Chapter Twenty-Five: The Sly Wild Wolf

Stung by pain, the mother boar let out a shrill cry as she spun around, baring her ferocious jaws in an attempt to attack the wolf king. But in an instant, two more wolves sprang from the side, sinking their teeth directly into the prey's neck.

In the wild, canines do not boast exceptional bite force; compared to the likes of tigers or lions, they rank only in the middle. Yet even so, an ordinary gray wolf's bite force reaches nearly three hundred kilograms, and with their sharp six-centimeter-long fangs, they can easily crush the bones of their prey.

Though the mother boar’s hide was matted with a thick armor of mud and pine resin, the wolf’s fangs pierced through with ease, drawing streams of blood. Wracked by pain, the creature struggled violently, squealing as she dashed madly in a desperate attempt to shake off the wolves clinging to her.

Seizing upon the boar’s panic, several more wolves swarmed in, attacking her forelegs and belly. One particularly unscrupulous wolf even darted behind her—so much so that Lu Chen himself felt a chill run down his spine, his hind legs reflexively tensing.

Good grief, have they been learning tricks from hyenas? There’s no chivalry in this at all.

It was precisely this tightly coordinated pack assault that left the mother boar utterly powerless to resist. Within half a minute, she crashed to the ground.

As for the handful of piglets, they were virtually defenseless—the scene that followed was nothing short of a one-sided slaughter.

Once the prey was dispatched, as the leader of the pack, the wolf king naturally claimed the privilege of feeding first. He tore open the boar’s thick belly with his teeth, plunging his head in to feast on the freshest organs.

This is typical of carnivores; after killing their prey, they usually open the carcass and eat the organs first. The reason is simple: the organs are the most nutritious part.

Once the lead wolf began to eat, the rest of the pack, according to their rank, selected their portions from what remained.

After a hearty meal, the wolf king did not immediately lead his subjects away. Instead, he strode lithely toward the tree where Lu Chen was hiding.

Drawing close, he slowly lifted his head, his crimson tongue licking blood from the fur around his mouth, and let out a low growl: “Awoo…”

The heavy stench of blood wafted over.

Clearly, this fellow had long since noticed Lu Chen’s presence and had come over deliberately to greet him.

Lu Chen knew well that a gray wolf king couldn’t climb trees, yet the sheer force of its presence weighed on him nonetheless.

Their appearance in the area meant this land was within the wolves’ territory. From now on, he would need to be twice as cautious.

***

At dawn, Lu Chen was awakened by the chirping of birds outside the cave. He found the little crocodile’s half-tail draped over his head, her hind legs kicking against the mouth of the oldest croc.

This girl never slept peacefully.

Lu Chen stretched out his sharp claws and nudged her aside, then yawned wide, his mind gradually clearing.

Only a few hours had passed since he watched the wolves leave the forest and leapt down from the treetop. For a saltwater crocodile, that was plenty of sleep.

By the light at the cave entrance, he glanced at the three juvenile crocs huddled together for warmth, then crawled out quietly.

As Lu Chen slipped from the den, the eldest croc cracked open its confused beast eyes, glanced about, then fell back into a deep sleep. To it, the morning air was much too cold; it was far better to stay comfortably in the den. As for what its brother was up to, it didn’t care at all.

In truth, with its limited intelligence, the eldest croc hadn’t realized that, unconsciously, it had begun to develop the rudiments of independent thought. This was largely due to Lu Chen’s constant training. Zoologists have long observed that many animals, like humans, have a remarkable capacity for learning and imitation in their youth. Through learned behaviors, their brains can be further developed—their intelligence, too, can increase. While these three didn’t possess any kind of system, being constantly exposed to Lu Chen’s example, they reaped countless benefits. Their hunting skills and wits far surpassed those of other saltwater crocodile juveniles of the same age.

Stepping out of the pitch-dark den, Lu Chen immediately felt the chill against his scales, though it was still within tolerable limits. He flexed his stiff limbs a few times, then slipped silently into the river, beginning a new day’s foraging.

Small fish and shrimp darted past, but Lu Chen ignored them. He needed high-quality meat that provided ample energy—not these scraps with little flesh or blood.

Yesterday, while scouting the area, he’d noticed flocks of waterfowl roosting in the reed beds nearby—those would serve as his breakfast.

Soon, he spotted a group of tufted ducks foraging not far off on the water’s surface.

He gently swished his tail, body sinking beneath the water. Like a phantom submarine, he glided silently along the riverbed, drawing closer without a sound.

Only when he was right upon them did he part his jaws and swiftly drag his prey under.

The entire hunt—from start to finish—took a mere three seconds. As always, it was simple and efficient.

Apart from the ripples spreading across the water, there was not a hint of disturbance.

The unfortunate tufted duck hadn’t even a chance to cry out. The others nearby took no notice of their companion’s sudden disappearance.

Dragging his catch to the riverbed, Lu Chen dispatched it with a flick of his claws, then carried it ashore, plucked its feathers, and swallowed it whole.

This duck weighed over two pounds—just enough for a fine meal. Lu Chen’s appetite had grown; he now required two meals a day totaling about five pounds of food, as much as the other three juveniles combined.

As his stomach digested the meal, a message appeared on his system panel.

“Tufted duck, Anatidae, Aythya genus, provides 3.2 energy points.”

Just as Lu Chen expected, the blood and flesh quality of the tufted duck was on par with the great cormorant, yielding a similar energy value.

By now, he had a clear understanding of the system’s standards for food evaluation: it was all about the prey’s position in the food chain.

Creatures at the bottom provided poor nutritional value—like humans eating turnips and greens; filling, perhaps, but offering little in the way of essential nutrients, barely enough to sustain daily activity, and yielding scant energy points. Such fare did little for the crocodile’s evolution.

The higher the prey stood in the food chain, the more energy points it provided.

If Lu Chen wished to grow strong quickly, there was only one way: secure a steady supply of high-quality meat.

With his hunger sated, he continued swimming.

Yesterday had been too hectic for him to properly survey the riverbanks.

In his estimation, nothing in this little river could threaten him. As long as he stayed out of the shallows, he was safe.

He had barely swum a few hundred meters when a loud, piercing cry rang out from the opposite bank, tinged with the scent of blood.

The otters were hunting—just from the sound, Lu Chen recognized the new neighbors he’d glimpsed last night.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to pay them a close visit, announcing his presence in no uncertain terms.