The scouts Lufan Lie had sent soon vanished into the mist.
The two teams, ten men each, carefully felt their way toward the rear along the safe routes they had repeatedly confirmed before.
Leading them were the tribe's most seasoned scout veterans. They had hunted in these mountains and forests for years and knew the terrain like old horses knew the way; exaggerating only slightly, they could tell direction even with their eyes closed.
But today, everything was different.
"Stop."
The scout at the very front abruptly raised a hand. The nine men behind him immediately crouched down, bowstrings half-drawn and arrows aimed into the surrounding mist.
"What is it?" the leader asked in a low voice.
"Something's here."
The man in front slowly crouched down and parted the dead grass at his feet. A thread so thin it was almost invisible appeared before them.
A tripwire.
Everyone's expression changed.
"We've walked this route before," one scout whispered, obvious tension in his voice. "This tripwire... it wasn't here before."
The leader said nothing. Following the line with his eyes, he saw a crude single-use crossbow hidden at its end, the tip of its wooden bolt gleaming a dim blue.
Poisoned.
"Go around it."
The leader's voice was grave.
The group carefully stepped over the tripwire and continued onward.
But before they had gone twenty paces, a muffled thud suddenly came from behind them, followed by a brief scream.
"Ah—"
Everyone spun around. The scout at the very back of the group had already fallen to the ground, a short wooden bolt buried deep in his shoulder. He tore open his clothes and desperately bound his shoulder, yet the skin around the wound was visibly turning bluish-black before their eyes.
"A trap!"
"Take cover!"
The scouts immediately scattered, each finding cover.