Chapter 14: Hunting the Mutant Leopard (2)

Lecai’s exquisite archery was clearly leagues above Third Brother’s marksmanship, but because the leopard was moving so quickly, the power of the arrow was greatly diminished. It sank only about a foot deep before stopping—under normal circumstances, it would have been effortless for the whole shaft to disappear inside. One must remember, these alloy arrows, improved by the Professor and fired with Lecai’s current strength, could pierce even an inch-thick steel plate—how much easier it should have been to penetrate the beast’s most vulnerable spot.

Especially when the leopard leapt, its tail, as sturdy as a whip, soared into the air, making that area a perfect bullseye. The leopard’s cry was reminiscent of a kitten, low and hoarse. But with its delicate spot attacked, even a mutant leopard could not endure it—a wailing shriek, oddly like a cat in heat, ripped through the air, and its fierce charge ended at once. It was as if a speeding locomotive had slammed on the brakes and began spinning in place, kicking up clouds of dust.

Lecai’s mind worked at lightning speed. As soon as he released his first arrow, his hand had already nocked a second. He halted, then, using the “Unification” footwork, darted to the side, drew the bow again, and with a sharp twang, another alloy arrow vanished into the swirling dust, eliciting another of those pitiful feline screams.

Now truly enraged, the mutant leopard realized the weak-looking human was in fact its most terrifying enemy—it had underestimated him. Resolving not to repeat its mistake, the beast decided to first eliminate this hateful little man. Though the human was small and might not fill its belly, having already crossed the line, how could it not sate its hunger?

The eldest brother had already resigned himself to a heroic death, never expecting the leopard to change targets at the last moment. The euphoria of survival was intoxicating; seeing his younger brother running off, this time he didn’t play the fool, but instead sprinted in the opposite direction. Through the dust, he glimpsed a small figure flickering eerily, like a ghost.

“Kamon, come get your fill! Little leopard, your opponent is me! I haven’t even shown you my true power—why are you running? My teacher wants leopard meat for dinner, so you’d better resign yourself to death!”

Lecai was a little shocked to see that, even when he’d shot with all his might, the arrow had sunk less than a foot—the toughness of the leopard’s hide was astonishing. Now, with arrows sticking from both its haunch and its ear, the beast looked almost comical. But a wounded beast is at its most dangerous, and the ferocity of this mutant animal was now fully unleashed; in its blood-red eyes, one could almost see flames of rage.

Sensing that the enemy before it was not easily dealt with, the mutant leopard did not attack rashly. Instead, it crouched low, claws sharp as blades carving deep grooves into the earth, fixing its bloodthirsty stare on its foe, trying to exert psychological pressure.

If it were any ordinary person—someone of the same level as the wild brothers—they would have been utterly cowed, if not entirely stripped of their fighting spirit.

But Lecai was no ordinary man. His goal was to hunt the leopard—how could he possibly fear his own prey?

His gaze grew especially bright as he watched the leopard. Slowly drawing his curved blade, he moved lightly, his whole body appearing to tremble—yet in truth, he was employing the “Unification” footwork, the movements so minute that, in the leopard’s eyes, the little man seemed like a phantom, swaying and drifting in the wind, impossible to pin down.

When hunting, the mutant leopard was calm and swift; it would never attack without absolute confidence, especially when facing a threatening enemy.

Thus, man and beast found themselves locked in a standoff. In terms of size and aura, they seemed to be on entirely different levels, yet, strangely, the deadlock persisted.

“Little leopard, aren’t you ashamed? My legs are about to break from exhaustion—are you coming or not?” Lecai was growing anxious; maintaining the “Unification” footwork for so long was a tremendous drain on his stamina.

The Professor scolded him: “Is your head made of wood? If it won’t come to you, why not run?”

“In a clash on a narrow path, the brave wins. How could I be the first to show weakness? If I do, I’ll be met with a storm of terrifying attacks—I can’t take that risk. Teacher, can’t you give some constructive advice? At this rate, we’ll never have leopard meat for dinner tonight.”

“If you don’t run, how can you practice your footwork? Without danger, how will you push your limits?” The Professor sighed. He admired Lecai’s combat sense, but without facing peril, how could one grow? His philosophy was to learn through risk, to progress by constantly courting danger.

The shortcut is always the most perilous path.

Lecai suddenly understood, and with a silly laugh said, “You’re right—but why do I feel like a complete fool? This is just playing games with my life!”

Despite his words, he seized the opportunity, and obeying the Professor’s instructions, began to run!

Sure enough, the moment Lecai showed any sign of fleeing, the mutant leopard’s eyes flashed red. Its limbs tensed, and with a speed like lightning, it leapt at him.

Once in motion, it was like thunder splitting the sky—earth-shattering. Its sharp claws gouged the ground, turning even hard stone to rubble. Unfortunately for the beast, the prey was even slipperier, already darting far ahead, sprinting flat out.

The mutant leopard’s rage peaked. To be toyed with by a human—its pride, increased by mutation, could bear no more. Roaring, it threw caution to the wind and gave chase at full speed, raising a plume of dust as it pursued Lecai.

Lecai’s face changed dramatically—so fast! He hadn’t realized it before, but now, facing the beast’s pursuit directly, he felt as though a boulder might crash down from above at any moment, smashing him to pulp, or sharp claws might tear him to shreds. The terror was especially intense when running in a straight line.

Truly, no animal can match a mutant leopard in a straight-line sprint.

At this moment, Lecai was deeply grateful the Professor had taught him the “Unification” footwork. Under such immense pressure, he was performing beyond his limits. Though there were only three or four variations, they were enough to confuse the leopard. His unpredictable movements caused the beast’s attacks to miss again and again—a humiliating failure for one known as the “perfect hunter.”

Repeated failures and the pain of his wounds drove the mutant leopard into a frenzy. No longer cautious, it launched itself recklessly at Lecai’s shifting shadow, its attacks missing each time, yet coming so close that Lecai’s heart was put through an unprecedented trial. Relying on the mysterious and profound “Unification” technique, Lecai zigzagged in a Z-shape, the leopard following his every move—if not for the utter unpredictability of Lecai’s footwork, and the fact that he was only a hair slower than the beast, he would already have been torn to pieces by those razor-sharp claws.

Even so, the danger was ever-present. As the Professor had said, it truly was like dancing on a steel wire above the abyss—one misstep would mean certain doom.

The Professor watched the scene without a flicker of emotion on his face, yet the wineglass in his hand trembled slightly. The wine within, red as blood, quivered and swirled, as if fresh blood were splashing.