Chapter Fifty-One: Battle with the Wolf King

In an instant, the long blade, propelled by momentum, plunged straight into the spot where Mu Qingshan had just been standing. As the blade struck the ground, Yang Fan surfaced from the water.

Mu Qingshan stared at Yang Fan, his eyes reddened with rage—this guy was trying to commit murder!
"Yang Fan, damn you! You’ve bullied me ever since our first meeting, and now we’re on the same team, yet you’re still bullying me—no, you’re trying to kill me!"

Yang Fan swam toward the shore, calling out, "When have I ever bullied you? Mind your conscience when you speak!"

Mu Qingshan was utterly frustrated by this reply. Glancing around, he saw the others watching the scene unfold as if it were a spectacle.

Pointing at the blade embedded in the ground, Mu Qingshan shouted to the now-landed Yang Fan, "Your blade nearly impaled me just now!"

Yang Fan wrung out his clothes, looking at Mu Qingshan unconcerned. "But it didn’t, did it? I was underwater, tossed it at random—I had no idea you’d be there. Don’t be so petty, be magnanimous!"

Mu Qingshan’s face darkened. What did he mean by 'it didn’t'? What did he mean by 'don’t be petty'? This bastard had nearly cost him his life.

He was about to retort, but noticed the expressions of everyone around him shift. All eyes turned to something behind him, their faces tense.

Mu Qingshan glanced over his shoulder and saw a dense cluster of green lights. Goosebumps prickled his skin.

Dozens of wolves.

Yang Fan’s expression soured as he took in the wolf pack behind Mu Qingshan. The underwater struggle had drained much of his strength, and he hadn’t yet recovered. Now, a wolf pack was upon them?

Xie Siyue, Jiang Chao, and the others gripped their weapons tightly.

The wolves did not immediately attack but kept growling lowly. Their numbers were overwhelming; even if they hadn’t mutated due to spiritual energy, dozens of wild wolves were not easy to handle. Many wolves can fell an elephant, and Yang Fan’s group had yet to reach that level. Wolves were far more formidable than ants.

Yang Fan edged toward his alloy blade. The moment his hand grasped the hilt, a deep growl sounded from the wolf pack.

Then, they surged forward.

Yang Fan drew his blade in a flash, holding it across his chest.

Mu Qingshan stood at the front, the first to confront the wolves. His face grew pale as the pack thundered toward him. He unsheathed his long sword, thrusting it at the nearest wolf.

A starving wolf leapt into the air, claws outstretched, maw gaping. Mu Qingshan’s sword struck its neck with nearly a thousand pounds of force, decapitating it, though the blade became lodged in its throat. He pulled it free, but a second wolf was already upon him, followed closely by a third.

Cold sweat soaked Mu Qingshan’s back. His hair stood on end, the sense of danger swelling within him.

Suddenly, a long spear swept across, knocking two wolves near Mu Qingshan into a tree—they crashed to the ground.

Jiang Chao wielded his spear deftly but kept retreating. Mu Qingshan, pale but grateful, thought, Thank goodness Jiang Chao arrived—otherwise, he’d be dead or worse.

On the other side, Xie Siyue’s heavy club hammered away, each blow infused with vital energy. Wolves struck by it had bones shattered and lay gasping for breath.

Zhou Yiyi and Jiang Xiaoyi fought as well, Zhou Yiyi’s swordplay dazzling, yet even she was forced to retreat by the relentless wolves.

Yang Fan stood at the rear, blade across his body, observing the battle. Having just emerged from the lake, he was last in line; the other five blocked the wolves, retreating but still holding them at bay—for now.

The ground grew littered with wolf corpses. In no time, seventeen or eighteen wolves lay dead, and the surviving pack began to falter.

But Zhou Yiyi and the others’ breaths grew ragged; their bursts of strength could slay enemies but taxed their bodies heavily. Except for Xie Siyue and Zhou Yiyi, the rest were new to the second rank—their vital energy wasn’t strong, their attacks relied on brute force, and their stamina drained quickly.

Even Xie Siyue and Zhou Yiyi, though able to unleash their vital energy, could not sustain such high-frequency attacks for long.

Seeing the wolves hesitate, the group felt a surge of hope.

But then, a deep growl sounded from the rear of the pack, rising into a prolonged howl.

"The Wolf King?"

Yang Fan’s heart skipped a beat. This was no ordinary wolf pack. Ordinary packs had leaders, but their authority was limited—merely guides. A true Wolf King commanded the pack.

As the howl ended, the wolves, once timid, surged forward anew.

"Hold them off as best you can—I’ll go after the Wolf King!" Yang Fan shouted, charging toward the source of the howl.

