Chapter 32: A Decade of Cerebral Thrombosis

Who is the hunter, and who is the prey? This has never been a fixed distinction. The tides of fortune rise and fall, unpredictable; those who stand at the summit naturally become hunters. The key is that the prey never realizes its role, only stepping forward with conviction and confidence, believing they have the upper hand—who does not think themselves the hunter? Alas, until the endgame, one cannot truly see oneself.

In the dark of the forest, silence reigned. A member of the Dove Tribe stood quietly before a tree, coldly observing the faint light of the Bamboo Tribe’s campfire dying down. Under the dim veil of moonlight, the settlement seemed to have sunk into a deep slumber.

The night was deep, the tranquility uncanny, as if one were gazing upon a painted landscape.

The Masked Dove shimmered with a black glow, and the Dove Tribesman jumped onto its back.

Like an arrow, they swept over the tribe’s grounds.

A mystical spell unfolded with a hum, faintly stirring the aura of the wild boar monster.

“Found it.”

Cautious and alert, the Dove Tribesman scanned his surroundings, seeing no sign of disturbance within the tribe, then landed before the altar.

“So this is where the totem dwells?”

He muttered to himself, eyes glinting coldly. “Strange, why can’t I see the wild boar monster’s movements?”

Puzzled, he had no time to dwell on it, for suddenly, two pairs of eyes stared icily from not far away.

That gaze was indifferent, as if looking upon the dead.

A chilling sensation crept over him; the Dove Tribesman’s heart raced wildly, his scalp tingling.

“How can this be?”

An intense unease, like a sudden premonition, the shadow of death looming over him.

“Have I been outmaneuvered?”

“No, my actions were anticipated.”

He let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh.

“Your totem has already recovered?”

Escape? Not so easy. He suppressed his unease, maintaining a cautious composure.

“If it’s only you two, you’re far from qualified to scheme against me.”

The shaman’s expression was icy as he spoke in a low voice: “I never expected it would be you, Ebony. You alone, thinking you can plot against my Bamboo Tribe? Even if our losses are heavy, you are still not qualified to measure our fate.”

“I’m not here to measure your worth, but to wipe you out entirely.”

“If I hadn’t held back, how many of your tribe would still be alive?”

Ebony laughed scornfully, making the shaman’s mood even worse. It wasn’t that Ebony was so formidable that a few words could unsettle the shaman; the trouble was, he wasn’t wrong. The Bamboo Tribe’s strength had plummeted, teetering on the brink of annihilation.

“It’s not that you chose to hold back, but that your ambition is greater.”

Ye Chen stared coldly at Ebony, then glanced at the Masked Dove. The creature’s feathers bristled, uneasy in the presence of this frail old man—so strange, so unsettling, as if a dreadful power lurked beneath that thin frame.

The Masked Dove’s anxiety did not escape Ebony, and his heart sank further. Had he wandered into a dragon’s lair?

“What ambition could I possibly have?”

Ebony stifled his unease, keeping his calm as he gazed at Ye Chen.

He was stalling for time, but Ye Chen had no intention of granting it.

“I may not care much, but if I let you stall, you’ll think you’ve tricked me with some clever scheme? How could I let you get away with that? Better I capture you and force your secrets from you—would that not be satisfying?”

With the words spoken, Ye Chen lunged at Ebony.

“Foolish dreams.”

Ebony’s face changed abruptly. He was an old man now; even if he had been formidable in his youth, age had taken its toll. How could he stand against Ye Chen? Such arrogance—laughable. But suddenly, his skin prickled with terror; before he could react, a blaze of golden light erupted before him, glorious as a rainstorm, illuminating all the world.

“Not good.”

Ebony was stunned, his limbs icy.

He never underestimated the power of a totem. True, that power had its limits—within the tribe, its might was unimaginable, but outside, it was greatly diminished.

Thus, totems were mostly used for defense; to wield them outwardly was often a wasted effort.

The Bamboo Tribe had been too reckless, thinking the Dove Tribe had no totem and would be easy prey, only to be met with unforeseen results.

Perhaps the Bamboo Tribe’s leaders had collectively lost their minds. If not for sheer folly, none would ever send a totem to fight outside the tribe.

Afterward, the totem had been severely wounded, with no hope of recovery in the near term.

But what did he see now? Ebony saw the domain belonging solely to the totem.

Within that divine realm, all life was powerless.

“No, I must not die here.”

Ebony’s courage faltered, but soon he rallied himself.

“I’ve seen totems before! The Dove Tribe wasn’t always without one!”

Ebony roared, and a streak of black light shot from him to the Masked Dove.

Shrouded in black, the Masked Dove, as if beyond its own will, shielded Ebony.

“Thank you, my feathered brother, for saving me.”

He spoke gratefully, but wasted no time, fleeing desperately toward the edge of the tribe.

He still had cards to play, but none would help; at the totem’s full power, even a direct confrontation would leave nothing but scraps of bone.

The Dove Tribe had suffered greatly before, even when the totem's strength was diminished. Now, Ebony was deep in the totem’s home ground; a misstep would prove even more fatal.

The Masked Dove’s eyes burned red, cold killing intent spilling forth—not toward Ye Chen, but toward Ebony.

How dare he! Such abominable treachery. The Masked Dove was not without intelligence, and harbored deep hatred for Ebony’s actions.

It let out a piercing cry, wings beating as it prepared to pursue Ebony. But in the next instant, an indescribable, terrifying force pressed down upon it; the Masked Dove’s body exploded, flesh and blood spilling, its form dissolving in gruesome fashion.

One blow nearly killed the Masked Dove outright, but soon another power bound it, sealing it in place, unable to move.

A foul wind rushed at Ebony.

His heart pounded wildly—too fast! How could the Masked Dove have been subdued so easily? Unthinkable.

“Is the totem’s power truly beyond my reach?”

Ebony felt indignation, mixed with horror. “What’s happening? Why am I plagued by so many stray thoughts at this moment?”

Such strangeness only confirmed that Ebony had reached a dead end.

He quickly suppressed his distractions, striving for reason, but saw a palm descending, vast as the sky falling.

A golden palm, ethereal and forged of divine power alone, struck down, driving Ebony directly into the earth.