Hunters and warriors

There was a reason fire could drive beasts away. Its heat and light cowed the ignorant; it symbolized hope.

And in this world where gods existed, meaning and symbolism could often determine a great many things.

For instance, once these campfires gained symbolic meaning, they ceased to be mere piles of burning wood.

They formed a connection with Lin Jin.

Through these campfires, Lin Jin could expand the range of his perception and, when necessary, transmit a portion of his power to them.

He even sensed, deep down, that he could do more through these campfires.

Nor would the bugs who built them question why the fires could burn for so long without going out.

Faith was sometimes just that unreasonable.

Lin Jin had originally defined himself as a god of fiercely burning flames, but his followers' little "creative touches" had suddenly given him all sorts of strange abilities.

As the saying went, sometimes even a god had no idea what his followers would turn his doctrine into.

But since the changes were positive, Lin Jin ultimately decided to leave them alone for now.

By continually absorbing faith, he had gradually stabilized his existence and could now cast simple spells without expending anything.

The bugs, too, could take comfort in their god's changes. The stronger the god they worshipped became, the more secure they felt.

This was also the foundation on which the captain responsible for the Fungal Wastes planned his strategy.

The reason he had chosen to stay here, rather than return as soon as he had gathered basic intelligence like the other squads, was that he felt confident.

He held the initiative. All he needed to do was wait patiently.

Soon, while the captain in the Fungal Wastes was leading a prayer, a figure arrived behind them at an inopportune moment.

It was Mortas, the lord of Mantis Village.

Beside Mortas was the scout who had guided him here, Quyin, who was now trembling behind his chief.

The expedition squad's captain noticed them too. At last, the one he had been waiting for had arrived.

But he did not turn around. Instead, he continued his unfinished prayer, and Mortas courteously waited.

And so a strange scene unfolded: several bugs prayed devoutly around a fire, while a hunter stood obediently waiting nearby.

Fortunately, they did not have to worry about any unruly beasts appearing. Every bug-beast in the lower level had long since scattered at Mortas's arrival.

After a while, the prayer finally ended, and at that very moment, the campfire briefly grew hotter.

All these prayers and this faith would be sent to their source.

Mortas noticed it as well. The campfire had indeed changed for no apparent reason. Was this some special method?

Before the mantis chief could think further, something interrupted him.

The captain calmly rose. He did not ask who the newcomer was, merely observed him with composure.

Mortas likewise withdrew his gaze from the fire and turned to study him.

With the instincts of seasoned fighters, both realized that the one facing them was not to be underestimated.

"Outsiders, why have you entered this land?"

Mortas spoke first, his commanding voice carrying both a question and a threat.

"I am Lord Mortas, master of this land. Outsider, please tell me why you have come."

He carefully sized up the captain. For a member of another race he had never encountered before, this tone was already sincere enough.

In the past, when mantises encountered unfamiliar creatures, they killed first and asked questions later.

But this time, Mortas could clearly tell that, although his opponent was weaker than he was, the gap was small. A true hunter never fought a battle he was not confident of winning.

"Nothing special. This place looked good, so we wanted to take it."

The captain's tone was flat, as though he were speaking of something utterly ordinary.

But those words gave Quyin quite a fright. He was already wondering whether he should hurry back to the village and fetch more mantises.

"Oh?"

Mortas clearly had not expected that either. What was this fellow saying?

This outsider had actually stated his intentions so bluntly. Was he not afraid of dying here?

"If that is the case, then I can only say you are deluding yourselves. This land has belonged to the mantises since ancient times."

Mortas assumed a fighting stance. It was a warning.

But clearly, his opponent had not taken it to heart-or understood it and simply did not care.

Drawing his spear, the captain was ready for a fight as well.

The other squad members spread out around them in unspoken coordination, leaving the two ample room.

The chronicler, meanwhile, stood eagerly to one side, impatient to begin recording something new.

"It doesn't matter who owned it before. What matters is that our god wants this land now, so we will take it!"

"A god?"

The word was so distant that, for a moment, Mortas could not recall what it meant.

Long, long ago, he seemed to have heard it mentioned just once by an elder of his clan.

But he could think about that later. Mortas shook his head. What mattered now was driving out these confirmed invaders.

Seeing that his opponent had made his stance clear, Mortas knew there was no need for further discussion. He drew the spear carried on his back and delivered the battle's first strike.

With a sharp whoosh, a spear plunged into the solid ground.

Such a simple move would naturally never land, but the captain did not pull his spear free. Instead, he bent the end of its shaft backward.

The wooden shaft's flexibility would make it snap back harder. A hit might not cause much injury, but the pain would definitely create a momentary opening.

This was a combat technique the captain had developed through long years of fighting. Plain and unadorned as it was, it worked extremely well.

Naturally, an attack of this level would not hit Mortas either. He stepped back, easily avoiding it by a hair's breadth.

Immediately afterward, Mortas drew the twin blades at his waist and unleashed a diagonal cross slash at the target before him.

This move was extremely difficult to evade. The distinctive sharp bone armor on a mantis's arms extended the reach of the attack.

An attack with two stages?

Even though this was his first time seeing it, the captain realized he could not take this blow head-on.

Abandoning his planned follow-up, the captain stepped back as well, avoiding the blades about to stab into him.

The movements were complex, but they all happened in only a few seconds.

Within a few breaths, the two had exchanged several blows and gained a rough understanding of each other's fighting prowess.

Both were skilled fighters hardened by countless battles, with little difference in experience or technique.

As for strength, they were equally matched.

But that did not mean the fight was even.

The captain had no particularly outstanding advantage, but neither did he have any obvious weakness.

The strength he had honed on the battlefield did not demand exceptional speed, but it placed heavy demands on endurance and explosive power.

The captain's reasoning was clear: he knew little about his opponent, so after his opening probing attack, he focused on defense throughout.

He was expending less stamina than his opponent. If the fight dragged on, the mantis would inevitably lose.

Mortas realized it too. His attacks had achieved little, but he still had one advantage: speed.

The weapons in his hands were inferior to his opponent's. To inflict meaningful damage, he needed to strike at unprotected joints.

Finding weak points to attack was a hunter's specialty. Without hesitation, Mortas adopted hit-and-run tactics, retreating far away after every strike.

The armored captain had good defenses, but he could not keep up in speed.

For the moment, he could only struggle to fend off the attacks, and he realized it too.

Every strike his opponent made targeted a vital spot. Mortas did not need to defeat him outright; he only needed to inflict one serious wound before exhausting his own stamina, then wear him down bit by bit.

The captain felt immense pressure. He admitted he had underestimated his opponent, but it was too late for any of that now.

Asking his teammates for help was out of the question. This was a one-on-one duel, and doing so would only dishonor him.

Beyond keeping his defenses firm, he could think of no other solution.

"Excellent! Once you fall into the chief's rhythm, all you can do is get worn down!"

Unlike the grim-faced expedition squad, Quyin was exhilarated. Whenever the chief used that move, his opponent was certain to lose.

That was how a true hunter fought. There was no need to crush a powerful enemy head-on.

He only needed to keep building advantages in his favor, then secure victory, steadily, little by little.