The Rat Cultivator

Chapter 95: Wolf Mountain

The Winged Tiger had been lingering around Wu Yuan lately, practically begging for a permanent spot on the payroll.

He was remarkably diligent. Every day, he teamed up with Little Gray to scout the perimeter of Little Green Mountain. One was a speedster, the other a master of shadows; the duo hit it off instantly, funneling a steady stream of intel back to the treehouse. Wu Yuan, acting the part of the pragmatic leader, rewarded them promptly.

The Tiger had even volunteered himself as a live subject for Wu Yuan’s Spirit Rune research. Between his willingness to be a lab rat and his endless supply of demon-realm gossip, he had finally earned his place in the inner circle. Now, the big cat lived a life of luxury. His fur was oily and lustrous, and fleshy buds were already sprouting where he had once torn off his own wings—a miraculous recovery fueled by the Blood Spirit Mulberries Wu Yuan had granted him as a performance bonus.

From the shadows of the cave, the Pangolin poked his head out, nodding vigorously. “You said it, brother! The Boss is destined to be a Demon King!”

The Winged Tiger gave a sage nod. “Great minds think alike.”

Beaming, the Pangolin produced a Fire Ant egg and tossed it to the Tiger. “Here, good brother! Dig in!”

The Winged Tiger caught it with practiced ease and crunched down. “These Fire Ant eggs don’t have much Spiritual Qi, but the flavor? Exquisite.”

The two had become fast friends. Both were high-speed specialists who spent their downtime scavenging for spiritual trinkets. After trading their loot for Spirit Stones, they’d head to the bamboo pool for a soak together—a true bond.

Nearby, Big Black shot the Tiger a poisonous look and muttered under his breath, “Thick-skinned cat. He actually thinks he’s a local now.”

Though he spoke softly, the ears in this cave were far from ordinary. The tension in the air ratcheted up instantly.

“Ahem!”

Bibo shot Big Black a warning glance, coughing pointedly to make the rat back down. Little Gray looked between the veteran rat and the new tiger, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something, but he ultimately thought better of it.

The Winged Tiger narrowed his eyes but kept his claws retracted. The only reason you’re still breathing, you fifty-strand weakling, is because the Great King is too merciful, he thought. Outside these walls, you’d be a snack.

The Tiger knew he needed to integrate quickly, but Big Black saw him as a direct threat. The Tiger’s cultivation was the second-highest in the group, trailing only Bibo, and he was far more proactive than the low-profile Little Gray. Big Black, feeling his status as a “founding member” slipping, took every opportunity to be difficult.

Whenever a spat broke out, Bibo would play the mediator, though he invariably leaned toward Big Black. Consequently, the Winged Tiger found solace with the other “outsiders,” like the stealthy Little Gray and the simple-minded Pangolin.

As for why he didn’t try to charm Little Yellow? The Tiger had his limits.

Look at where Manager Huang sits and where I sit, the Tiger reasoned. Trying to cozy up to the boss’s favorite? I’m not that suicidal.

Manager Huang—Little Yellow—was usually busy with Little White. They were the mountain’s “Green Thumb” duo: Little Yellow handled the planting, while Little White used her innate talent to infuse the crops with vitality. It was a perfect, cozy partnership.

Wu Yuan sat on his high stone platform, chin resting on one paw while the other idly stroked Little Yellow’s head. He watched the subtle scheming and clique-forming below with a weary sort of amusement.

Even among demons, you can’t escape office politics, he mused.

He stopped his rhythmic petting, causing a disgruntled Little Yellow to nudge his paw for more. The shift in Wu Yuan’s posture was a silent command. Every demon in the cavern froze, their eyes snapping toward the platform with absolute reverence. Silence swallowed the cave.

“The time has come,” Wu Yuan began, his voice booming through the tunnels. “Little Green Mountain is moving. Our first objective: Wolf Mountain to the northwest.”

Wu Yuan had been playing the long game. He had deployed his Spirit Bees and Fire Ants as a vast surveillance network months ago. He wasn’t omniscient, but he was far from blind.

According to his data, the Snow Plains Wolf King had consolidated the local packs with brutal efficiency. He commanded roughly 600 true wolf demons, supported by a countless sea of ordinary gray wolves acting as scouts and hunters.

The enemy was organized into a strict hierarchy. At the top were the ten Snow Plains Ice Wolves—the King’s personal guard. Each boasted over 40 strands of Demon Power and could synchronize their techniques into a localized blizzard. They never left the King’s side.

Below them were a hundred Frost Wolves, the backbone of the pack. These were elite specimens the King had hand-picked and force-fed resources since arriving in the Azure Spirit Mountain Range. Each had over 30 strands of Demon Power—fast, lethal, and utterly loyal.

The rest were “local” recruits—scavengers and forest wolves with barely seven or eight strands of power. They were fodder, meant for patrols and harassment.

Structurally, the wolf pack was a well-oiled machine. In contrast, Wu Yuan’s rat swarm suffered from a massive quality gap. While he had the numbers, the vast majority of his rats were still too weak to face a Frost Wolf in a fair fight.

I’ve only been breeding them for a year, Wu Yuan reminded himself. To have this many Awakened rats is already a miracle. We have the quantity; now we need the lethality.

However, his high-tier “executives”—Bibo and the Winged Tiger—far outclassed the wolf guards. And then there were the insects.

“I am assigning tasks,” Wu Yuan said, his tone turning cold and professional. “Little Gray, Pangolin—you are my scouts. You have three days to map the Wolf King’s lair and confirm his current strength.”

He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto them. “You must return on time. And listen well: be wary of the Pei. If that soul-bewitcher catches your scent, do not engage. Run. Am I clear?”

Little Gray hesitated, a flicker of fear in his eyes, before he gritted his teeth. “With my concealment artifact and the Pangolin’s tunnels… as long as we don’t look the Wolf King in the eye, we will deliver the map.”