Chapter 3: The Sudden Change

As Lanny turned around, Alan was already standing at the bedroom door. The five-year-old boy was unusually calm, and Alan gently asked, "Mom, what are the Predators?"

"Demons," Lanny replied tersely, then added, "Pitiful demons."

Years later, Alan would grasp the true meaning of those words. But for now, Lanny had no time to let him ponder: "Alan, we must leave. Take your dagger, nothing else!"

Mother and son grabbed minimal belongings and had just run out the door. A blaze of fire swept from the town entrance, followed by an explosion not far from them. Flames erupted from the windows and doors of a nearby house, blowing the roof off and soaring ten meters into the sky!

With the burst of fire, a powerful shockwave spread, hurling Lanny and Alan back into the house. They fell in a heap, and after a few seconds, Lanny shook off the dizziness. She shook Alan; the boy struggled to his feet, assuring he was fine. As they turned to leave, Lanny saw figures emerging from the flames a few meters away.

They were men, but not from the town. They were adorned with paint or tattoos, wielding chainsaws or submachine guns, and were mercilessly slaughtering nearby residents. One man glanced at the house, his eyes meeting Lanny's mid-air.

Gritting her teeth, Lanny rushed to close the door, dragged a table to barricade it, then hurried to a corner of the house and lifted a patched blanket, revealing a cellar used for storing food. She opened the cellar and beckoned Alan.

Alan seemed to know what was about to happen, his body trembling slightly but without uttering a word. He walked over, and Lanny kissed his forehead: "Hide in here and don't come out, Alan. You must survive! And then use that dagger to kill your father. His name is Archimedes. Without him, we wouldn't be cursed like this!"

Alan shuddered, instinctively memorizing the name: Archimedes. In the cellar, light and sounds filtered faintly from above.

There was a loud knock on the door.

Then a heavy thud, followed by Lanny's screams and the sound of gunfire. Alan sat silently. Suddenly, a loud explosion echoed above, scorching flames sweeping over the cellar. The fierce light penetrated the flimsy wooden door, casting shadows on the boy's face.

It was the sound of a grenade exploding.

That night, screams, roars, and explosions continued without end. In the small cellar, Alan remained motionless, like a statue. He did not cry, as on the night he was born. But a mist of tears rose in his crimson eyes, and a part of his young heart turned hard and cold.

No matter how long the night, it would eventually pass. When Alan emerged from the house, he saw a vast expanse of scorched earth. Yesterday, the streets had been blanketed with silvery snowflakes; now, the ground was exposed, charred black. Scattered across the burnt ground were shattered bodies. Among them, Alan saw a severed finger, bearing a fire-blackened silver ring.

An indescribable sorrow surged in his chest; he took a deep breath to hold back his tears.

It was Lanny's ring.

The town's streets, the collapsed houses, were filled with corpses. Many were townsfolk, mostly men, but also some women and children. Not far away, Alan saw Moss from next door, the chubby boy a year older than him. Not long ago, Alan had fought with him. Now, poor Moss was left with only half a body, the other half missing.

Alan looked up, bewildered. The town was devoid of life; neither survivors nor the so-called Predators remained, having left before dawn. The world was vast, seemingly boundless; yet it was also small, too small to accommodate a boy.

For a moment, Alan didn't know where to go.

Alan wandered the streets, a faint breeze blowing from behind, carrying a peculiar scent. As he turned, a shadow leaped from the rooftop. His mind roared, then fell silent, the world becoming eerily quiet. His pupils dilated slightly, allowing him to see that the shadow was a wolf.

A wolf as large as a young calf.

Its fur was gray, its powerful jaws capable of snapping iron bars, let alone Alan's neck.

This was a snow wolf, a top-tier predator that hunted only in winter. Usually, seasoned hunters could handle such a beast, but Alan was just a five-year-old child!

To the snow wolf, this was an easy prey. Human children, though small in quantity, were extremely tender. The wolf couldn't wait to drink the warm blood from that delicate neck. But as it saw the boy's red gemstone-like eyes, with a ring of silver-gray patterns around the pupils, the snow wolf felt fear!

