Chapter Seventeen: The Newfoundland Wolf

Xiaoshan’s legs, feet, and even the hand gripping his sword had all been bitten several times. Fortunately, his reactions were quick enough, but sharp fangs and claws still left their mark. The wounds pulsed with redness, sending jolts of pain through his nerves, a stark warning that if he didn’t “draw his sword!” the next thing at risk would be not just his limbs, but his very life.

Gritting his teeth, Xiaoshan forcefully pried the scabbard off the Unsharpened Blade. The surge of murderous intent shot straight to his head, momentarily halting his previously rapid steps. The sheath flew from the hilt under Xiaoshan’s effort, and he caught it with his left hand, striking a pose reminiscent of a martial artist. Yet his face was twisted in distress; the killing aura clouded his mind, leaving him in a state of confusion.

“Focus! There’s a whole pack of wolves around you!” Haoyun shouted.

Strangely, at the very moment Xiaoshan drew his sword, the surrounding wolves all paused, clearly startled by his sudden change. But with howls echoing around them, the wolves quickly lunged again, claws and fangs flashing as they tried to tear Xiaoshan apart.

“Wolves!” Xiaoshan’s eyes suddenly brightened. He began to move his sword in arcs toward the wolves threatening him. The movements were rhythmic and orderly, more like a dance than a lethal attack.

The wolves stopped where they were, watching Xiaoshan’s swordplay—none dared to attack. As Xiaoshan shifted his stance, the wolves moved as well, keeping their distance, as if trying to avoid his blade.

His sword danced an impenetrable web, leaving the wolves with no opening to strike. A reckless attack might mean being skewered by the sword’s merciless edge.

He was imitating the sword technique from his memory—the technique of that middle-aged man, trying to copy the motions of slaying enemies. In his mind, he wore armor, forging ahead with a longsword, cutting down foes with ease in the midst of thousands, untouched by even a leaf.

But here he was, only able to weave his sword defensively, unable to kill a single wolf.

“Stop dancing! Just run!” Ruoxi called out, exasperated that Xiaoshan was still spinning his sword in place without killing any wolves. Watching Haotian and the others pulling farther away, she urgently grabbed Xiaoshan and dragged him after them.

The pack still trailed behind Haotian’s group, but now more loosely—they must have been beaten back and were hesitant to give up, yet still unwilling to let go.

Ruoxi’s shout jolted Xiaoshan out of his trance. He swept his sword in an arc, sending the wolves around them scurrying back a step, clearly startled.

“Why can’t I kill them?” Xiaoshan panted, confused as Ruoxi pulled him along. He thought if he followed the middle-aged man’s sword technique, he’d be unstoppable—so why hadn’t he killed a single wolf?

“You weren’t attacking! You were just protecting yourself. Be grateful you survived; you really thought you could slaughter them all?” Ruoxi retorted irritably. With so many wolves, anyone else would have fled long ago, but he actually wanted to massacre the entire pack.

“Oh,” Xiaoshan replied, though his mind was still full of doubts. Surely, the problem lay with himself.

They ran, the wolves giving chase, but this time not so fiercely—almost as if they were waiting for their prey to tire before making their next move.

Though Haotian and Ruoxi had killed a few wolves, the pack’s numbers seemed undiminished. They relentlessly pursued, refusing to give up.

The glowing orb still shone brightly, following Haotian’s group, while Xiaoshan and Ruoxi’s surroundings remained equally illuminated. Ruoxi suspected it must be some special artifact.

After a while, though the wolves remained undiminished, something else caught their attention ahead—a commotion among the trees, as if something powerful battered against them. Wolf howls drifted to Xiaoshan’s ears, but they were cries of agony.

Ahead, Haotian’s group had halted, staring in shock at something before them. They pointed, astonished and speechless.

“It must be a very powerful beast,” Ruoxi said.

“Another animal besides wolves?” Xiaoshan asked.

“This is wolf territory—nothing else could survive here. It can only be an even stronger wolf,” Ruoxi replied anxiously.

She was right. Up ahead loomed a massive wolf, its fur gray and white, three or four times the size of an ordinary wolf. Its legs were slender, much like a normal wolf’s, but above the ankles they were thick and powerful. Its white tail swished from side to side—was it showing pleasure?

Its gigantic white head glowed with red eyes, and despite its slender build, the creature radiated a terrifying presence.

Not far off stood Haopo, sword in hand, facing the beast. His eyes were fixed, his focus intense, though his hand trembled slightly as he held on.

