31-32

Chapter 31: A Dangerous Predator

Rustle, rustle…

Old Johnson held his breath as he walked through the silent forest near Devil River.

Wearing sturdy rabbit-fur boots, he carefully stepped on the leaves, producing faint rustling sounds.

He gripped his hunting rifle, its weak flashlight guiding the path ahead, and tilted his head slightly to listen intently to every sound in the forest.

“Woof, woof… woof, woof…”

“On the left!”

Hearing the barking, Old Johnson immediately chased in the direction of the sound.

For a hunter, a hunting dog is as crucial as the rifle in their hands.

Especially in a forest teeming with danger, a hunting dog can sometimes prove even more useful than the hunter himself.

Following the barking, Old Johnson quickly arrived at the scene.

He saw Peter, his dog, standing with his tail raised, barking furiously at a bush in the forest. Without hesitation, Old Johnson swung his rifle to aim at the thicket.

Under the beam of the rifle’s flashlight, faint traces of crimson blood could be seen smeared on the tree branches above.

Raising the rifle, he stood silently for several seconds, ensuring there was no danger in the bushes.

Only then did Old Johnson let out a sigh of relief, though his rifle remained firmly in his grip. Carefully, he stepped forward, removed his glove, and wiped some blood from the tree branch with his finger, rubbing it thoughtfully.

From the state of the blood coagulation, it was evident some time had passed.

Sniffing his finger, Old Johnson deduced that the prey had been attacked no more than half an hour ago.

This meant the predator responsible might still be nearby.

The thought of a ravenous grizzly bear lurking in the surrounding forest made Old Johnson’s expression tighten.

He gripped his rifle firmly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the environment around him.

Soon, he noticed a distinct drag mark near a shrub beside the trees.

Judging by the scattered leaves and broken branches, it was clear that a predator had attacked prey here and then dragged its catch away.

However, this method of hunting was noticeably different from what Old Johnson associated with grizzly bears.

As a ferocious and massive beast, grizzlies have virtually no natural enemies in the forest.

When starving, they can even hunt wolf packs or smaller bears of their kind.

Moreover, after catching prey, grizzlies typically consume it on the spot without bothering to hide it.

“Could it be that the creature lurking near the cabin isn’t a young bear?”

Frowning, Old Johnson muttered to himself. He still kept his rifle raised, unwilling to lower his guard.

Regardless of whether the target was a bear cub or something else, Old Johnson knew he needed to investigate to ensure the safety of his dwelling.

“Peter, come here.”

Resolving to act, Old Johnson motioned for his hunting dog to come over.

He held out his bloodstained fingers for Peter to sniff.

Peter sniffed the blood, then lowered his head to smell the ground.

Soon, he picked up the trail and darted off.

Seeing Peter dash forward, Old Johnson didn’t hesitate this time and quickly followed the dog into the forest.

“Woof, woof…”

After several hundred meters, Peter suddenly stopped.

Sniffing the ground and circling a few times, he began barking furiously at a low shrub.

Following Peter’s tracks, Old Johnson reached the bushes.

He directed the flashlight attached to his rifle toward the thicket, where he discovered the corpse of an animal resembling a small deer, about 2-3 feet long.

Looking at the deer’s lifeless body, Old Johnson’s wariness shot to its peak.

He scanned the surroundings with a vigilant gaze, ready for the predator that had killed the deer to emerge from the forest and attack. Meanwhile, he grabbed the deer’s antlers and dragged the body out of the thicket.

To his surprise, the carcass was unexpectedly light—so light that even Old Johnson, in his advanced age, could haul it out with one hand.

But as he dragged it out, he realized why.

The deer’s body was missing most of its parts. Only half its head remained intact; the rest had been gnawed beyond recognition. The predator had entirely hollowed out the abdomen, devouring every organ—heart, liver, lungs, and kidneys—leaving nothing behind.

“It seems this predator is extremely hungry,” Old Johnson concluded, studying the carcass with a grim expression.

For him, this was bad news.

Typically, forest predators don’t consume their prey all at once. Instead, they feed incrementally, stretching a single kill to sustain themselves over multiple meals. After all, hunting isn’t easy, and not every attempt ends successfully. A string of failures can be catastrophic, even for a predator.

But this predator had devoured the deer entirely, suggesting…

It wasn’t satisfied with just this kill.

“Peter, stay alert.”

Old Johnson issued a command to his dog.

He tossed the deer’s remains to the ground and raised his rifle, cautiously scanning the forest around him.

Judging from the time of death, the predator likely dragged the carcass here no more than 20 minutes ago, meaning the dangerous animal might still be close by.

“Is it a leopard, or perhaps…”

Clutching his rifle, Old Johnson speculated about the predator’s identity while keeping a wary eye on the forest.

“Grrr… grrr…”

Suddenly, Peter crouched low and began growling at a bush to Old Johnson’s left, baring his teeth.

“There!”

Noticing his dog’s reaction, Old Johnson instinctively swung his rifle toward the bush.

The weak beam of his flashlight illuminated the undergrowth.

Old Johnson squinted his cloudy eyes, staring at the bush.

A flash of eerie light reflected back at him.