It was as if it had encountered its nemesis, not a tender human child.

What happened next transpired in an instant.

The snow wolf didn't bite the boy's neck. As the wolf pounced, Alan instinctively rolled forward, ending up under the wolf's belly. His dagger naturally stabbed upward, and without any other movement from the boy, the wolf's momentum and the dagger's sharpness created a long gash on its belly.

Wolf blood, intestines, and organs splattered over Alan. As he emerged from the wolf's carcass, the boy was covered in blood. Yet before he could recover from the thrill of survival, countless green lights floated up from the street corners, rooftops, and other places.

Snow wolves, usually acting in packs, surrounded Alan, totaling 23.

Alan's attention was wholly on the wolves; he didn't notice the blood on his demonic dagger had vanished.

Only some dark red bloodstains remained on the blade, that of the dead.

The wolves didn't rush to attack, and Alan focused on one in particular. It was the smallest, but its body was covered in silver fur, emitting a unique light.

A hazy, silver-white light, cold and deadly, like a late autumn wind.

The silver wolf stepped forward, circling Alan and sniffing him with a slightly damp nose. Alan stood still, the seconds feeling like an eternity.

The silver wolf stepped back, its mouth opening to utter human words: "Are you afraid of me?"

Alan was beyond astonished.

The silver wolf gave a human-like smile: "Our body structures differ, but by vibrating certain muscles, we can mimic human speech. Haven't you seen this before?"

The boy shook his head honestly.

A hint of surprise flashed in the silver wolf's clear blue eyes before it continued: "Your scent is not unpleasant. I like you. Your kind is all dead; would you like to come with me or become our lunch?"

"If I leave with you, will you kill me?"

"Of course not. On the contrary, I'll teach you to hunt. But if you want food, you'll have to earn it yourself, like my other kin."

"Then I'll go with you." Alan didn't hesitate; he hadn't forgotten his mother's last request. No matter what, even if it meant living with snow wolves, he had to survive.

Survive to fulfill Lanny's last wish!

So, that day, a small boy and a silver snow wolf left the slaughtered town.

"By the way, my name is Bai Fang," the silver wolf said along the way.

"I'm Alan."

The boy hesitated, then asked, "Why did you spare me?"

"Because you're afraid of me, and because I'm lonely..."

The world does not pause for anyone; the gears of time relentlessly move forward. Five harsh winters passed in the blink of an eye.

Year 433 of the Dawn Era, summer.

A team of soldiers navigated the forest. They were a hunting party, accepting various commissions and sometimes hunting rare predators for profit. The party had only three members, all source power users, especially the leader, Andy, a ninth-level source power user! The soldiers were hired from nearby Gallows City, familiar with the surroundings.

The mercenary captain, Gut, said, "Chief, we are close to the wolves' den."

Leader Andy glanced at him: "Captain Gut, are you sure those damned snow wolves are nearby?"

"Last month, during a routine biological survey of this area for Gallows City's official commission, we found the snow wolves' den. Unless they've moved, this is the place." Gut paused, emphasizing, "Summer is the season snow wolves hate. They usually hide in cool caves throughout summer, so the chances of them relocating are slim."

"Excellent." Andy leaped up, greed gleaming in his eyes. "I heard there's a silver snow wolf among them. Its pelt is priceless! Looks like we're in for a windfall."

While the hunting party appeared in the forest, elsewhere, a stag wandered through the undergrowth. Its intricate antlers, like a crown, were its defense. It used its antlers to probe the grass for hidden dangers. After ensuring safety, it began to graze, extracting moisture and fiber from the grass to sustain itself.

Suddenly, the stag lifted its head and pressed its strong hind legs to the ground, leaping gracefully. The stag sensed danger, an almost instinctive perception that had saved it many times. But this time was different. A silver flash from the bushes, and the stag's mid-air body shuddered, falling with a wail.

A sharp dagger was embedded in its neck. The stag's eyes filled with fear; it felt something being drained from its body. It didn't die immediately, kicking its legs helplessly, only to see its predator emerge from the shadows.