A field of amateurs fighting packs of wolves, stray arrows falling unnoticed in their midst.
What the players did notice was the change in the behaviour of the wolves, whose snarling and howling quieted, as their eyes shifted colour - from amber or blood-red to rosy-pink. Whoever'd fired the stray shots had been too high-level, and their attacks had triggered the monsters' Sentience, the transformation radiating to the wolves wherever the arrows fell.
Within a third of a minute, the sneaky arrows had transformed half the pack. The wolves, awakening from the mental constraints of monster-kind, looked with intelligence and cunning upon the players imprisoning them. Ignoring further attempts to lure them out and isolate them, the wolves tightened up their ranks, they observed the numbers of their enemies and the strongest and the weakest, they calculated, and they planned.
Henry, noticing the turning of the wolves from astride his donkey, first scanned the fields for the whereabouts of his trainer.
He spotted the bald-headed guy with the other NPC trainers, the lot of them sprinting back to the Empire's temporary fort.
Their 'cowardice' didn't surprise Henry. They'd be idiotic to sacrifice themselves protecting players, who were immortal.
Excellent, thought Henry, without any sarcasm.
If that guy died, he would have to either find another trainer who had the same patron God—unlikely in Suchi—or start the whole bloody tutorial again.
As for the wolves, any moment now, Henry knew they would attempt to break for the adjacent forest.
Fortunately, when he'd shot his arrows earlier to mark his teammates' positions, he'd aimed them on the opposite side of the pack from the Wolf Forest, just in case an incident like this arose. Thus, they wouldn't be running over him, his risk of dying minimal.
The big question was whether he should retreat to the camp and await the next trainee assignment, or risk attacking the wolves in their Sentient state.
Calculating the risks of both options, he decided on the latter path.
Later assignments would take part in the forest most likely, and, there, he’d have no assurance that he wouldn’t encounter Sentient wolves again. Except, using the cover of the trees, they'd be able to ambush him. Plus, there was the over-sized wolf to consider. At least here, in the open, he could kill the wolves from afar with his bow. Perhaps, if they didn't see their deaths coming, they wouldn't have the chance to snitch on him to their leader.
It was settled, then - ten more wolves to go.
He gave his teammates some parting advice. “The wolves won't come this way, so your best chance of surviving is to stay right where you are. Whatever you do, don’t move into the slaughterfield under any circumstances. It’s a mistake, and the noobs that run in their playing hero are going to get obliterated. Don't do anything. Just stand here, enjoy the spectacle, and you'll be fine. Remember, nothing. Do absolutely nothing. Wu-Wei, it's a wonderful philosophical idea from ancient China, look it up."
The meatheads didn't understand his instructions, not yet realising the wolves would be making a break for it, Henry's mind skipping too many steps ahead.
Leaving them, Henry rode off towards the wolves.
He directed the donkey through the dust cloud of a player wrestling a non-Sentient wolf. When he emerged out the other side, he'd changed his attire.
His mask and clothes were replaced by a ninja outfit stained with the purplish-blue of fluorite, woven from a Tier 3-2 fabric, impervious to the wolves' bite. With his low Martial level, he couldn’t benefit from the stats, but the appearance would be useful for deception purposes.
In addition to this, he wore the chest-strapped rig of vials, consumables, and Spelltomes from earlier, bringing out a new configuration of six tailored to his plans. The Tomes were partially covered by a coat, although he'd have to momentarily reveal them whenever using them because Saana didn't allow the activation of hidden gear pieces.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
The last tool he brought out was a scroll covered in glittering calligraphy. This, after ensuring he was more than 15 metres away from the nearest player, he tore in half, causing him and the donkey to be veiled in a layer made of tiny, golden quills.
You have been blessed by a Scroll of Enhancement (110). All stats increase by 51 for the next 10 minutes.
You have used Scroll of Enhancement (110). Any extra Scrolls used within the next 10 minutes will be ineffective.
These stats would allow him to one-shot the wolves with his bow, making him much faster.
As he approached, a few smart noobs sprinted past him in flight, but most eagerly stood their ground, staring back at the wolves staring at them, the two factions waiting for the peace to snap.
