Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 580 - 354: Dizzy, Critical Hit, On the Verge of Death, Your Will is Being Tested..._2

If there was anything that could help it survive this hunt, it was its knowledge of the surrounding environment.

It had been leading the Wolf Pack on a frenzied hunt the entire time, aware of which formidable enemies lurked nearby.

In the Wolf Pack's consciousness, that dense forest was the Giant Spiders' den. Any creature daring to enter had never emerged.

Wang Cai had followed Lance to hunt those Giant Spiders and vaguely understood how they relied on vibrations to sense their enemies.

Its own sense of smell was extremely sensitive. It knew that the scent of blood had little effect on the spiders, only enough to distract them.

However, this had bought it some time. To truly stall them, it had to rely on the power of the wilderness.

I hope you like the gift I've prepared for you~

Once Warwolf and his men had attracted the attention of the Giant Spiders, Wang Cai no longer bothered hiding. It quickly left the Giant Spiders' den and fled into the wilderness.

This was because the Witches and the fungal parasites had already been cleared out by Lance. Otherwise, the wilderness would hold many more surprises for them...

Suddenly, several figures burst out from the dense forest. They were the ones who had retreated from the Giant Spiders' den upon hearing Warwolf's command. Lucky not to be ensnared, they were able to escape, though they were smeared with some webs and venom.

They couldn't concern themselves with that now. Turning to look back at the noisy forest, their expressions were uniformly grave.

Warwolf hadn't emerged yet. The safety of their leader weighed heavily on their hearts, and a few even considered charging back in.

They could die, but not their leader; he was the tribe's hope.

The Barbarian Tribes were simple folk. The harsh environment had forged an extreme unity among them—internal strife had likely long vanished into the mountain mists.

Of course, the Eagle Flock, whom the Barbarian Tribes considered "traitors," were not included; they had been corrupted by the Empire.

As Warwolf still hadn't emerged, and the sounds from the forest grew fainter, they couldn't wait any longer.

The warriors, haggard and disheveled, were at their physical and mental limits. They knew entering again was likely a one-way trip, but no man or wolf chose to back down.

They gripped their weapons tightly, determination filling their eyes.

"Wolf God's Protection."

"Wolf God—Banzai!"

One warrior howled, "AWOOO~ White Wolf, let's go!"

There were prayers to their revered Wolf God, vows of do-or-die resolve, and inhuman howls calling companions to prepare for battle.

They were ready to charge towards death itself!

But just then, a tall white figure burst out, followed swiftly by another figure scrambling on all fours.

They were none other than Warwolf and the One-Eyed Wolf King. Both were almost entirely splattered with a white, murky substance, with entrails and assorted gore from the Giant Spiders they had evidently sliced open hanging off their bodies. Showered in the carnage, they looked utterly battered.

Yet, the Giant Spiders still surged out like a tide, on the verge of bursting from the forest.

Warwolf whipped his head around for a look back. For some reason, the Giant Spiders about to pour out of the forest halted their advance, eventually retreating into the dark depths of the woods.

It seemed either the Giant Spiders, by nature, wouldn't stray far from their nest, or they were simply terrified by Warwolf's onslaught. Even without true minds, they obeyed that primal instinct.

After the Giant Spiders withdrew into the forest, all the bodies—whether human, white wolf, or Giant Spider—were dragged away. Soon, the sound of rustling filled the woods...

Warwolf's gaze remained fixed on the dense woods, a hint of frustration in his heart.

The bodies couldn't be reclaimed; the requiem ceremony couldn't be held. He had led his warriors out, but he couldn't bring back their souls.

But he was powerless. He had done well just to cover a portion of them as they broke out. No one knew how many were still inside. If this dragged on, even he wasn't sure he could escape unscathed.

"Boss, are you alright?" some warriors asked with concern, stepping forward.

Warwolf merely shook his head slightly, raising a hand to brush off the white, solidified chunks from his armor.

The liquid sprayed by the Webbing Spiders became sticky upon contact with air and, over time, would slowly harden into clumps, losing its adhesiveness by then.

Warwolf quickly cleaned the filth from his body. It was clear that neither the webs nor the venom sprayed on him had caused significant harm.

This was due to Warwolf's extremely high constitution, coupled with the Wolf God's blessing. Even strengthened venom only left red spots on his skin, like mosquito bites, which would likely fade quickly.

Conversely, the other warriors weren't so fortunate; some who had been contaminated by the venom showed clear signs of poisoning.

A quick headcount was completed. Of the original group of over twenty men and numerous wolves, only eleven men remained. The wolves had suffered similar losses; many had come into contact with the venom and were injured, though thankfully not seriously.

Warwolf felt a surge of helplessness at this sight. There was still a little healing medicine left, but the Antidote had been used up while crossing the Mountains. Now, the warriors had to rely on their own resilience.

The people of the Deerhead Tribe were very skilled at neutralizing various poisons. If Grendel were by his side...

My love, where are you?

The recent frenzied slaughter had somewhat appeased the Wolf God, allowing the immense pressure in his heart to ease a bit, as the battle madness slowly subsided.

But now, witnessing such losses, the pressure in his heart surged anew.

He could feel an overwhelming evil pervading this land, but he had no choice but to press on.

"I will take you home," Warwolf declared, his voice firm.

His conviction grew stronger; the pressure could not crush him.

The warriors said nothing upon hearing his words, but their actions clearly showed their unwavering support for Warwolf.

Soon, after a brief rest, the group set off again. These warriors were, after all, the Elite of the tribe. After applying medicine, their injuries had improved, and they forcefully endured the effects of the venom.

As the saying goes, "an army of the grieving is bound to triumph." They were now such an army, being silently forged into even tougher individuals. If they could return to their tribe, they would likely be able to break through their current limitations in a ceremony and become Masters.

If just two or three of the dozen or so remaining succeeded, coupled with Warwolf's own anticipated ascension to the Legendary rank, then all the sacrifices of this journey would be worthwhile.

It had been the dead of night, filled with Heretics, the Eagle Flock, wolf packs, and Giant Spiders—a relentless series of enemies lurking in the deep darkness. Now, however, that gloom was easily torn apart by the dawn light.

Hamlet welcomed the sun. The ancient road stretched onward.

Warwolf had had enough of the darkness. He stood tall, facing the dawn light and basking in the sun's unselfish warmth. In that moment, the pressure accumulated from the night seemed to clear away.

When the warriors saw Warwolf's tall figure bathed in the dawn light, appearing as if imbued with a golden glow, it seemed like a divine sign. The pressure in their hearts involuntarily lessened.

Their leader was invincible; they clung to this belief, even in their current dire straits.

Just then, a noise interrupted their moment of relief. They had followed Wang Cai to this old road, and now new travelers were appearing on it.

Warwolf turned to look. A small group was approaching, no more than a dozen people. Their ragged, downtrodden appearance made it clear they were refugees, though their movements were particularly strange.

From a distance, these people could be seen staggering, their gait vastly different from that of normal individuals.

Only when they drew a bit closer did it become evident that their bodies were malformed, with limbs atrophied into bizarre shapes. These individuals were practically wrapped in tattered cloths, revealing only their eyes and patches of what appeared to be festering skin.

These were the ones still capable of movement, though their staggering steps threatened to send them tumbling at any moment. At least they were mobile. Those who couldn't move were huddled on a crude cart pieced together from wooden planks, which lacked even a simple cover.

Refugees would not have cattle or horses to pull carts. It was evident that only human power was driving this one.

The leader of this peculiar group was the person pulling the cart.