Chapter Eight: Chrysanthemum Withers, Pain Scatters Across the Ground

【First update of the day is here, another one coming tonight~】

Chapter 8: “Withered Chrysanthemums, Scattered Wounds”

On this morning, when Shaya Raimei moved, his body curled up like a giant prawn. Fortunately, as they lay together in an embrace, their position was ill-suited to exert force, and the poor wretch did not possess much strength. Otherwise, Shaya’s demon-hunting career would have ended before it began, and he could have switched to another illustrious profession: the eunuch’s trade.

The poor wretch did not fare much better. To assault a hunter with more than a decade of martial training—even in sleep—elicited an instinctive counterattack from Shaya. The result was another set of injuries for the poor soul; his large eyes were transformed into a pair of bruised sockets.

Yet, after their brief, intense scuffle, neither spoke of it again. The poor wretch dared not mention it; the mere thought of such embarrassment was unbearable. As for Shaya... he felt disgusted!

Waking up with “morning glory” was nothing shameful. Quite the opposite—in the lessons of his old mentor, this was a matter of pride. But to stand at attention while embracing another man...

(He actually hit me! All those men would gladly kneel to kiss the hem of my skirt, but this bumpkin dares strike me!) the poor wretch fumed inwardly.

(Disgusting! Absolutely revolting! I actually had an erection while holding a man... Heavens!!) Shaya Raimei wept internally.

The poor wretch silently straightened his clothes. Shaya began packing his bundle, then picked up a sturdy tree branch and tossed it before the poor wretch. “Here, use this as a cane. Today, you walk on your own—I won’t support you.”

Both tacitly agreed to this arrangement; for now, neither wished to touch the other.

But just as the poor wretch reached for the stick and tried to rise, Shaya’s entire body suddenly tensed. Danger flashed across his face, and he leapt, knocking the poor wretch to the ground as they rolled away together.

“Ah!” the poor wretch screamed in alarm—had this brute discerned the truth and, overcome by animalistic urges, decided to act?

But before that thought took hold, the bumpkin atop him let out a pained grunt. Carried by the wind was a foul, bloody stench, and before they could get up, a spine-chilling growl rumbled nearby.

Turning his head, the poor wretch saw a maw lined with bloody fangs, a long tongue bristling with coarse hair, and strands of viscous saliva dripping from the corners of a triangular mouth.

It was a bloodthirsty direwolf—a full-grown monster, its body as robust as a young bull. The brown fur along its back bristled like a row of lances, and its red eyes gleamed with murder and greed. Most alarming, its forepaws resembled iron hooks, their tips still stained with fresh blood.

Blood?

The poor wretch stiffened, instantly understanding. If not for the bumpkin’s timely roll, that wolf’s initial attack would have gutted him on the spot.

Shaya Raimei seized the tree branch, lowering his center of gravity with practiced caution. Man and wolf locked eyes in a tense standoff. Shaya dared not act rashly; his experience taught him that this was no ordinary beast. As a magical creature—even a lesser one—the bloodthirsty direwolf possessed cunning, keenly searching for his prey’s weaknesses.

The direwolf moved sideways, its back arched, emitting low growls. Then, as it circled to Shaya’s left—his offhand side—it suddenly lunged. Clearly, this beast was familiar with fighting humans, knowing that most were less responsive with their offhand—a vulnerability to exploit.

With a powerful bound, the wolf’s foul breath swept over him. Its forepaw slashed down, claws as sharp as swords. Shaya parried with the stick and rolled aside, but with a crack, the stick snapped short.

The wolf’s claws effortlessly split the branch. Growing more aggressive, it bared its fangs in disdain, recognizing the weakness of Shaya’s weapon, and pounced again.

This time, Shaya did not retreat. With a low roar, he sprang forward to meet the attack. As wolf’s claws slashed toward him, Shaya’s body twisted midair like a fish in water. With a deft motion, he narrowly avoided the lethal strike and, seizing the opportunity, grabbed the wolf’s head from the side.

Man and wolf tumbled across the ground, scattering the ashes of the dead campfire. Shaya landed atop the wolf’s back, and, seizing his chance, smashed his left fist into the wolf’s snout.

