Reborn as the General's Useless Daughter-Chapter 68: Royal Hunting grounds (Part-8)

Two days had already slipped away. Only the final day remained, and anxiety now simmered through the hunting ground. Every participant was scrambling, pushing deeper, sharper, faster.

From the murmured conversations drifting between the trees so far, Zora gathered one thing: No one had found the Gale wolf.

At the moment, she settled beneath a tree, slid into cultivation, and let her breath steady.

Strength spent must be replenished. The last day would demand precision.

Yet while she trained in quiet focus, word of Emerald and Kylan’s deaths spread across Mt. Philanos like wildfire.

"I’ve seen the bodies," a trembling practitioner whispered. "Both killed with a clean throat-cut. Definitely a cultivator’s blade."

Shock rippled everywhere. In this competition, Emerald and Kylan had been among the most formidable contenders.

If someone could kill both in such a clean fashion... how terrifying must their strength be?

"Serves Emerald right," someone muttered. "She strutted around as if the mountain belonged to her."

"Still, whoever did it... be careful. That kind of person won’t mind killing again."

Nigel and Rose exchanged a look heavy with unspoken understanding.

They remembered that blade.

That impossible speed.

That one clean strike.

But neither spoke the suspicion aloud.

Whoever killed Emerald had spared their lives. That was enough.

Luna, upon hearing the news, froze.

Emerald and Kylan... gone?

Both late-stage Earth realm cultivators are strong enough to overwhelm most competitors.

She had calculated that only she and Philip outclassed them.

So who killed them?

Another Sky realm, early stage?

Or... did Philip lash out?

Either way, her calm facade cracked.

*

Meanwhile, Zora remained in meditation, though her spiritual senses swept the night like a silent tide.

Tonight felt wrong.

The mountains were noisier, the beasts restless. Their cries were sharper, more frantic, as if something stirred them from deep instinct.

Her brow creased faintly.

Nature rarely lied—something was coming.

A moment later, Black’s voice tightened with alarm. "Master... a horde of monsters is surrounding us, in all directions."

Zora’s eyes snapped open.

She saw twin blue wolf-eyes glimmer between the trunks. Their breath reeked of decay and blood.

"The Nether Wolf pack..."

Her stomach tightened—not in fear, but in calculation.

Nether Wolves shouldn’t be here.

More importantly, she hadn’t provoked them.

So why were they hunting her?

The Nether Wolf was a nightmare every cultivator prayed never to encounter.

One wolf was manageable.

A pack—never.

They were pack beasts, ruthless, relentless, coordinated, and each roughly equivalent to a late-stage Earth realm beast.

Even skilled cultivators could be torn apart before they screamed.

Regardless, Zora maintained calmness, brandishing her sword like a whip.

A cold realization settled in her chest like frost.

"This isn’t random," she murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. "This is a setup."

Someone wasn’t just targeting her identity.

Someone wanted her dead.

"Master... with so many Nether Wolves, let Black and me handle it." White’s whisper trembled with urgency.

Even with Zora’s strength, numbers like these were enough to drown a cultivator in teeth and blood.

One mistake—just one—and the pack would tear her apart.

Black tensed, its muscles beneath that fur coiled like springs. "Just say the word. I’ll shred this mangy herd!"

"No."

Zora’s tone cut through the night like cold steel. "Neither of you may act."

The two spirit beasts exchanged a look—and instantly understood.

"Because someone is watching," White murmured.

Zora nodded once, eyes narrowing as she swept the forest’s unseen corners.

"Any move you two make will be noticed. I won’t let you be exposed."

They were hers now—her responsibility. Until she grew strong enough to protect them openly, they must remain shadows.

And the timing of this wolf attack... this was no coincidence.

Someone had laid this trap for her.

The Nether Wolves’ growls deepened, vibrating the earth beneath her boots. Dozens of pairs of ghostly blue eyes fixed on her, gleaming with feral hunger.

They had already decided what she was: prey.

Yet Zora’s pulse remained steady.

Her mind sharpened.

The wolves weren’t the threat.

Her enemies—the ones watching—were.

"Grrr—!"

The Nether Wolf King then howled. And the pack answered by surging forward like a dark tide.

Zora stepped, let out a deep breath, and her aura of early Sky stage erupted, fierce and cold.

A wolf lunged first, jaws yawning wide to clamp down on her throat.

She vanished from its strike.

Her blade appeared instead, slicing clean through the beast’s vulnerable waist—the only soft point on its otherwise iron body.

Before the corpse hit the ground, she kicked it sideways, hurling it into the oncoming wolves and disrupting their formation.

More claws and fangs bared at him.

Zora spun among them like a silver gust, dress fluttering, sword carving precise arcs.

No wasted movement. No wasted strength.

Her calm was unnerving, as if she were not surrounded by death, but dancing through an old, familiar drill.

Eventually, a claw tore across her arm, staining white silk with crimson—but she didn’t flinch. The injury didn’t even slow her down.

Another strike. Another wolf down.

And another.

Each kill was clean and efficient without any wasted movements as if she were a master swordswoman.

A growing ring of corpses marked her steps.

Black swallowed hard.

White’s fur bristled.

"Master... is terrifying," Black whispered, equal parts awe and fear.

"She’s... magnificent," White breathed.

And still the wolves kept coming.

*

So many of their kin lay dead that the remaining Nether Wolves finally hesitated. The instinctive fear of a natural predator crept into their eyes.

Above them, hidden in the dark canopy, Sebastian and Miel watched without daring to blink.

Neither spoke.

The performance of Zora had already shattered every expectation they held.

This wasn’t the composure of a sheltered young noblewoman.

This was the battlefield calm of someone who had lived through storms far deadlier than this.

"That girl..." Sebastian exhaled slowly, "She is far too calm."

At her age, such steadiness was unnatural.

Even the most gifted elite students they had tested in the past couldn’t match this poise under life-and-death pressure.

Miel’s excitement simmered beneath his composed exterior. "Her psychological stability is monstrous. I thought she was just an ornament standing beside Prince Kael and someone who had knowledge of medicine. But we may have discovered the true treasure of this royal hunt."

After a pause, Miel added, "Isn’t it quite ironic that someone who saves lives but has terrifying composure even while killing others. I don’t mean the wolves... I mean..."

"In any case," Sebastian interrupted with a murmur, "we must secure a place for her. She doesn’t belong in this small empire. The future she is meant for is much larger."

Miel nodded.

This trip had paid for itself a hundredfold.

But then—

Zora, in the middle of battle, abruptly paused and lifted her gaze.

Not toward the wolves.

But toward them.

Her eyes—cold, sharp, impossibly perceptive—sliced clean through the darkness.

Sebastian stiffened. "Did she just look at us?"

With their cultivation, even a late-stage Sky realm expert wouldn’t sense them unless they wished it.

But that momentary glance from Zora...

It held awareness.

"No," Miel said after a breath, though a flicker of doubt betrayed him. "Impossible. She’s only early stage Sky realm. She couldn’t sense us."

Yet the unease lingered.

Because if she had sensed them...

She wasn’t merely talented.

She was terrifying.