I Died and Became a Noble's Heir

Chapter 455: Whistling

The Hydra arrived first, its nine heads visible above the wasteland’s rock formations long before its massive body came into full view.

Its nostrils flared as they caught the scent of fresh blood carried on the wind.

From Jack’s elevated position atop the corpse pile, he could see the creature approaching with perfect clarity.

Stormfang appeared moments later, approaching from a different angle with considerably more caution.

The Blessed One flew in wide circles two hundred feet above the ground, those star-bright eyes tracking every detail of the scene below. The dragon had clearly learned from the arrow bombardment.

It maintained distance, evaluated threats, and refused to commit to any position that might leave it vulnerable.

Precisely the kind of enemy that would make this hunt enjoyable.

The Hydra reached the corpse pile first, its nine heads spreading into a fan as it approached.

The creature moved carefully, but was being driven forward by more immediate concerns.

Starvation, Jack could tell, was overriding even the strongest survival instincts.

One of the Hydra’s heads lowered to examine the nearest corpse.

A minotaur that had died from a thrust through the heart, its body relatively intact compared to some of the more... thoroughly dismembered specimens.

The head’s nostrils flared, testing the scent.

It was fresh. Still warm enough that the meat hadn’t begun to spoil.

But the other eight heads remained alert, scanning the surrounding area with obvious wariness.

The Hydra wasn’t entirely consumed by hunger yet. It still retained enough rational thought to recognize that this situation was suspicious.

Stormfang continued circling overhead, maintaining its distance with disciplined caution.

The Blessed One’s gaze swept across the corpse pile, the surrounding terrain, the distant rock formations where observers might hide.

Looking for the archer who’d wounded it. Searching for the source of thousands of arrows that had rained from the sky.

Jack’s breathing slowed to nearly imperceptible levels, his magical signature dampened to background noise, his body language conveying nothing but stillness.

The Hydra’s central head opened its massive jaws and tore a chunk of flesh from the minotaur corpse.

The sound of tearing meat echoed across the wasteland, followed by the wet crunch of bones being crushed between teeth designed to destroy prey that was regarded as tough and strong.

The head swallowed, and Jack could see the visible ripple as the meat traveled down the creature’s elongated throat.

A moment of stillness as the Hydra processed this first taste of food after weeks of forced starvation.

Then three more heads descended on the corpse pile simultaneously, each one selecting a different body, beginning to feed desperately from being denied sustenance for far too long.

The remaining five heads maintained watch, but Jack could see their attention beginning to waver.

The smell of fresh blood, the sounds of feeding, the knowledge that food was finally available. All of it was working against the Hydra’s instincts.

Hunger was winning.

Stormfang descended slightly, losing fifty feet of altitude. The Blessed One’s eyes fixed on the feeding Hydra.

Curious how the nine-headed serpent was willing to risk eating from this suspicious pile.

Perhaps this was good fortune rather than an elaborate trap.

Or perhaps Stormfang was unwilling to let a competitor claim all the available food while it maintained a cautious distance.

The Blessed One descended another thirty feet, close enough now that Jack could see individual scales and the way lightning crackled softly along the creature’s body in response to ambient magical strikes falling from the sky.

Six of the Hydra’s heads were feeding now, tearing into corpses with single-minded focus.

The remaining three heads still maintained some level of vigilance, but even they were beginning to drift toward the pile, tempted by the abundance of fresh meat.

Jack’s hand tightened infinitesimally on Oscar’s hilt.

The seventh head descended and began feeding. Then the eighth.

Only the central head remained alert. Its eyes continued scanning, its nostrils testing the air, its tongue flickering out to taste for threats beyond simple scent.

But even the central head was wavering. Jack could see it in the way the head’s gaze kept drifting toward the feeding frenzy, the way its jaws worked unconsciously in mimicry of chewing.

Stormfang descended to eighty feet above the ground, close enough to strike if opportunity presented itself, far enough to retreat if danger materialized.

The Blessed One’s wings beat in steady rhythm, maintaining altitude with minimal effort, eyes tracking both the Hydra and the surrounding terrain with equal attention.

The ninth head finally broke. The last bastion of caution gave in to hunger that had been building for weeks. It descended toward the corpse pile, jaws already opening in anticipation.

The Hydra’s entire consciousness focused on consuming as much meat as possible before competition, or danger forced it to retreat.

Stormfang saw this and made its own calculation. If the Hydra was feeding without consequence, then the food was safe.

The Blessed One descended another forty feet, wings folding slightly in preparation for landing.

Both Disaster-class entities were committed now. Feeding and positioning exactly where Jack wanted them.

Jack’s breathing remained controlled, his presence still suppressed, his body motionless atop the corpse pile.

But internally, he was channeling mana through careful pathways. Activating techniques in sequence. Building toward an explosion of violence that would catch both creatures completely off guard.

The Hydra’s feeding grew more aggressive, with heads competing for the best pieces of meat.

Snarling at each other as they competed. Internal coordination broke down as individual heads prioritized immediate gratification.

Stormfang landed on the ground fifty feet from the corpse pile, close enough to claim food but far enough to retreat if necessary.

The Blessed One approached carefully, head lowered to examine the nearest corpse, lightning crackling more intensely in preparation for either feeding or fighting.

Jack allowed himself the smallest smile behind his visor as he prepared to spring the trap.

But before he could move, something changed.

The Hydra’s central head stopped feeding. All nine heads froze simultaneously, a ripple of sudden awareness passing through the creature’s collective consciousness like electricity through water.

Stormfang’s head snapped up, eyes widening with recognition of something that Jack couldn’t immediately identify.

Both creatures went rigid, their feeding forgotten, their attention locked on something that had triggered every survival instinct they possessed.

The sound was quiet at first, barely audible over the wind across the wasteland.

A simple tune, almost cheerful, carrying no particular melody but possessing a rhythm that made their skin crawl.

The whistling grew slightly louder, but its source remained impossible to pinpoint.

It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

The Hydra’s nine heads swiveled in different directions, trying to triangulate the sound’s origin.

But the acoustics of the wasteland made precise location impossible.

Stormfang’s wings spread in preparation for immediate flight, the Blessed One’s body coiling with tension as it prepared to launch into the air at the first sign of an actual threat.

Both creatures recognized danger now, understanding that the convenient pile of food had indeed been a trap.

The whistling continued, unhurried and unconcerned.

The rhythm of the whistling showed that someone knew exactly how terrifying their presence was and found the entire situation amusing.