Chapter 369 Underground Deception
Elena’s POV
His gaze shifts momentarily to Malcom.
"Look at what you’ve created," he tells him.
Malcom remains silent.
No response is necessary.
The connection between us pulses steadily.
The woodland reverberates with sounds of combat and shouted orders, yet our defensive line doesn’t crumble.
It bends.
It adjusts.
It endures.
Benedict launches another assault, this time directing a flanking maneuver that curves behind a line of fallen timber toward the lower trail, and I personally move to block his path, weapon ready, stepping into the gap before it can fully open.
A wolf charges directly at me, and I turn and cut cleanly across his shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways into Zora’s advancing squad.
This has moved beyond ceremonial posturing.
This is real confrontation.
Benedict observes every action, making adjustments as events unfold.
"Your fighting skills are impressive," he shouts.
"Your tactics are obvious," I respond.
He growls quietly, maintaining composure but clearly frustrated.
Perfect.
I advance into more exposed terrain.
"Is this your strongest effort," I challenge.
He reacts immediately, sending his primary force straight at me now, abandoning subtlety and complexity for direct assault.
The forest bursts into chaos.
He approaches rapidly, quicker than I anticipated, and our collision is brutal and grounded, power clashing with power without reservation.
His weight exceeds what I recalled from our ridge encounter, strength wound tight and controlled, and he pushes hard, trying to create backward motion rather than cut or wound.
He seeks to force retreat.
If he can visibly push me back even a few paces, it shifts the dynamic.
I plant my feet in the muddy ground and turn rather than resisting directly backward, channeling his force sideways as Kian attacks from the other side, compelling Benedict to break away and reposition.
The connection flares brilliant and intense, yet restrained.
We aren’t responding as separate individuals.
We’re functioning as a unified force.
Benedict withdraws once more, breathing harder now, eyes calculating.
"You depend too much on him," he says harshly.
"I depend on organization," I answer.
He signals another advance, but now his wolves pause a heartbeat longer than previously.
They’re experiencing fatigue.
We remain unbroken.
He observes this.
His attention turns toward the southern treeline where his backup forces should appear.
They aren’t coming.
Because we predicted the reinforcement path and quietly blocked it before sunrise.
He realizes it.
For the first time since this started, doubt crosses his features.
"You blocked the outer perimeter," he states.
"Correct."
He misjudged the timing.
He thought he could strike and retreat before we closed the secondary ring.
He didn’t anticipate our depth within the interior woodland.
The connection hums steady and frigid.
He looks at Malcom once more.
"You would choose her side," he says.
Malcom holds his stare without wavering.
"She didn’t break apart," Malcom responds softly.
Those words hit harder than any physical blow.
Benedict’s expression hardens.
This should have been conclusive.
Instead, it’s becoming a grinding battle.
He finally signals withdrawal, more urgent than before, and his wolves start pulling back in organized sequence rather than panicked flight.
"Don’t follow," I command instantly.
We won’t pursue into his retreat zone.
We maintain position.
We recover.
We assess.
When his last fighters disappear into the deeper woods, the clearing falls into tense quiet broken only by heavy breathing and distant bird calls.
Injury reports start coming in, wounds more serious than previous encounters but not devastating.
He committed substantial resources.
He didn’t achieve penetration.
He won’t try that same direct approach again soon.
Kian moves closer, rain-soaked earth sticking to his boots.
"He pushed too far," he observes.
"Agreed."
"He assumed internal weakness."
"Agreed."
The connection pulses steady and determined.
Malcom stands somewhat isolated, monitoring the retreating forest line.
"His next move will be different," he says.
"Yes."
"He won’t attack leadership directly again."
No.
He tested that completely.
He lost.
Which means he changes direction.
We return toward the main compound under increased security, not triumphant, not celebrating, but grounded in the knowledge that this was our first complete interior engagement.
He penetrated our territory.
We held firm.
That permanently alters the situation.
But it also transforms his approach.
As we near the central area, a final messenger arrives from the southern outer perimeter, breathing hard and urgent.
"Secondary penetration," he reports.
My blood turns cold.
"Location."
"Underground water systems. Diversion squads."
He never planned just one attack.
He hit the interior forest to pull our main force.
Then sent smaller teams through concealed infrastructure beneath the southern perimeter.
Not raw force.
Strategic complexity.
The connection tightens slightly.
This wasn’t the final strike.
It was camouflage.
We stopped the main assault.
But he’s already moved elsewhere.
"Report," I demand.
"Unclear. Scouts lost communication beneath southern ridge tunnels."
Tunnels.
Ancient emergency routes from decades past.
Built by Malcom.
Benedict discovered them.
The forest engagement wasn’t the conclusion.
It was misdirection.
He’s already positioned somewhere we aren’t watching.
And the next phase won’t happen in open ground.
It will happen below ground.