Ashen Dragon-Chapter 555 - 22 Flo_2

“You go grind the flour.”

“You go cook.”

“You go…”

One by one, the players left as Old White became more adept at assigning tasks, dispatching them effortlessly with offhand remarks.

In the players’ eyes, this was clearly a display of confidence from a hidden powerhouse.

When Old White left the house, indicating he would give out no more tasks, the players who didn’t receive tasks were especially disappointed, while those who went off to do chores were smug.

“This is Erezer! An opportunity not to be missed, for it will not come again!”

“Old sir, give us another task!”

“I’m crying, I’ve queued for so long!”

“Please, let me do another task.”

Are these Starfallens like this? Are they all so “eager to help”?

Hearing the callings of the players behind him, White sneezed and couldn’t help but grumble internally.

“I’ve lived so long, and this is the first time I’ve seen people scrambling to do menial work.”

“Really… a bunch of freaks.”

Old White carried his gun, walking on the path leading to the forest south of the village.

“I hope I can bag a deer today, or at least a rabbit.”

Old White said this.

Every day at this time, he would go hunting in the forest, often bringing back plenty of game; he had formed this habit over decades.

Following the familiar path, Old White entered the depths of the dense forest.

“Rustle rustle…”

Whispering sounds emerged.

Old White surveyed his surroundings vigilantly, frowning involuntarily.

“Something is not right here.”

He murmured to himself.

This was a hunter’s intuition.

Old White had walked this path a thousand times; he knew the location of every tree, every stone, as if entering the woods was like coming home.

However, today, this piece of woodland made him feel unfamiliar.

He always felt as if the leaves and weeds were covered with a layer of murky light, the branches reaching out like withered arms trying to grasp him.

There were also vines like poisonous snakes coiled around the branches, hanging down, nearly touching Old White’s shoulders a few times.

The forest was deathly quiet, terrifyingly so, no sound of birds chirping.

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“Caw, caw, caw…”

Several frightfully large crows flew past overhead, making hoarse cries, casting erratic dark shadows through the dense woods.

Old White looked up at the crows, with an odd feeling—they seemed to be watching him.

In those eyes twinkling with a ghostly light in the darkness, there was a strange smile, greed, and hunger—clearly the look of eyeing fresh food.

He observed carefully and even noticed sharp, exposed fangs between the bird’s beaks, with mottled bloodstains.

“Damn it, these aren’t crows!”

“These are monsters!”

Old White exclaimed, his hand holding the shotgun trembling slightly but still skillfully aiming at the direction of the “crows.”

“Bang!”

“Caw, caw, caw…”

A loud gunshot echoed.

Those “crows” continued their noisy, harsh cries, flapping their wings and disappearing into the shadows of the dense forest, leaving only a few slowly falling black feathers.

Those feathers fell to the ground and corroded the surface and the soil, creating terrifying pits on the ground.

“What on earth is going on here?”

Old White’s face turned pale, sweat soaking his back as he nervously eyed the path he had walked countless times.

This woodland—so unfamiliar that it started to scare him, seemed as if it came to life.

The vines swayed in the wind, like arms suspended in mid-air, overwhelming malice, and a twisted sense of oppression came from all around, chilling Old White to the bone.

“Rustle rustle rustle…”

The leaves shook, and vague shadows appeared amidst the dense trees, noticed by the sharp-eyed Old White.

“Who’s there?”

Old White spun around suddenly, only to find nothing in front of him, still the terrifying dense forest.

He stood in place, took out a cigarette from his pocket, and shakily lit it for himself.

“Huff—”

“Calm down, no, don’t be nervous.”

Suddenly, Old White held his breath, his entire body tensing up.

His subconscious tightened his grip on the spear, the perspiration in his palms making the wooden surface of the gunstock slightly sticky.

For Old White suddenly realized that a huge shadow lay before him on the ground—the spread of sinister wings.

The experienced Old White recognized at a glance, it was neither a Vulture, a Giant Eagle, nor any species of bird that had appeared in Anzeta.

In this special period, there was only one possibility—a demon.

“This is…”

Old White stiffly turned around, eyes widening, mouth agape as the cigarette fell to the ground.

It was a gaunt humanoid creature, skin largely exposed, covered with black fur in some places, all limbs tipped with sharp claws.

Dark wings unfurled behind it, casting a huge shadow, engulfing Old White entirely.

The most chilling part was its head, resembling a rotting crow’s, those dull pupils revealing a twisted smile, a cruel gleam.