“This is a Newfoundland Wolf,” Haoyun said in a low, worried voice. “Its body is two meters long, weighs about seventy kilos, with a massive head and a slender frame. Its greatest asset is speed!”

“Shouldn’t we help him?” Xiaoshan asked.

“No. This is his test. He came here to train.” Haotian replied.

“We’ll step in if he can’t hold on,” Ruoxi added. “For now, we watch.”

“No—look around you,” Haoyun warned.

Glancing about, they saw the pack thickening, wolves nearly as large as the Newfoundland Wolf, though their fangs and bulk were still slightly less intimidating. The wolves that had been chasing them had now stopped, panting heavily.

With a piercing howl, the Newfoundland Wolf threw back its head and charged at Haopo.

“Despite its size, the Newfoundland Wolf is built for speed. Haopo is in trouble,” Haoyun sighed.

“In martial arts, there is no defense against speed. No matter how strong you are, if you can’t strike your enemy, your power is useless,” Haotian mused.

“So, what about Haopo?” Xiaoshan pressed.

“If his speed wasn’t comparable, would he have lasted this long?” Ruoxi replied, her rhetorical tone making the point clear.

Xiaoshan nodded—of course, when one side is fast and the other slow, the fight is one-sided. But when both are evenly matched, the tension hangs in the balance.

Haopo stayed motionless; the wolf attacked, but not head-on. It knew it couldn’t overpower him directly, so it slashed with its claws at his sword arm. Haopo dodged, twisting his body as his left arm instinctively thrust forward. Unexpectedly, the wolf’s claws caught his left shoulder. The moment its strike landed, the wolf retreated.

Haopo bit back a groan, clamping his hand over his bleeding shoulder to staunch the flow and backed away, the two of them now switching positions.

The tension broke—the wolf had drawn first blood, and Haopo was left panting, blood trickling from his shoulder. Had he exposed himself by moving his left arm? Now holding the sword one-handed, he was clearly less comfortable.

Haotian wanted to rush to his aid, but Haoyun stopped him with a glance.

Suddenly, a long wolf howl shattered the air—the Newfoundland Wolf’s cry. At its call, the surrounding wolves wasted no time, charging from all sides. The pack attacked just as Haopo was wounded.

The wolf showed no chivalry; it sought the greatest gain for the smallest cost. Wolves are not solitary creatures—they hunt as a pack, striking when their prey is at its weakest.

With the leader’s howl, the pack divided its roles—some attacking, others howling to sow confusion among their foes. The howls unnerved Xiaoshan and the others, making them anxious and fearful. With such a beast before him, how could Xiaoshan not be afraid?

Haotian’s group sprang into action, heading toward Haopo to help.

“There are too many wolves! Let’s go to our destination instead!” Haoyun urged.

“No! Unless we take down their leader, they’ll never retreat. If we flee, they’ll only exhaust us,” Haopo countered.

“True. Wolves will chase until either their prey or they themselves are exhausted,” Haotian agreed.

“We have no choice but to fight. Wolves never give up,” Ruoxi said, worried. She’d heard her father describe their tenacity.

“This is a thorny problem,” Haoyun muttered.

“Attack!” Haopo looked down at his sword and spoke softly.

With the decision made, they charged at the Newfoundland Wolf.

To their astonishment, the giant wolf simply shook its head and turned away. In the midst of their surprise, it spun around and fled—vanishing into the forest in a flash of white.

“What…?” Xiaoshan was too stunned to speak.

“The wolf pack is retreating!” Haoyun observed.

With their leader gone, the wolves didn’t hesitate. They scattered into the woods in all directions.

“It just left because we outnumbered it?” Ruoxi asked.

“So cunning!” Haopo could only mutter.

“Good, let’s get moving too!” Haoyun said, seeing no more wolves nearby.

“Be on your guard for ambushes,” Haopo warned, uneasy at the wolves’ sudden departure.

Questions filled their minds—after all that fighting, the wolves simply withdrew, leaving their dead behind? What a waste.

They continued in silence. Ruoxi, usually so lively, was now warily scanning their surroundings. Xiaoshan fiddled endlessly with his sword, curiosity shining in his eyes. Haopo gripped his sword, lost in thought but frequently glancing at Xiaoshan. Haotian and the others led the way, the glowing orb hovering above, keeping the area bright as day.

“Look at the moon above us—it’s turned white!” Ruoxi cried out, as if she’d discovered something miraculous.