Arrow in the Dark Night

Dense ghost fires roamed about, a pack of wolves with mottled fur and lean bodies.

Under the threat of the torchlight, they surrounded the five men at a distance, baring their sharp white teeth and growling, ready to pounce at any moment.

Roughly twenty of them, their calf-like bodies sent shivers down their spines.

The group instinctively formed a circle, drawing the Steel Swords from their waists.

Roy was protected in the center by four burly men. Less than thirty feet away, the wolf pack faced him. He could smell the stench of rotten blood and flesh emanating from the wolves.

His pupils were filled with the cruel, bloodthirsty gazes of pairs of eyes.

No matter how many times he had encountered these wild predators, it was nothing compared to the shock of facing them in person!

He couldn't help but feel his body tremble slightly. These wolves were no docile livestock drugged and bound in a slaughterhouse. Their fangs and claws could easily tear through human skin.

"Everyone be careful, these beasts are cunning!" One-Eyed Jack slowly waved his torch, driving the wolves back. This old sailor had clearly seen his share of battles in his youth, his face devoid of fear, appearing exceptionally calm.

The Butcher and the night watchman were men who had seen blood before; their hands gripping their Steel Swords were steady.

The blacksmith glared at the surrounding wolf pack with fierce, brown eyes. He held his Steel Sword with both hands at his right hip, the blade angled upward like a plow.

His spine was straight, his stance relaxed, slightly crouched. His left foot was forward, toes pointing at the wolf pack, his right foot back at a 45-degree angle outward. This son of Skellig was clearly professionally trained in swordsmanship; his stance and movements were precise and fluid.

Roy was the worst off in the entire group, his face pale, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

"Follow me, men, and walk slowly. Don't panic, don't run." With Jack's steady voice, they moved like a small fortress, slowly inching towards the graveyard.

Unexpectedly, after only two or three steps, the wolf pack was enraged. With a few high-pitched howls, the wolves at the front lunged forward like a gust of wind.

"Scram!" Jack roared, kicking a wolf's head as it charged. Simultaneously, his bright Steel Sword carved an arc through the night sky, striking the wolf's thigh.

The charging beast let out a mournful cry and retreated, limping.

"You bastards, think I'm useless because I'm old?" One-Eyed Jack didn't want to let it go so easily, but its wolf companions quickly moved to block his sword. Not one, but two wolves bared their teeth at him. This time, they had learned their lesson and didn't charge directly, instead circling Old Jack from the sides, as if observing for weaknesses.

Old Jack frantically waved his left hand with the torch and his right hand with the Steel Sword to threaten them. But he was old, and couldn't hold on for long. Sweat soon trickled down his forehead, his movements becoming more labored.

Meanwhile, the Butcher, the blacksmith, and the night watchman were each facing two to three wolves, also struggling to defend themselves and unable to support him.

Outside the immediate combat area, a few more wolves lurked in the shadows, pacing with their claws as if watching a play, ready to join at any moment.

A prolonged defense is bound to fail!

In fact, it was only a short five minutes before the oldest, Old Jack, momentarily lost his guard and was scratched on the waist by a claw, instantly opening a bloody wound. He endured the pain and struck the attacker with his sword, but his strength was depleted. The second wolf struck him again, causing him to lose his balance and fall.

Ghostly wolf shadows instantly pounced on him, their gaping maws opening wide.

I didn't expect to die at the jaws of a pack of beasts. The thought flashed through Old Jack's mind when he suddenly heard a sharp whistling sound, followed by the dull thud of a heavy object hitting the ground.

He got up and blinked, seeing an arrow sticking out of the wolf that had pinned him, its life force draining away.

"Old Jack, move aside..." The young man behind him was kneeling on one knee, holding "Gabriel" in one hand and the trigger in the other. Intense nervousness and fear made him sweat profusely, his lips trembling.

As soon as the fight began, Roy had taken out his spatial hand crossbow, but the wolves moved too quickly, and the light was dim at night. It wasn't until now that he found his first opportunity.

Fortunately, the arrow hit its mark.

The moment the arrowhead struck the wolf's flank, Roy distinctly saw a flash of purple light. "Is this... Slaughter?"

He could guess that the flash of light was the damage from a Skill.

The wolves were undoubtedly within the hunting range of "Slaughter"!

With this thought, a sense of confidence inexplicably grew within him, and his trembling subsided... He drew the bowstring, aiming at another wolf entangled with Old Jack.

"Swoosh—"

The sharp, faint whistling sound echoed again, like the Grim Reaper's scythe. The second arrow flew, and another wolf fell to the ground with a whimper.

Roy's Perception of 6 was pushed to its limit.

He felt his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest. His right hand, drawing the bowstring, felt weak and exhausted. His Experience Points increased by a full 20, bringing his total to 23/500, meaning each wolf was worth 10 Experience Points.

These two arrows significantly boosted the morale of the night watchman's side, while the wolf pack suffered a negative impact, their assault momentarily slowing.

Seizing this opening, Roy shot another arrow into the thigh of the wolf entangled with the blacksmith. Seeing this, the blacksmith roared like an enraged lion, his muscular arm raising his Steel Sword and bringing it down with a mighty chop, cleaving the wolf in two.