A dark shadow suddenly leapt out of the bush, springing into the air toward Old Johnson.

Bang!

The next second, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the silent forest.

---

Thud, thud, thud…  

At a small inn near the Devil River region in Texas, knocking on the door disrupted Allen’s focus on the fragmented system interface before him.

“Dinner’s ready,” called the gruff voice of the innkeeper from outside.

---

Chapter 32: A Series of Unfolding Events

"Tonight's dinner is... a special homemade sausage sandwich!"

"With an apple on the side."

When Allen opened the door, he was greeted by a burly, bearded man holding a plate of food—a chaotic mix of ingredients seemingly thrown together from the refrigerator.

"Homemade?"

Allen glanced down at the burnt edges of the bread, his lips twitching slightly in disbelief.

"This is a hidden gem from the 'John Charlie' restaurant. It's not something an average person could easily get their hands on," the bearded man declared shamelessly, shoving the plate and apple into Allen's hands.

Then, leaning in to peer into the room, the bearded man lowered his voice. A sly smile broke through his bushy beard as he whispered, "Hey, listen, buddy. I noticed you're all alone. If you need some... special services, I can help you..."

*Bang!*

Before the man could finish, Allen decisively slammed the door in his face, leaving the bearded man mumbling complaints at the doorstep.

*Special services?*

Special services have nothing on the system's entertainment!

---

"Someone found him by the roadside..."

"Multiple bruises on his arm and torso, with a fatal wound to the chest. Initial assessment suggests an animal attack. The bleeding has been controlled, and he was given a sedative in the ambulance after exhibiting signs of delirium."

At a hospital in downtown Texas, paramedics unloaded the unconscious patient from the ambulance and relayed the information to the ER doctor.

The doctor's eyes scanned the patient on the stretcher, lingering for a few seconds on the wound across his chest before making a swift decision.

"Trauma Room Three."

The paramedics immediately wheeled the patient into the designated trauma room without hesitation.

Once inside, the two paramedics who had accompanied the patient heaved a collective sigh of relief.

"You okay, buddy? You look pale," one paramedic asked, noticing his colleague's ashen complexion. He rubbed his sore arm and patted the other's shoulder in concern.

The pale paramedic licked his lips, feeling a burning dryness in his throat. His chest felt as though it were on fire.

"Water. I need water," he muttered, ignoring his colleague’s calls as he staggered toward a nearby hallway.

*Bang! Bang!*

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"What’s your problem, man?"

"Running in a hospital is prohibited. Stop immediately, sir!"

"Are you blind, idiot? My leg’s broken, and you’re running into me!"

The pale paramedic stumbled through the hospital corridors, crashing into staff and patients alike, drawing a wave of complaints and scolding.

He paid no attention, mumbling incessantly, "Water... water... water..."

The burning sensation in his chest intensified, spreading through his body like wildfire. His vision blurred, shrouded in a haze. His thoughts became sluggish, and his mind teetered on the edge of clarity and confusion.

"No... Something's wrong with me... I need... a doctor..."

"Water... I need water... water..."

Leaning against the wall for support, he walked unsteadily until his legs gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold, hard floor. The jolt of pain momentarily cleared his foggy mind. Realizing the severity of his condition, he gritted his teeth, trying to crawl back toward the ER.

As he looked up, his gaze accidentally landed on the restroom sign.

In an instant, the fleeting clarity vanished, and his eyes dulled. Like a puppet, he shifted direction, crawling into the restroom.

---

*Splash!*

Inside the hospital restroom, water gushed from the faucet, spilling over the sink and pooling on the floor.

The pale paramedic leaned over the sink, submerging his face in the water and gulping it down.

His stomach swelled from the intake, but the burning in his chest persisted, intensifying as though his very blood, muscles, and bones were being incinerated.

He stopped drinking and looked into the mirror. His reflection revealed blackened eyes with no visible whites, resembling the crazed patient in the ambulance.

Rolling up his sleeve, he noticed purple, web-like veins radiating from a scratch on his arm, spreading ominously across his limb.

"Hey, buddy, what’s going on with you?"

"I’ve been noticing something’s off since earlier..."

The restroom door swung open, revealing his colleague. The man froze at the sight of the waterlogged floor and the paramedic’s drenched appearance.

"What the hell..."

Before he could finish, the paramedic in the mirror threw his head back and let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Then, like a man possessed, he lunged at his colleague.

---

*Click.*

In a remote inn near Devil’s River, on the outskirts of a Texas border town, Allen studied the evolving display on the system interface. He nodded slightly before taking a bite of the apple on his plate.

The apple was surprisingly good.

Glancing at the fruit in mild surprise, Allen shifted his attention back to the system screen.

The setup was complete. It was time for the main event.

As thoughts raced through his mind, the system display changed again.

Near the border of Texas, a weathered figure drove along a desolate highway.

Behind the wheel, the man’s face was set in a grim expression, his gray-streaked beard framing a cigar clamped between his lips. A scar ran across his face, bisecting his left eye.

In the passenger seat lay a peculiar, antique firearm. Its surface gleamed with an otherworldly sheen.

*(End of Chapter)*