Chapter Two: The Corpse-Eating Hounds

It was a pity that Ning Cheng was already exhausted and thirsty, unable to cut any more wheat in the field. Otherwise, he would surely have tried to keep going, harvesting while accumulating more “soul power”—who knew when it might come in handy? Feeling regret, Ning Cheng lamented the frailty of his body after transmigrating.

Suddenly, a wave of heat surged from the shaft of the “fire stick” in his hand. Ning Cheng’s consciousness grew hazy for a moment. When he came to, all weariness and muscle soreness had vanished completely. He felt as if he were a player in a game, revived with full health and mana, his entire body suffused with comfort, his condition better than ever.

[Available Soul Power: 16.8]

Driven by intuition, Ning Cheng summoned the property interface of the “fire stick” again and found that the strange energy transmitted from the stick’s shaft had indeed consumed a few points of available soul power. In other words, the soul power absorbed by the “fire stick” possessed the miraculous ability to restore Ning Cheng to peak condition when he was exhausted.

To confirm this, Ning Cheng ran to and from the field a dozen times, nearly harvesting close to two acres of wheat. When the cut wheat was piled like a small mountain in the field, he looked up at the gradually darkening sky with satisfaction, ready to head home and leave the wheat to dry for two or three days before gathering it.

Ning Cheng’s family leased at least several dozen acres of wheat fields. Farther from these fields, other farmers’ plots stretched out. While working, Ning Cheng had seen no one. But as he prepared to finish and go home, he noticed a group of people running rapidly toward him from the east, from the distant wheat fields.

He also heard, faintly, the sound of barking dogs from farther away.

“Dogs? In such a small village, does anyone have so many dogs?”

Ning Cheng listened closely to the barking, estimating from the cacophony that there were at least seven or eight dogs, which stirred his suspicion.

The farmers soon reached the path near Ning Cheng’s field, panic etched on their faces as if fleeing some monstrous threat. Seeing Ning Cheng standing motionless at the edge of the fields, they shouted to him:

“The corpse-eating hounds from East Mountain are here, run! They eat living people now!”

“Corpse-eating hounds?” Ning Cheng had not inherited the original owner’s memories upon transmigration and had no impression of such monstrous dogs, but seeing the farmers’ terror, he guessed these were not creatures easily dealt with.

He didn’t immediately flee with the others. Instead, after they had dashed toward the village, he hurried to retrieve his “fire stick,” the remnant of the Netherworld Sword, from the grass by the path, gripping it tightly.

If the monsters appeared elsewhere, Ning Cheng could ignore them, unaffected by the troubles outside his home. But with the threat so near, and a sickly sister to care for, he could not avoid facing it.

With his frail, scholar-like body, Ning Cheng could hardly confront the corpse-eating hounds head-on. Fortunately, near the wheat field stood a massive tree, thick enough for two people to encircle, its trunk ten meters tall and branches dense as a giant umbrella.

Having learned rock climbing, Ning Cheng found it effortless to scale the tree, quickly reaching a giant branch five or six meters above the ground, ready to defend himself.

As the barking drew closer, Ning Cheng finally glimpsed the hound pack. From above, he saw nine corpse-eating hounds, each several times larger than ordinary domestic dogs—nearly the size of a horse. Their hulking bodies, red-glowing eyes, and unnatural appearance unsettled him. It was the first time he had seen a monster in this world, and his heart quailed.

But it was too late; the hounds had already spotted him in the tree and surrounded it, forcing Ning Cheng into a last stand.

His only weapon was the remnant Netherworld Sword. Though called a sword, it looked like a blackened stick, unsharpened and currently only usable as a club. Luckily, a club required little technique.

There was an old saying: “A month to learn the staff, a year the saber, a lifetime the spear, and the sword always at your side.” It meant that among cold weapons, the staff was easiest to master.

Against mindless hounds, finesse was unnecessary—just swing the club and strike.

The hounds began leaping up toward the branch where Ning Cheng perched, their long jaws baring sharp, white teeth. Despite their horse-like size, their highest jumps fell short of five meters, still twenty or thirty centimeters below the giant branch.

This brought Ning Cheng a measure of relief. Since the pack couldn’t reach him, it was his turn to counterattack.

He crouched steadily on the branch, one hand grasping the trunk, the other gripping the club-sword. Timing his strike as the largest hound leapt up, he swung with all his might at its nose—the most vulnerable part of a dog’s head.

The blow landed true and hard; the airborne hound couldn’t dodge and howled in pain, sounding utterly pitiful.

Looking down through the chorus of barks, Ning Cheng saw the largest hound’s nose and mouth bloodied and mangled. Blood gushed from the wound, its scent stirring the appetites of the smaller hounds nearby.

As expected, these red-eyed beasts bared their gleaming, razor-sharp teeth and pounced, tearing apart their wounded companion and devouring it.

The scene was so brutal and bloody that Ning Cheng could hardly bear to watch.

Three hounds, feasting on their comrade’s corpse, dragged the body away from the tree. The remaining five, undeterred by the lesson, kept trying to leap up, unwilling to abandon their chance for a meal of human flesh.

When Ning Cheng battered two more hounds until they bled profusely, the pack finally ceased their assault. The three bloodied corpses provided enough food for the remaining six hounds.

After finishing their grisly meal beneath the tree, the hounds gathered, barked furiously, then looked back toward their original direction, seemingly ready to depart.

At that moment, Ning Cheng suddenly spotted a streak of white light darting across the nearby field—swift and faintly fox-shaped.

Seeing new prey, the hounds abandoned their unattainable meal in the tree and began chasing and encircling the spot where the white light had appeared.

“A white fox?” Watching the flash, Ning Cheng recalled legends from Strange Tales of Liaozhai.

“If this world has dog monsters the size of horses, perhaps it also has fox spirits?”

He began to daydream, enchanted by memories of beautiful tales of fox immortals and scholars, almost forgetting the dangers before him.