With a dull crack, the wolf’s nasal bone shattered. Shaya knew well that the nose was a canine’s weak spot; blood spurted from the wolf’s eyes as it howled in pain. Its bull-like body bucked, throwing Shaya off, then twisted to bite.

Shaya felt the wolf’s fangs graze his neck, a cold shiver shooting up his spine. Desperately, he jammed the broken stick between them—only for it to be bitten in half. He rolled away, left now with just a quarter of the stick.

The wolf climbed to its feet, shaking its head—nose now crooked—glowering at Shaya as they circled once more.

Shaya reached for his belt, pulling off a rope and stretching it taut between his hands. When the wolf lunged again, Shaya dodged with blinding speed, twisting behind the beast. He looped the rope twice around the wolf’s neck, pinning it beneath him, and pulled with all his strength.

His face contorted, veins bulging along his exposed neck. The rope dug deep into the wolf’s flesh. With a series of grating cracks, the wolf thrashed wildly, claws gouging deep furrows in the soil as it struggled. Blood frothed from its mouth, its body convulsing with diminishing strength. The ground was scarred with trenches beneath its paws.

But at that critical moment, the rope snapped with a sharp twang—just before the wolf succumbed. Shaya cursed himself; he had made the rope himself from hemp, soaked in beast fat and dried for toughness, but it wasn’t enough to withstand the direwolf’s brute force. Had he braided it thicker, the beast would be dead by now.

There was no time for regret. The wolf, freed, was too exhausted to attack immediately. It crawled forward, gasping desperately. Shaya rolled away, sprang to his feet, and discarded the useless rope. All that remained in his hand was the shortest stub of the stick.

Man and wolf, both battered, gasped for air as though locked in a contest.

Despite his strength, Shaya’s limbs were turning to jelly. He was only eighteen, after all, and the foe before him was a bloodthirsty direwolf—a creature that could easily slaughter a mountain leopard.

Shaya’s eyes flicked to his axe, lying seven or eight paces to the left. If he could just reach it, his wood-chopping skills would surely fell the beast. But the wolf, sensing his intent, shifted to block his path.

The wolf’s stamina was greater than any human’s. Though Shaya was naturally tough, hardened by years of herbal soaks under the old man’s tutelage, he found his breath coming up short.

At last, the wolf unleashed its trump card. It howled, and its fur bristled, suffused with a stony blue sheen.

The beast was awakening its magic—a direwolf’s signature skill. Once enchanted, its fur grew as hard as rock, impervious to ordinary blades.

Now the wolf abandoned pouncing; instead, it charged headlong.

With a powerful kick, the wolf became a blur of gray, barreling into Shaya. Though he tried to dodge, exhaustion slowed him—he was struck full-force, half his body going numb as he was hurled into a sapling, snapping it clean in two.

The wolf, emboldened, pounced, pinning Shaya’s shoulder with a paw. Its claws pierced his wolfskin coat, biting into flesh, and the scent of blood drove the beast into a frenzy as it lunged to bite.

Crack!

Shaya suddenly swung his arm. When he’d fallen beneath the tree, he’d grabbed a rock, and now smashed it with all his might against the wolf’s head. The stone shattered, fragments flying.

The wolf reeled, jaw agape, its fangs shattered at the root, falling to the ground.

Shaya scrambled to his feet, still clutching the stub of the stick. He rolled swiftly, then drove the splintered branch with all his force into the wolf’s hindquarters.

With a wet squelch, the stick plunged most of the way in.

The wolf convulsed as if struck by lightning, raised its head, and let out a mournful howl that shook the earth and the heavens, leaving Shaya dizzy with its force.

The beast staggered, tried to stand, then collapsed. It struggled a few times more, then, spent and powerless, turned its head to cast Shaya a last, baleful glance, its eyes full of aggrieved reproach, before finally closing them in unwilling death.

【A new week begins! Brothers, throw all your votes this way! Last week, we climbed to seventh on the weekly recommendation list in just three days—starting only on Thursday. That means we matched a week’s worth of votes from others in just three days! It’s a new week; let’s see how far our combined might can take us. I am truly excited, passionate, and eager! Bring on your votes—let’s go!】