made his Stealth outside, appearing to be doing a bit of Ranger work. The person inside the vines was clearly watching him nervously. Soren's Darkvision was already in effect; night was almost no different from daytime for him. Shadow Dancer was an advanced class well-suited for nighttime activities.

Slurp!

Just as the Elf guard thought he had escaped and was about to hurry away to report, a dark shadow suddenly pounced from behind the bushes. A flash of cold light followed, and a sharp claw pierced the Elf guard's abdomen. The Gnoll grabbed his neck with its hand and lifted him up. When the claw on its right arm was pulled out, blood and intestines spilled out in large patches. A piercing scream rang out. An eerie silence fell within the vines, followed by an angry, mournful roar.

The Gnoll grinned as he picked up the Elf guard and walked towards the campfire.

Two Toughness Half-Breed Orc stood up, exchanged a fierce glance, then revealed a Cruelty smile. They used wooden sticks to skewer the still-breathing Elf Guard and roast him over the campfire!

A heart-wrenching wail erupted.

The Elf Noble within the vines had faces as white as sheets of paper. The remaining Elf Guard were also deathly pale.

Soren put down the dried meat.

He suddenly felt he had no appetite, silently put away his rations, and the faint screams still came intermittently. He gripped his Scimitar, stood still, and looked up at the sky.

It's still early.

The time before dawn is when people are most relaxed, and even high-level professionals will feel a little tired during this period.

The screams coming from the campfire grew fainter and fainter.

Soren stared blankly at the scene, his hand gripping the Scimitar turning slightly white from the force of his grip.

There was a meaty aroma in the air.

But as the smell wafted out, the Elf Noble inside the vines suddenly vomited, tears and snot streaming down his face. He looked utterly wretched. The hunters let out a ferocious roar of laughter. The Half-Breed Orc picked up the mangled corpse, tore off a leg, threw it into the vines, and shouted something, seemingly implying that it smelled delicious and was ready to eat.

One of the Elf Guard seemed to have gone mad and tried to rush out, but was held back by another person.

Going out would be suicide!

The Elf Noble was completely limp on the spot, his expression somewhat neurotic, because the roasted thigh was thrown in front of him.

As someone from an aristocratic family, he had probably never experienced anything like this before.

This is what real wilderness survival is like!

Soren remained very silent, his figure disappearing without a trace in the darkness. He kept his eyes on the campfire, occasionally glancing up at the sky.

It's almost midnight.

The Elf within the vines were nearly driven to the brink of collapse; the hunters' methods were far beyond what these pampered creatures could withstand.

Some of the Half-Breed Orc were sleeping, but others were on guard.

In the darkness of night.

The High Gnoll's eyes, a vibrant green, had been watching the surrounding activity closely. But as time passed, it gently closed its eyes. They had been circling here for almost three days; it needed a rest. The power of the Spell was waning; they noticed some vines had withered, and these damned vines should disappear soon.

Soren watched them silently.

Although the High Gnoll had closed its eyes, its sitting posture remained explosive, as if it could charge out in an instant.

It wasn't asleep; it was just pretending to sleep with its eyes closed.

Time ticked by, second by second.

The Warrior- type Half-Orc was already snoring, the vigilant hunter looked slightly tired, and the Gnoll's posture had also tilted slightly.

A trace of emotion finally appeared on Soren's usually expressionless face. He narrowed his eyes slightly, drew his Scimitar, and then slowly approached in an arc.

Little by little, getting closer and closer.

...(To be continued~^~)