Chapter Thirty-Five: The Mole

No matter how inexperienced Catherine might seem, after several years as a wilderness streamer she was far from foolish enough to wander aimlessly in search of the Butcherbird. She circled the area, soon locking her sights on a burrowing rat.

This particular burrowing rat was quite large, over two feet in length, its appearance not much different from an ordinary rat, save for one remarkable distinction: it possessed two unusually evolved, oversized hind legs. Though these sturdy limbs looked oddly disproportionate on its body, they endowed the creature with formidable digging power. This magical beast, somewhere between a second and third rank, was exceedingly vigilant; the slightest disturbance sent it burrowing underground, capable of tunneling several meters in mere moments, making it notoriously difficult to catch.

But “notoriously difficult” only applied to other creatures. For Catherine, an intelligent human, capturing this greedy beast was almost laughably easy. She picked a dozen nuts, placing them every few meters, leading back to the rocky outcrop where she lay in wait. It was the simplest of traps, yet effective.

No sooner had she finished the setup than the foolish burrowing rat emerged from its subterranean lair, creeping along a zigzag path, advancing three steps and retreating two, edging closer to the first nut. It glanced around, scooped the nut up with its forepaws, and gobbled it down.

Edible!

Its beady eyes seemed to gleam with delight. Rising upright, it scanned its surroundings and spotted another nut nearby. Its natural wariness made it hesitate, but the nut was so close that it could not resist the temptation. Soon, the second nut vanished into its belly.

Yet another nut? Today was truly a bountiful day!

With each nut consumed, the rat’s hesitation diminished, and its approach quickened. It abandoned its cautious zigzag, boldly darting straight for the next treat. The previous nut was still stuffed in its cheeks as it scooped up the following one, perfectly embodying the phrase “eyes on the pot while eating from the bowl.”

Its cheeks bulged like a hamster’s, savoring the rare moment of bliss. Suddenly, a terrifying presence loomed behind it—a disaster was imminent! The last time it had felt such dread was when a Meadow Pipit nearly snatched its life.

Its survival instincts kicked in; not for a moment did it consider looking back. Maintaining its upright feeding posture, a yellowish glow appeared beneath its feet. The earth below vanished as if it never existed, and the rat plunged downward in free fall! Catherine’s ambush came from behind, her blade aimed unerringly for its neck—but the rat’s unnatural evasion allowed it to escape with only a few hairs lost!

Most of the rat’s body had already disappeared into the soil, moments away from freedom. It even regretted leaving the last few nuts uneaten, yet sensed it was still targeted. Shocked, it looked up to see a pale, slender hand poised above. The fingers flicked, and the strange “fang” shifted from horizontal to vertical, stabbing down with ruthless force!

Blood sprayed everywhere.

The rat’s escape technique had rendered the surrounding soil intangible, but it left no room for lateral movement. The sharp dagger pierced straight through its skull, the blade burying itself to the hilt and emerging from its chest.

With that strike, the burrowing rat was beyond saving, only its large head remaining visible above ground, eyes wide open in death’s refusal. Catherine deftly hooked it from the earth and tossed it aside, a hint of dissatisfaction in her expression.

“Master, is this the power you spoke of, magical beasts honing themselves?” Catherine sighed, “I’ve hunted plenty of burrowing rats on the Maracalla Prairie, but I’ve never seen one react so quickly! If the easy food hadn’t lulled it into carelessness, it would have gotten away!”

“Self-improvement does enhance their abilities, making them notably stronger than their peers, but that’s only part of it,” Ling Mo replied thoughtfully, “Your main issue right now is that you’re still trapped in a mage’s ‘attack mindset.’”

“A mage’s attack mindset?”

Ling Mo nodded. “Exactly. These past days I’ve been observing you closely. Your martial talent and comprehension are remarkable, and your training speed is second to none. Yet the habits and thinking shaped by years as a mage are not easily overcome. Tell me honestly: at the intermediate level, do warriors truly outmatch mages in offensive power?”

Catherine pondered a moment, then shook her head slowly. “I suppose… not. In fact, a mage’s attack might be stronger. For instance, chanting for four seconds to cast a ‘Flame Impact’ yields power at least twice my current punch! Though since I’ve just reached intermediate warrior, there’s room for improvement, so the gap isn’t massive.”

“Right, chanting! That’s the crux of it!” Ling Mo clapped his hands with satisfaction. “A mage’s attacks require casting time—a period of gathering energy. The power is immense, but the frequency is low, so mages tend to form habits like ‘strike for the kill’ or ‘target vital spots.’ These habits rarely translate well to martial arts.”

“Martial prowess relies on the body’s fundamental strength, favoring rapid, continuous attacks. Have you seen wolves hunt? They always try to wound their prey, waiting for blood loss and weakness before aiming for vital organs. Only lions, tigers, dragons, and other powerful beasts with overwhelming strength go straight for the throat.”

“That makes perfect sense!” Catherine’s eyes lit up with sudden clarity. “Just now, I instinctively aimed for the rat’s neck. If I hadn’t been so eager, I would have targeted its hind legs—in that case, even if it dropped so fast, my strike wouldn’t have missed! And a wounded rat wouldn’t dig nearly as quickly; I could have caught it with ease!”

“The principle is simple enough, but changing ingrained habits in actual combat is tough,” Ling Mo gestured toward the circling birds above. “Let’s see how you do next. If you make the same mistake fighting the Butcherbird, you’ll regret it deeply.”

Catherine grinned. “Don’t worry, Master! Learning from setbacks is my specialty!”

As she spoke, she pulled a long, high-strength alloy rope from her spatial pouch, tipped with a tiny grappling hook—a staple for wilderness streamers. She carefully secured the hook beneath the rat’s belly, then placed the rat near the Butcherbird’s tree, holding the other end of the rope and hiding far away.

To make the scene convincing, she scattered several nuts nearby. With a gentle shake of the rope, the dead rat appeared to be innocently foraging.

“Seriously, will such a crude trap fool the Butcherbird?!”

“Exactly! That rope is so obvious, stretching so far—the Butcherbird isn’t blind, is it?”

“A raptor, blind? Funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Even common hawks have vision six times sharper than humans!”

“So many idiots up front! The Butcherbird can see it—so what? Does it know what the rope is for?”

“Right! Maybe it thinks it’s a snake and wants to snatch it as well!”

“Talking to people with no brains is exhausting. Do rats not see mousetraps in your house? Yet they still get caught!”

“Animals are animals! Treating them like people is a huge mistake!”

“Stop arguing! Streamer, your magical eye sprite needs an upgrade—can’t capture distant shots at all. What’s that thing circling above? Isn’t the Butcherbird’s wingspan two meters? That one up there looks at least three meters across!”

“…”

Catherine ignored the quarrel in the barrage, gripping her dagger and glancing upward. Her trap hadn’t attracted the Butcherbird, but the scent of blood had drawn another predator: the Flame Vulture.