Henry slowly trotted around the trap's perimeter, like a general surveying the battleline. His eyes flicked through the ranks of the monsters, sizing up the fright of their formations, sketching out the escape paths they'd yet to recognise themselves, identifying the weakest who would succumb to his arrows for the sake of his experience gains.
On the opposite side of the field, the Villages who'd formed a line to block an invasion from the forest began to arrange themselves in total silence. Tanks and healers moved to the frontlines, ready to run over to protect the trainees, melee combatants produced their longest swords and spears, and mages climbed onto small hills for a greater vantage point for their spells. The arrangement was directed by the Beast Tamer, giving orders in a private voice channel.
The very moment the Beast Tamer's troops began to move, a howl rang out amongst the trapped wolves and, at once, with the snapped release of a tense bowstring, the whole mass of thousands shot forward, sprinting to break from the encirclement, to flee towards the safety of the forest.
The Cutthroats forming the trap's perimeter responded first, teleporting directly into the mass and swinging their swords like scythes through dry wheat, before vanishing beneath mounds of sacrificial wolves tasked with clamping their limbs. The noobs, shouting and laughing with mirth, sprinted in to join the fray.
Henry waited a few seconds, seeing the start before it came but not wanting to draw attention.
Splitting an
With a twang, the first arrow zipped into the wolf mass.
One of the creatures, packed too close behind a comrade, had been delayed in moving forward with the mass.
The arrow, enhanced by buffed stats, blew a grapefruit-sized hole through the tardy wolf's back, and the creature gave a thin, feeble death-yelp, half its lungs shredded by the missile.
6/15.
Henry, notching his spare arrow, fired again.
While the second arrow flew, he studied the wolves around the slain target gaining Sentience from the first.
With bated breath, he prayed to the gods of RNG that he would not hear an anomalous howl or bark singling him out from the other players, nor a click portending the tearing open of another wormhole.
Here, one might wonder why he still exercised caution when The Wolf Emperor had already shown itself, the massive beast lurking in the forest; if the boss monster were already here, what would be the purpose of it whisking him away? But Henry felt couldn't ignore the fact that wolves were pack animals, this section of the tutorial introducing players to group combat dynamics, so maybe, just maybe, there were other Wolf Emperors. Maybe there was an even more over-sized mutt, a Wolf Sovereign, hanging out in a prison somewhere and giggling to itself as it awaited Henry's prophesied screw up.
For now, however, he seemed to be safe. The newly-Sentient wolves ignored him as they fled, not showing a hint of acknowledgement even when the second arrow minced another companion.
7/15.
The head of the fleeing pack collided with the first of new players charging in with their weapons, swinging their swords, thrusting their spears. These courageous noobs, outnumbered, underleveled, were bowled over instantly, the mass of wolves submerging them like the rising sea swallowing children's sandcastles. From under the tide of fur and fang, the screaming noobs flailed their desperate limbs for air, to fling off the wolves gnawing into their bellies and groins; their efforts were not completely in vain, each soon escaping into the open sky as clouds of sparkling soul-lights.
“Gallop!” yelled Henry, spurring the donkey to give chase and directing it along the wolves perimeter, replacement arrows condensing in his fingers.
Some of the newbies pursuing the beasts from behind—seeing their friends get annihilated—stopped, turned, and fled. Most, however, continued bravely onward, smashing their bodies into the straggling monsters at the wolves' rear. Many of these courageous heroes died in seconds, if not killed by the wolves then by the sudden barrage of arrows and spells, arcs of lightning jumping from wolf to man indiscriminately, the force so powerful that anyone struck evaporated, their glowing souls liberated from a mist of meat.
Henry, keeping a safe distance, picked off targets.
The next arrow he fired tore off a wolf's leg, the beast falling whimpering, its companions trampling it.
A second arrow clipped a different wolf in the head, its face and skull blooming like a red carnation. 8/15.
That same missile, continuing through the dead wolf, struck the first trampled wolf in the chest and gave it a similar mercy. 9/15.