Chapter 21: Skills analysis

With a splash, Lane and Bernie leaped from the boat onto the muddy shore.

"This is where the fishing improves beyond the designated grounds. You can easily find the sea devils here. They don't even bother hiding from people anymore."

Lane inhaled deeply, the moist wind carrying a mix of fishy odors.

The scent of the tidal flat was far from pleasant—fishy, bloody, and salty. For anyone unaccustomed to it, a single whiff would be enough to kill their appetite.

Yet for Lane, the demon hunter, these odors wrapped around him like colorful halos.

After careful consideration, he singled out his target: a repugnant smell—a mixture of rotting fish, shrimp, and seaweed.

This was the scent of the water ghost.

Once he focused on it, the air surrounding that smell shimmered like a highlighted ribbon in the demon hunter's vision.

All other distracting scents faded away.

Thanks to the frequent activity of these water ghosts, the area smelled unusually fresh, allowing him to easily identify their presence.

Theoretically, this alone should have been enough for Lane to track the group of water ghosts directly.

But he didn't set off immediately. Instead, he turned to Bernie, who was already unstrapping his bow and arrows.

"Can you track the water imps?"

Bernie looked at him in surprise. Isn't that your job? But he held his tongue.

"Anyone could follow these obvious footprints and the broken scales left behind by the water ghosts."

"..." Mentos chimed in his mind with a series of silent ellipses.

Lane stared at the beach before him.

The dark, foul-smelling mud was a chaotic tapestry of strange, jumbled traces—marks from beasts, driftwood, and the water ghosts themselves.

To someone lacking tracking experience, it appeared to be nothing more than a muddled patch of earth.

Distinguishing the scales of the water ghosts from those of ordinary fish was impossible, and the so-called "obvious footprints" were buried beneath a tangle of chaotic markings.

I really hate being human!

A faint twitch of Lane's lips betrayed his frustration.

"Very well, I need to adjust my combat stance. You handle the tracking."

Without further explanation—though Bernie didn't seek any—the task was straightforward for him.

The man in the long leather gloves moved to the front, naturally beginning to survey the various traces to determine their next course of action.

Meanwhile, Mentos switched into work mode, aligned with Lane's plan.

"Adding new analysis item: [Trace Detection].

Skill source: Fisherman Bernie.

Information integration and analysis, current progress: 1%."

"Send me the results later tonight. I don't want to feel like a shaken soda bottle when dealing with the water ghosts."

"Understood, sir," Mentos replied promptly.

The process of transferring knowledge from the intelligent brain could not be altered due to its lack of authority—suffering was inevitable.

But at least he could choose when to suffer.

The exchange in Lane's mind was quick, while Bernie continued examining the mud.

Lane could never quite grasp why he was always able to detect the faintest traces.

For instance, he could spot a shallow scratch in the mud or glean clues from a disarray of footprints, adjusting his direction instantly.

That adjustment was far more precise than anything he caught with his enhanced sense of smell.

Sighing, he reminded himself that extraordinary senses also required knowledge and experience for effective use.

Every qualified demon hunter was an unwavering master of tracking.

Although he didn't regret slaying his mentor, he still needed to compensate for his own lack of experience and skills.

In a world where productivity lagged, even a butcher's craft of meat-cutting or a cooper's skill in barrel-making was often handed down through families, with apprentices learning only through hard work.

Not to mention the ability to hunt and track, which could support an entire household.

Fortunately, Lane's capable partner allowed him to observe and distill valuable knowledge.

"Your tracking methods seem a bit different from mine," he said, trying to sound knowledgeable as he followed Bernie.

Right or wrong, he was brimming with confidence! "For example, just now, you focused on the skid mark in the dirt, while we usually pay attention to the mess surrounding it."

Bernie reflected on Lane's comment. Wasn't it just the trail of a dead fish or rotten meat dragged into a hole by a crab?

What good was that for tracking down the water ghost?

After all, who truly understood the tracking techniques of demon hunters? Maybe they could use crabs to predict the future?

"Those marks indicate a water ghost's toes. They have webbed fingers and toes, so the imprints are quite distinctive," Bernie explained, answering honestly.

"[Trace Detection] is currently undergoing skill calibration and information integration. Current progress: 9%."

"Sir, I suggest you continue to ask questions diligently."

Lane felt a surge of delight at Mentos's prompt response.

Of course, while the intelligent brain could deduce skills from observation, having the skilled person explain their techniques would accelerate the progress.

Yet Lane didn't plan to keep asking questions indefinitely.

A few inquiries were a technical exchange; too many would merely expose his ignorance.

The tracking process wasn't lengthy. As they reached a small hill about 200 meters from the shore, the cries of the water ghosts could be easily heard by anyone.

Once they crested the hill, the monsters should be visible in groups.

Bernie turned to Lane, signaling that it was now his turn to take the lead.

The young man's approach diverged from the previous tracking methods, and he did not hesitate.

With a low, smooth sound, the sharp silver blade of the Bear School unsheathed, brushing against the metal.

The gentle sound indicated a steady hand, instilling a sense of security in Bernie.

"Put away your bow. There are only five water demons, and I can handle them. We haven't worked together before, and your arrows might interfere with me."

So Bernie returned his bow and arrows to his back.

Though he had harbored doubts about Lane's tracking skills along the way, the young man's confident assertion about the exact number of water ghosts dispelled any reservations.

As he slowly climbed the small hill, Lane's free left hand gestured before him.

A flash of golden magical light appeared and quickly faded, leaving a magical rune of the same hue hovering around Lane.

"Quinn."

Now donned in full battle gear, Lane intended to adopt a more aggressive combat style.

His high-quality equipment bolstered his confidence.

In this scenario, the spherical [Quinn] based on school knowledge wasn't the best choice; the original version was more advantageous.

The sudden silence from the cackling crows under the slope made the five pairs of dead fish eyes bulge, all staring at the figure slowly descending the hill.