Chen Feng and the others remained expressionless, their minds focused on a single belief—to annihilate these werewolf soldiers. Their eyes were cold and resolute, as if they were carrying out a sacred mission.
Blood stained the earth, and the screams of werewolf soldiers echoed throughout the land. Each attack was accompanied by the sound of bones breaking, a chilling spectacle.
Chen Feng and the others moved with the fluidity of flowing water, as if they had experienced countless battles like this before.
Three hundred and eighty-five.
"Three hundred and eighty-two."
Three hundred and seventy-six.
Chen Feng's senses were like a fine net, covering the entire area in front of the canyon.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if they could pierce through the endless darkness and see every detail hidden within.
He could clearly sense the number of werewolves remaining; their figures appeared in his mind as if they were right in front of him.
He could feel their breathing, hear their heartbeats, and even smell the fear emanating from them.
Moreover, this number is constantly decreasing.
He could almost see the human hunters pouncing on the werewolf like hungry wolves, their weapons gleaming coldly, each swing carrying a deadly threat.
The werewolves fled in all directions as the humans pursued them, their steps faltering, their eyes filled with despair and fear.
Chen Feng's heart raced with the tense atmosphere. He clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging deep into his palms.
He knew that the outcome of this chase would hinge on this moment, and he had to make the right judgment.
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