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Chapter 897: Jungle Fiesta

The heavy rain had washed away most of the blood smell from the jungle.

An ordinary hunter might have found the conditions nearly impossible. For Lorgar, the faint traces dissolved into the rainwater were more than sufficient.

She could distinguish, within the overlapping stenches, the gradations between fresh blood and the rancid sweetness of decay — which meant that several animals had died at the same location across different spans of time. The smell of small animals could not carry this far, and even if it did, it would not be this distinct. In other words: large animals, no smaller than bulls or horses, had been dragged to one spot.

A creature capable of moving such carcasses in bulk possessed real strength. Mass storing was a common habit among carnivorous predators.

Such places were often their nests.

Most importantly, Lorgar had caught something else entirely — a foul, indescribable reek layered beneath the blood stench. The particular smell of hybrid demonic beasts. Had she not shifted into wolf form, she would have detected only the surface odor. Only in her transformed state could she perceive the subtle distinctions threaded through the damp air.

There was magic power in that smell.

Not every demonic hybrid could absorb magic power. But this one had: its blood carried traces of it, which made the beast considerably more dangerous than an ordinary demonic beast.

It was one of the things she had refined over these months of jungle hunting.

If she had mastered this technique before the holy duel, the Four-winged Eagle that attacked from the air would never have been able to touch her.

The climate, the terrain, and the prey of the Barbarian Land were nothing like the desert — but the technique of hunting translated cleanly. In the end, wherever you hunted, the requirements were the same: caution, precision, and patience.

Lorgar’s current target was a large hybrid demonic bear.

Standing upright, it reached the height of three men stacked atop one another — a moving iron tower. She could not identify which demonic beast it had merged with to produce the result. Its hide was armor-thick; her sharpest fangs could not puncture it. Its head was stranger still: four eyes, two of them in the back of its skull, which rendered her usual surekill techniques — the ambush from behind, the throat bite — nearly useless.

Five days ago she had found it. After a savage exchange, she had broken two claws; the bear had lost half of a forefoot and fled with its stomach split open. Of everything Lorgar had hunted since arriving in the Barbarian Land, this bear-thing was the most difficult quarry. Its strength rivaled the legendary beasts of the desert. Had it been her first opponent here rather than one among many, she would have been the one running. But she was not the same hunter she had been. Dozens of demonic beasts had died before this one; she had earned the gap in skill that now existed between them.

Even so, this was a hunt — not a duel. She had brought the herbs Leaf had cultivated and the Cleansing Water Lily had prepared. Minor injuries were no longer her concern: her healing capacity in wolf form was exceptional. In the days since their first encounter, she had spent the time split between recovering and tracking the bear’s trail.

The smell was growing stronger.

The chase was ending. The victor would soon be decided.

She cleared a puddle with a light bound. Her paws pressed into the wet mud without sound. She had approached from downwind, making it difficult for the beast to catch her scent, and drew closer to the source of blood in small, deliberate increments. With her hearing she pinpointed the enemy’s exact position. She lifted the curtain of vines before her with one forepaw.

The hybrid demonic bear was there.

It had not sensed her arrival. It was working through a stout buck — blood glazing both cheeks, the broken bones of its wounded limbs laid bare in a sight that would have sickened most. An ordinary animal carrying wounds that severe would have gone to ground and waited. The bear seemed indifferent to its own damage; what it cared about was filling its stomach.

Lorgar tensed her haunches and settled into a prone position. This time, she intended to destroy all four eyes first, cutting off any chance of escape.

Then footsteps reached her — coming from deep in the jungle.

She froze.

Why are there such orderly footsteps in the depths of the Barbarian Land?

They were heavy and deliberate, entirely unconcerned with concealment. The alternating one-two cadence meant humans — more than one.

Had some hunters from Neverwinter gotten lost?

No. She dismissed this immediately. It was more than ten days’ travel from Graycastle’s border, and that was without accounting for the dense forest, the open grassland, the venomous snakes, the fierce beasts — and the hybrid demonic beasts that roamed the grounds around the Taquila ruins. No one who had simply lost their way would arrive here alive.

Which left only the other answer.

The one she had been waiting for.

The hair along her body rose. Her heart began hammering against her ribs, and even as the nervousness swept through her, her body had already shifted into a ready state, instinct moving ahead of conscious thought.

The hybrid bear noticed the sound too. It dropped the half-eaten deer leg, rose, and roared toward the source of the footsteps.

The brush shook. Branches were shoved apart. Two shapes emerged from the shadows — dark brown skin, thickly muscled arms, skull helmets, bone spears with an edge that meant business.

Exactly as Lightning had described—

Demons.

She had found them.

The moment they appeared, the hybrid bear attacked.

It lifted its still-intact foreleg and launched itself at the intruders at a speed that had no business belonging to something its size. Combined with the momentum of its whole body behind the charge, the blow was no less deadly than the Four-winged Eagle’s diving strike. Had it been Lorgar in its path, she would have evaded. She was no Extraordinary; blocking something like that carried a cost she could not easily afford.

The demons did not dodge.

One of them stepped forward. Its arm swelled rapidly — and it slammed directly against the bear’s giant paw.

A muffled crash.

Stalemate.

Neither the bear nor the demon could advance. But the demon was much shorter, which meant that if the standoff continued, the disadvantage was the demon’s.

Yet there was more than one.

The second Mad Demon had already taken up its bone spear and leveled it at the hybrid beast.

The fight was about to end. And Lorgar had only moments to act.

Leave or stay?

Lightning’s warning surfaced: “Although the tube on a demon’s back is its weakness, they are still difficult to deal with. If you meet the enemy, it is better to retreat immediately and report to His Majesty.”

Reason agreed. Retreat.

But her blood said otherwise, and the burning sensation spreading through her body was not something she needed to deliberate over.

This was what she came for, wasn’t it?

According to what she knew, a Mad Demon experienced a significant window of weakness after its arm had swelled. Even fighting two of them, she could exploit that window.

“Shoo—”

The bone spear cut through the air with a shrill note.

At the same moment, Lorgar lunged from the shadows and drove her teeth toward the demon still locked against the bear.

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