Zhou Yiyi and the others felt a wave of despair. Hold them off? What if they couldn’t?

Yang Fan bent low and burst forward, vanishing into the woods and out of the battlefield.

He darted through the forest, blade in hand, heading for the spot where the howl had arisen.

Suddenly, Yang Fan spun his blade and slashed to his left—a gray wolf, larger than the others, was severed in two, its entrails spilling across the ground in a gory display.

Yang Fan ignored the dead wolf, retreating swiftly. Another similarly sized gray wolf lunged at his previous position.

From his right, yet another gray wolf sprang out, forming a pincer attack.

The two wolves did not rush him but watched him closely.

Yang Fan drew his blade to his chest, then pushed off, charging at the wolf ahead. His powerful stride churned the muddy ground.

As he rushed forward, the wolf to his right also leapt, but aimed for the spot where Yang Fan had been.

Ignoring the missed attack, Yang Fan thrust his blade forward, piercing the mouth of the wolf before him—it died instantly.

Gripping the hilt with both hands, Yang Fan twisted his leg, and the blade sliced horizontally through the wolf’s body as he spun, following its motion.

The wolf that had missed him now attacked again, its claws nearly reaching Yang Fan.

As Yang Fan spun, the claws came dangerously close to his chest.

His blade flashed, severing the wolf’s head and claws, its body collapsing heavily.

Panting, Yang Fan rested on his blade, scanning the dense forest. The Wolf King had yet to reveal itself—he dared not drop his guard.

Back by the riverbank, Zhou Yiyi and the others fought on, now huddled together, backs against each other for mutual defense.

Their stamina was nearly spent. Though the encounter had not lasted long, the wolves’ numbers and encircling tactics had worn them down.

Over twenty wolf corpses littered the ground, and the pack slowed their assault.

Beasts, for all their ferocity, grow fearful after heavy casualties—even under the Wolf King’s command, the laws of the jungle prevailed: the strong prey on the weak.

Compared to the wolves, the group’s strength inspired instinctive fear and hesitation.

Then, another prolonged howl echoed from the forest.

The wolves exchanged glances, their emerald eyes flashing coldly.

They attacked once more.

Meanwhile, Yang Fan heard the howl and sprinted toward its source, blade in hand, leaving a trail of mud behind.

A massive silver wolf stood atop a small rise, not far from the riverbank. Beside it was a slightly smaller gray wolf.

The silver wolf’s face twitched, its mouth issuing a low growl.

Suddenly, it turned toward the woods.

A figure flashed from the trees, appearing instantly before them.

The silver wolf reacted swiftly, leaping away from the mound.

Yang Fan’s blade plunged into the gray wolf’s skull, his gaze fixed on the elusive Wolf King.

The silver wolf growled at Yang Fan, who calmly withdrew his blade from the gray wolf’s corpse.

In a heartbeat, man and beast charged each other.

Yang Fan gripped his blade, rushing toward the silver wolf. As they closed, he swung the blade in a wide arc, chopping down from above.

The silver wolf pushed off, twisting aside to dodge, then lashed at Yang Fan’s flank with its claw.

Yang Fan, seeing his attack miss, crouched and sprang away, his feet unleashing tremendous force, leaping several meters to evade the wolf’s claws.

In midair, Yang Fan drew his blade to his chest; the wolf, having missed, retreated. As Yang Fan’s momentum faded and he began to fall, the silver wolf rushed forward.

Yang Fan’s descent was swift—the combined weight of blade and body nearly half a ton, and he landed in the blink of an eye.

Clang!

Yang Fan’s blade met the silver wolf’s claw.

He staggered back two steps.

The silver wolf pressed its advantage, attacking while Yang Fan was unsteady.

Leaping, the wolf left a silver streak in the air. Yang Fan’s vital energy surged to his eyes, slowing everything around him.

He raised his blade horizontally as the wolf’s jaws closed around it.

A harsh metallic sound—fangs shattered.

The wolf’s immense bite force exploded upon contact with the blade, but unfortunately for it, this was F-grade alloy—even the lowest ranked alloy was beyond the Wolf King’s ability to damage.

If it insisted on clashing, only the wolf would be injured.

The silver wolf howled in pain, then let out a long, mournful cry.

Zhou Yiyi and the others could barely hold on. Their powers had slain another seven wolves, leaving only twenty or so, but their strength was nearly spent.

Another howl echoed from the woods, and their faces paled with despair.

But, unexpectedly, after hearing the howl, the wolf pack ceased its attack. To the group’s astonishment, the wolves swiftly retreated into the mountains and forest.