Chapter 240: Some kills

Thoom!

Two Bogoarts came through the trees fast. It was not a stalk-and-ambush or a slow approach to assess the prey.

They had already committed, already locked on, already moving at full speed. Their bodies crashed through the underbrush, their blind heads tilted, their mouths open and hungry.

They had caught the scent of the group, had waited for them to come very close and then they had decided to attack.

The Slitherer and the wolf hadn’t fully reacted yet. The distance was closing fast, too fast. The Bogoarts were almost upon them.

Darion was frozen. He had expected something, he had felt the wolf’s presence shift, had known something was out there, but now that it was coming, he expected his undeads to do something.

He expected them to move, to intercept, to protect. But they were too far... too far with how quick the Bogarts moved!

Then Pannett shot.

One arrow, one eye socket. The Bogoart dropped mid-stride, its momentum carrying it another two steps before it went down, its body sliding across the forest floor.

It was dead before it hit the ground. The second Bogoart hit the wolf as it finally closed the distance, and the wolf dealt with it in the way the wolf dealt with things, completely and without delay.

Its jaws clamped around the creature’s neck, and with a single, violent shake, the Bogoart went still.

There was silence.

The forest was quiet again, the only sounds were the heavy breathing of the archers and the soft rustle of leaves settling back into place.

The group stood frozen, their weapons half-raised, their eyes wide. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke either.

Darion looked at Pannett. She was already nocking a second arrow out of habit, her eyes scanning the treeline for more threats.

She didn’t look particularly proud of what she had just done. She looked like someone checking whether there was more.

Her face was calm, her breathing steady. She had done what needed to be done, and she was already moving on.

He thought about her reaction time. The Bogoart had been moving fast, covering ground quickly. It had been almost upon them when she released the shot.

She didn’t wait for the wolf. She didn’t wait for Darion. She saw the threat and responded before anyone else had finished processing it.

That was not just good archery, that was instinct. The kind that either existed in someone or didn’t, and training could sharpen it but couldn’t create it from nothing.

Pannett was the one to watch.

He remembered after that successful hunt, when the knight escorts had told him how she saved his life.

She had taken down a Bogoart mid-leap, her arrow finding its mark before anyone else could react.

That had been impressive, but this was different. This was under pressure, with no time to prepare, with the threat coming straight at them. And she hadn’t hesitated.

Peak Talent here!

The group gathered itself. Someone checked that everyone was standing. They were. The archers were pale, their hands trembling slightly, but they were alive. They had survived their first attack.

Darion looked at the two Bogoart bodies on the ground and had a thought that arrived slightly late.

He had never tried to revive a Bogoart. He had killed several of them, had fought them in the forest, had even eaten one. But it never occurred to him to put one in the inventory.

He looked at the bodies and thought about what a Bogoart undead would actually be. Large. Heavy. Blind, which meant it hunted by sense, which meant as an undead it would hunt by whatever the necromantic binding substituted for sense.

Potentially useful in a way his current inventory wasn’t.

A blind hunter that relied on smell and sound could track prey through darkness, through fog, through smoke.

It could find things that other undeads couldn’t. Potentially a problem in a way his current inventory wasn’t either.

A blind undead would be harder to control, harder to direct, more likely to wander off or attack the wrong target.

He didn’t revive them. His animal inventory was full, and he wasn’t dismissing anything currently in it to make room. The Yuimons were too valuable. The Horned Olfs were too useful. The Slitherer was too effective.

But he noted it as something to think about. Perhaps, when he had more room, he would revisit the idea.

He looked at the group. "Let’s move," he said.

They moved on.

Soon, four wolves came out of the undergrowth ahead.

They emerged slowly, their bodies low, their eyes fixed on the group. Not Bogoart-fast, wolves moved differently, a spreading approach, testing.

They didn’t charge. They circled, their noses twitching, their ears flat against their heads. They were assessing the threat, trying to decide if the group was prey or danger.

The wolves saw the group and spread further, moving to flank, trying to surround them. It was a hunting tactic, the kind that had brought down deer and travelers and anything else that wandered into their territory.

They moved with coordination, their steps silent, their eyes never leaving the targets.

Darion didn’t wait. He reached into his inventory and summoned one Yuimon.

It appeared in the space between the archers and the wolves, its massive body materializing with a faint green glow.

The wolves froze, their eyes widening as they took in the creature. The Yuimon stood still for a moment, its circular mouth open, its green eyes fixed on the pack. It didn’t move. It didn’t need to. Its presence alone was enough.

The wolves immediately reconsidered everything about their current situation.

Seeing the Yuimon instilled so much fear in them.

Three of them ran, their tails between their legs, their bodies low to the ground as they fled into the underbrush. The fourth one didn’t run fast enough. It tried, but the Yuimon was already moving.

Doesn’t make a difference who runs further or nearer, by the way. All of them died. Brutally.