Chapter 30: As Vulture Circles, A Hunter Rises
Rrraaah! Rrraaah! Rrraaah!
The harsh cries of carrion birds pierced the morning stillness, echoing like a cruel chorus across the whispering hills.
Above the world, six monstrous black vultures circled in slow, spiraling arcs over Whispering Hollow. Their massive wings beat against the rising sun, which painted the clouds in crimson and gold.
These were no ordinary scavengers—these were Shadow Wing Vultures, grotesque creatures mutated by corrupted essence, drawn to the scent of blood and death like moths to flame.
Each had oversized wings torn with holes, yellow glassy eyes, and beaks shaped like rusted scythes. Their feathers were missing in patches, revealing diseased gray skin beneath.
But the worst part?
Their stench. Even in the sky, it spread like rot on the wind.
Below them stretched what was once a peaceful grove of tall trees and lush grass—now a battlefield turned wasteland. Cracked earth groaned underfoot. Deep gashes tore through the ground. Blood painted the soil in wide streaks—like a violent artist's brushwork. Scattered across the clearing were the mangled corpses of black wolves—gutted, torn, some missing entire limbs. Viscera still steamed faintly in the morning air.
It was the aftermath of a slaughter.
And at the center of it all, lying amidst rage and survival, was a young man.
Still.
Unmoving.
His black jacket and pants, once elegant, were now in tatters—soaked in blood and grime, shredded like paper. His body was caked in dirt and dried blood, yet even in that state, he did not look weak.
Beside him, mere inches from his outstretched hand, was a sword. An old blade—simple, unadorned… yet gleaming in the light, untouched by filth or gore. As though even the blood had refused to stain it. As though it had transcended the battle it had just fought.
Rrraaah! Rrraaah! Rrraaah!
The vultures cried again, circling lower now, drawn by the thick stench of death.
A sudden gust howled through the trees, shaking branches, scattering leaves like dying whispers. The world held its breath.
Then—
One of the vultures broke formation.
It was larger than the rest. Hideously malformed. Its left eye glowed blood-red—filled with madness and hunger. But the right?
Nothing.
Just a hollow pit of darkness—no eyeball, no pupil. A socket filled with darkness.
The beast hissed sharply.
"Sshhrraaaakkk!"
Its cracked beak parted as it dove, wings slicing the air like serrated blades. The others screeched and followed, their hungry eyes locked onto the feast of wolf flesh below.
The larger vulture descended further, landing atop the corpse of the largest wolf. Its talons dug into matted fur and torn flesh with a wet squelch. This was no ordinary prey—it had chosen to feast on Scar Fang, the former alpha of the black wolf pack. A massive creature whose dark gray fur still bristled even in death, with a long scar across its snout—a mark of a predator's legacy.
The one-eyed vulture stood tall on the alpha's corpse. Then its blood-red gaze shifted beyond the meat. Slowly, it turned its head… and stared directly at the young man lying motionless on the ground.
Lei Feng.
Its claws flexed in anticipation. The blind socket twitched unnaturally, as if trying to see what it could not. Then—with a terrible screech—it lunged, wings surging downward, claws extended to rip through the corpse.
WHOOSH!
In that instant—
Lei Feng's eyes snapped open.
Twin orbs of glimmering ocean blue, flickering with restrained power, lit up beneath the canopy. His pupils contracted as instinct surged through his body.
Without hesitation, his hand closed around the hilt of his sword.
SHING!
Steel whispered through the air in a deadly arc. A gleam of silver blurred across his vision.
The vulture had no time to react.
SLASH!
Lei Feng's blade cleaved through the beast mid-flight, cutting through feathers, flesh, and bone in one clean strike. Blood sprayed in two directions—one half of the body slammed into a tree, the other flopped uselessly to the ground.
[Ding!]
Successful !
+35 EXP
---
Lei Feng sat up slowly, his chest rising and falling, expression ice-cold. The battle was over…
But the danger was not.
His gaze snapped toward the other vultures, who had been tearing into wolf corpses moments before. Now, their heads lifted in unison, sensing the presence of the living.
No—of a hunter.
Their instincts screamed:
Run.
But it was too late.
BOOM!
A thunderclap rang out as Lei Feng launched forward, blasting the cracked earth into rubble. Rocks and blood-soaked debris exploded in his wake.
He appeared mid-air, in the center of the circling flock. His body twisted with precision as his blade moved like lightning—fast, silent, inevitable.
SHLICK!
The first vulture's head separated from its body.
SWOOSH!
Another's wing was severed, its body spiraling downward before it could cry out.
CLANG! SLASH! SHING!
Each motion of Lei Feng's sword drew a line of death. He moved like a phantom—cold, precise, merciless.
One strike. One kill.
---
[Ding!]
Successful Kill!
+30 EXP
[Ding!]
Successful Kill!
+30 EXP
[Ding!]
Successful Kill!
+30 EXP
[Ding!]
Successful Kill!
+30 EXP
[Ding!]
Successful Kill!
+30 EXP
---
Feathers rained like black snow. Blood misted the air. The shrieks of the dying birds faded into silence.
Lei Feng stood in the clearing, surrounded by shredded wings and broken bodies. His breath slowed. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
He looked at the carnage—the wolves he had slain, the monsters that had dared interrupt his peace.
Then something clicked in his mind.
"These creatures…" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the remains. "They were… Level 6 Magic Beasts."
His brows furrowed.
> Shadow Wing Vultures. Beasts of corruption. Born of death. Living only to feast on carrion... Level 6... and I killed them all so easily?
Each kill had given him +30 EXP, clear evidence of their level. Yet since when had Level 6 beasts felt so… insignificant?
A week ago, just one of them would've been a life-threatening foe. Now? They were little more than background noise in his rising legend.
He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers.
"Am I… evolving this fast?"
Then his expression brightened. He clapped a hand to his forehead.
"Right—the quest!" he exclaimed. "I never even got to check my reward!"
The memory hit—how he collapsed immediately after the fight, too exhausted to think. He'd faced Scar Fang and his entire pack, pushed past his limits… and blacked out.
"Tch. I better get something good for that nightmare."
His gaze dropped to the sword still in his grip—the old, worn blade that had cut through beasts like a whisper of death. He turned it slowly, sunlight gleaming on the flawless metal.
Not a single drop of blood.
No dirt. No gore. No sign of the carnage it had just caused.
"Strange…" he muttered. "I remember it vividly. This blade was soaked—completely painted in blood."
He ran a finger along the edge. Cold. Smooth. Untainted.
"Even if it's damaged… even if it's sealed and in an inert state…"
A faint smile curved his lips.
"You're still a relic of the Desolate Era."
Just then, the sword trembled lightly in his hand—humming softly, like a creature responding to its master's praise. A low, ancient sound, like echoes from another era.
Lei Feng's expression didn't change.
He either hadn't noticed…
Or he simply didn't care.
"I'll study you later," he said casually. "For now…"
"Inventory."
With a muted flash, the sword vanished into his storage.
Then, rubbing his hands together like a man about to open a long-awaited treasure chest, Lei Feng grinned.
"Let's see what I got from that brutal battle."
He raised his voice, firm with command.
"SYSTEM!"