Night fell, and the mountain forest was pitch-black.
Only sparse moonlight filtered through the dense canopy of leaves, casting mottled and fragmented shadows on the ground.
Fang Han took the lead, his form like a phantom as he weaved through the woods. Over a dozen elite disciples followed closely behind, keeping a distance of about a hundred feet—close enough not to lose him, yet far enough not to interfere with his Tracking.
HUMMM—
The Great Success level of his Spirit Smelling Technique activated at full power, and a complex tide of scents from the surroundings flooded into Fang Han's perception.
The fresh scent of vegetation, the dampness of the earth, the rank odor of nocturnal beasts, the mist from a distant stream—countless scents wove together, forming an incredibly complex tapestry of smells.
And from this, he had to pick out the scent left by the bandits—a scent so faint it was nearly gone.
