After days of arduous trekking through the mountains, the members of the Netherworld Squad were covered in dust and grass clippings. Though their frames betrayed an inescapable exhaustion, their eyes remained steadfast as they moved steadily along the rugged mountain path.
The squad reached the entrance of an abandoned village. Beside the entrance stood an old, crooked-necked elm tree with bark peeling in jagged patches. Its branches were sparse, and a few crows perched on its bare canopy, letting out occasional caws.
Leitao, leading the group, felt his nostrils twitch. His senses, honed by years on the battlefield, instantly caught the faint, unmistakable scent of blood on the wind. He sharply raised a hand to signal a halt, his voice a low, urgent whisper: "Stay put! Find cover!" The team moved with ghost-like fluidity, instantly slipping behind the dense roadside shrubbery, their actions both swift and silent.
Chapter 425