Chapter:13 Encounter with Danger.
By Wei Yi Yong Heng , December 24, 2014 .
Qin Mo had no idea that Lin Tong was secretly watching him. But with the memories of two lifetimes, he recalled that in his previous world, there existed a profession known as the sniper.
So, he imitated what he remembered — learning the ways of a sniper. He even painted camouflage across his face and wove a hat of grass to blend into the wilderness.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have the patience of a true sniper. The thick branches before him were already the twelfth spot he had changed to.
Growing increasingly restless, Qin Mo began praying silently in his heart — begging the heavens to grant him some prey so he could complete his first hunt with a shred of dignity.
Another hour passed, and dusk began to fall.
Feeling utterly abandoned by the merciless heavens, Qin Mo finally prepared to jump down from the tree. He knew this day was destined to yield no harvest.
But just as he moved his leg slightly, a sudden rustling came from the bushes ahead. At first, he thought it was someone approaching — but he was quickly proven wrong.
A wild boar, pitch-black and massive, burst from the thicket. Its sturdy body looked powerful enough to snap a decade-old tree in half.
Two gleaming white tusks jutted from its mouth, swaying with each motion of its long snout as it rooted in the ground, flashing cold light.
Qin Mo tensed immediately. He had been hoping the heavens would send him a plump hare to mark his first hunt — not this. But instead, that cruel fate delivered him a colossal elephant boar weighing nearly eight hundred jin.
A beast of that level would require even a centurion to fight it cautiously. For Qin Mo, who had only opened one acupoint and barely qualified as a warrior, the idea was terrifying.
At that moment, he had no thought of drawing his bow. He could only pray the creature wouldn’t notice him.
Luckily, the tree he hid upon was old and thick — easily a hundred years in age. Even if the elephant boar found him, it wouldn’t be able to topple it quickly.
“Damn it, why isn’t it leaving?” Qin Mo muttered under his breath. The boar kept circling the tree, refusing to wander off.
“Could it have discovered me?” he wondered, but he dared not move, clinging to a shred of hope.
Yet as darkness deepened, his anxiety grew. If he didn’t make it back soon, nightfall — even in the outer regions of the Blackstone Mountains — would bring great danger. Every warrior from the nearby tribes knew better than to hunt after dark.
The forest dimmed into shadow, and the boar below, seemingly tired of circling, lay down beside the tree. Its rough breathing echoed softly — it was going to sleep.
Qin Mo inhaled slowly and deeply, then clenched his jaw. From behind, he drew a single arrow and placed it carefully against the bowstring, pulling the hard-wood bow to full draw.
He didn’t want to die — but with the beast choosing to rest right under his tree, he had no choice but to risk everything.
The bow was now drawn to its full moon shape. But instead of aiming for the exposed soft belly of the beast, Qin Mo’s target was its eye.
Among all wild beasts, the elephant boar’s defense was among the most formidable. Its belly might look like a weak point, but even with two thousand jin of strength, Qin Mo knew his arrow couldn’t pierce that hide.
The eyes, however, were its only vulnerability. Normally, even a centurion would find it difficult to hit such a small target. But now, as the beast lay there, its eye was completely exposed.
Qin Mo waited — not firing, not rushing — waiting for the perfect moment, when the creature would be fully relaxed.
Time slipped away unnoticed. Even as darkness swallowed the forest, Qin Mo remained utterly still, his gaze locked on that single exposed eye.
Then — twang!
The bowstring sang. Qin Mo hadn’t consciously decided to release it; his body simply knew this was the perfect instant.
The heavy hum of the bow startled the “sleeping” boar. Incredibly fast for its bulk, the beast reacted instantly and spotted Qin Mo perched in the tree.
It twisted its head in a flash — but it was too late. Qin Mo’s arrow, powered by a full thousand jin of force, flew faster than an eye could blink.
Pchh! The arrow plunged into the boar’s eye, bursting into a spray of blood, and drove clean through its skull. The blood-tipped shaft protruded from the opposite side.
A piercing scream tore through the mountains, echoing for miles — startling not only the nearby beasts, but also the Hammerstone Tribe warriors retreating toward the mountain pass.
They all turned to look back into the forest — but instead of investigating, they hastened their pace. Even the centurions did not linger.
At the mouth of the pass, Lin Tong also turned his head once, frowning slightly. But even with the keen vision of a commander, he could see nothing useful in the growing dark.
He shook his head and led his men onward. Today had already been a great harvest — far better than usual.
Back in the woods, Qin Mo hesitated. He knew he should flee at once — but seeing the elephant boar thrashing in agony, crashing into rocks and trees, he found himself pausing.
The beast had only one good eye left, and with an arrow buried deep in its skull, it had no chance of surviving.
Thinking of the ten-thousand-jin hunting quota, Qin Mo steeled himself, drew the broadsword from his waist, and leapt down from the tree — striking for the beast’s neck.
His downward swing, backed by a thousand jin of strength, roared through the air with a violent whoosh.
Clang! The blade bounced off the beast’s thick neck, leaving only a shallow bloody groove. The recoil sent pain shooting through Qin Mo’s hand, splitting the skin between his thumb and forefinger.
Before he could retreat, the boar charged. The impact sent him flying, blood surging wildly in his chest as if his organs might burst apart.
Rolling across the ground, he barely managed to regain his footing, sword raised defensively — but the boar didn’t attack again.
Instead, half-blind and terrified, it bolted in the opposite direction, crushing trees and shattering stones in its desperate flight.
Seeing the trail of blood it left behind, Qin Mo felt a strange heat stir within him. Gripping his bow, he gave chase.
Running alongside the wounded beast, he loosed arrow after arrow, keeping about ten meters away — one man, one beast, locked in a deadly chase beneath the moonless sky.
Arrow after arrow flew, each missing its mark, yet Qin Mo felt no discouragement — only a growing exhilaration. He had never felt so alive.
At last, with the final arrow in his quiver, he drew and released once more — and somehow knew it would strike true.
Thwip!
A final anguished scream split the night. The arrow pierced the creature’s remaining eye and buried itself deep within its brain.
Qin Mo didn’t move in for the kill. He simply ran alongside, knowing — feeling — that it was over.
Moments later, the massive beast crashed into an ancient tree and collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
Panting heavily, Qin Mo stood still for a long moment — and then, at last, he smiled.
