The two slid out from behind the dune, keeping low and using the shadows of scattered rocks and dunes to approach the three Baleful Fiends without a sound.
Lin Qing led the way, his footsteps so light they were almost inaudible.
Yue Ling'er followed behind him with nimble steps.
She extended her perception to its fullest, tracking every movement of the three Baleful Fiends ahead.
A thousand feet, eight hundred, six hundred.
The distance shrank little by little.
At three hundred feet, Lin Qing stopped behind a pile of rocks, and Yue Ling'er crouched beside him.
They peered through the gaps between the rocks and finally saw what the three Baleful Fiends were doing.
The three Baleful Fiends crouched in a circle around a corpse lying on the ground.
The corpse was already mangled beyond recognition. Its limbs had been gnawed down to the bone, its chest had been split open, and its organs were nowhere to be seen.
Its head tilted to one side, only a layer of skin remaining on its face. Its eye sockets were sunken black hollows, and its mouth gaped wide, as though it had let out a silent scream before death.
He wore tattered animal hides, with a broken stone axe hanging from his waist. His skin was bronze, and a faint pattern marked his forehead—the mark of the Ancient Clan.
The three Baleful Fiends sprawled over him, plunging their armored blades into his chest and abdomen. Gaping, blood-red mouths opened along the blades' edges, ravenously sucking up the remaining flesh and blood.
The corpse had shriveled beyond human shape, its skin stretched tight over its bones like a mummy dried out for years.
Yet the Baleful Fiends still refused to leave it alone. The bloody mouths on their armored blades opened and closed,