He kicked away the bloody remains, then pounded his chest and roared with a blood-red face.

The wolf pack's encirclement was now broken. The blacksmith stood at the forefront with his Steel Sword raised, while the others behind him abandoned their attacks, switching to a purely defensive stance, parrying the lunging wolf shadows with their swords. Roy, protected within the circle, acted as the main damage dealer, continuously firing arrows. By the time he had shot all 20 arrows, five more wolf corpses lay on the ground. The wolf pack had suffered severe casualties, and the remaining ones finally realized they were facing a tough opponent. They turned tail and fled back into the deep night.

Almost simultaneously, the five men let out a collective sigh of relief and collapsed onto the grass. The battle, lasting only about ten minutes, had completely exhausted them. Apart from Roy, they all had some injuries, but they were all minor. After returning to the village, getting bandaged, and resting for a while, they would be fine.

Roy rested for a moment, regaining his strength. Looking at the four men covered in blood and looking disheveled around him, a surge of heroism welled up in his heart.

"We survived."

"Haha, looks like Old Jack has another story to brag about after tonight." Old Jack winced in pain, then slapped Roy's shoulder forcefully. "You did great! I thought you'd be scared out of your wits and drag us down. I didn't expect we'd owe our lives to you tonight. I won't hold it against you for swindling me out of so many Crowns!"

The other men nodded in agreement, finding it hard to believe. Of the fifteen wolf corpses on the ground, nearly half had been shot or finished off by this young lad. When they were thirteen, most of them were mischievous brats. Even Skellig's Pusig hadn't achieved such a glorious feat in a single night.

The blacksmith couldn't help but sigh, "Good thing I sold you the hand crossbow last time, or none of us would have made it back today. Roy, tell Uncle the truth, you were adopted by Old Mol and his wife, right? Your ancestors must have had elf or dwarf blood. No human archer has this kind of accuracy!"

Roy smiled, seizing the opportunity to retrieve his arrows from the wolf corpses.

He couldn't tell them his secret, after all. And he had to admit that this battle involved a significant amount of luck. It was his first time using the hand crossbow in a serious fight, and the wolves moved so fast. His dynamic vision struggled to keep up.

Next time, hitting one-third of his targets would be incredible!

He casually made a joke, "I told you, I'm favored by the Goddess of Fortune; even aiming at empty air will hit the target." He then glanced at his Experience Points (73/500), confirming that the wilderness was indeed the best place to grind for experience. However, opportunities like tonight, being protected by four strong men with no pressure to take potshots, were rare, very rare.

The Night Watchman Tomp's gaze swept over the miniature crossbow on his wristband, and he cautioned, "That's a 'Gabriel', isn't it? Semi-automatic, single-handed operation, a very suitable self-defense weapon for you. Take good care of it, don't lose it. And don't just show it off to the soldiers."

Roy nodded.

"How is everyone feeling?" Fletcher interrupted their conversation. A flesh-and-blood wound was peeling back on his left forearm, and his face was still etched with anxiety. "Can we keep moving? I'm afraid... Brandon can't wait."

"Of course, we have to continue!" Pusig wiped the blood off his Steel Sword with his sleeve and sheathed it. "Victory is within reach. If we abandon that child, the Goddess Meritelli will bring down punishment!"

The group silently got up and proceeded towards the graveyard once more. The rest of the journey was calm and uneventful; they encountered no further danger.

"Brandon, come out quickly, Dad's here to pick you up!"

The Butcher couldn't help but shout loudly into the graveyard, still a distance away from it.

The group's hearts tightened as they prayed to hear a response.

"I feel something's not right," Roy suddenly said as they entered the graveyard, built with piles of gravel.

Faintly, he felt the same sensation as when he encountered the wolf pack.

Perception, once it surpassed ordinary levels, was indeed very practical.

It was too quiet. Within the dilapidated wooden fence, the vast graveyard held hundreds of corpses. In the darkness, gravestones stood in rows, exuding a chilling and eerie atmosphere.

And right in the center of the graveyard stood a low-slung structure; this was the residence of Old Gravekeeper Gonger.

"Something's wrong, it's too quiet, Fletcher!" The Night Watchman waved his hand, signaling the others to stop.

Everyone lowered their voices.

"You shouted so loudly, even if the child isn't in the graveyard, Old Gonger should have heard you."

"He won't. The child is in the house! Gonger must have taken him in. They're fast asleep now, yes, I'm going in!"

"What is that?!" Roy suddenly exclaimed, drawing everyone's attention. Following the direction of his finger, they saw a strange pit on the grassy area outside the graveyard.

"That's a new grave, a burial site for a villager buried just last month."

"I remember the good old Chris was buried there."

As the group approached, they saw the solitary tombstone pushed aside, and the spot where the body should have been was empty.

Where did the body go? And what dug open the grave?

"This..."

Roy turned his head. Nearby, there wasn't just one pit; several graves had been dug up.

"That damned scoundrel, daring to desecrate the dead and steal their belongings?" Pusig muttered, his brow furrowed. "Is the gravekeeper just a figurehead?"

Roy, however, shook his head. He noticed Old Jack's expression turn unusually serious and grim, and he began to quietly retreat.

"I don't think this is the work of a human?"

A bone-chilling coldness surged into his heart.