Lord Of The Lost

The werewolf's body collapsed before William, its head split open by his final, decisive blow. The once-ferocious beast was now a lifeless heap, blood pooling around its still form.

William exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as he steadied himself. He tightened his grip on his spear and pushed himself upright, exhaustion gnawing at his muscles but determination driving him forward. The fight wasn't over yet.

He quickly scanned the battlefield, his sharp eyes locking onto the remaining werewolves, most of whom were already wounded or struggling against the hunters. Without hesitation, William charged toward the nearest target, spear in hand, delivering swift, precise strikes to the injured beasts.

The encounter didn't last much longer. Outnumbered and with half their kind already dead, the surviving werewolves growled in frustration and retreated into the forest, their massive forms disappearing into the shadows.

The hunters, battered and bloodied, didn't pursue. The senior hunter, his face lined with exhaustion and wisdom, raised a hand to halt anyone who might be tempted to give chase. "Never pursue a desperate enemy," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the chaos around them.

The aftermath was grim. Though the hunters had achieved an impressive victory, killing four of the eight werewolves, the cost was high. Six hunters lay dead among the trees.

Among the fallen was the old hunter William had saved earlier.

William's chest tightened as he approached the body. The old man's thigh wound had rendered him nearly immobile, yet he had continued to fight with remarkable precision, his archery skills wounding several werewolves. But in the end, a beast had overwhelmed him, its fangs sinking into his neck.

The surviving hunters buried their comrades in silence, the only sounds being the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of birds. They dug shallow graves in the forest floor, marking the spots with simple symbols carved into nearby trees.

For hunters, death was not an end but a return. They were born of the wilderness, lived by its rules, and would eventually return to its embrace. One hunter murmured softly, "The goddess will watch over them in the moonlight. They won't be alone, cold, or afraid."

"To die in the hunt is the honor of a hunter," another added, his voice thick with emotion.

William sat apart from the group, leaning against a tree. His expression was stoic, but his eyes betrayed his weariness. He gripped his spear tightly, methodically wiping the blood from its blade. The weapon, so much a part of his identity, seemed heavier than before.

Opening the game interface, William reviewed his battle results. Of the four werewolves slain, he had only killed one; the first. For the others, he had earned assists and a modest share of experience points.

Still, his contribution wasn't without reward. The high-level werewolf he had taken down provided a significant boon. It offered two-fifths of the werewolf characteristics required for his next stage of development. Now, William only needed one-fifth more to complete the extraordinary traits.

His unique ability, [Killing to Prove the Way], had absorbed nearly one point of physical value along with 0.6 each of mental and energy values. William nodded to himself, satisfied. Werewolves, even hybrids, were incredibly high-quality targets, and the stat feedback from defeating them was unparalleled.

---

A system notification interrupted his thoughts.

[You have earned the title of Wolf Son.]

[Wolf Son: Your body resistance is greatly improved. Intuition and five senses are significantly enhanced. All attributes receive a slight boost, and your physical fitness increases when injured. When bathed in the original moonlight, your werewolf characteristics will awaken, transforming you into a werewolf.]

William's brows furrowed as he examined the title. It was powerful, no doubt, and clearly a prerequisite for advancing into the Werewolf Path. However, he knew this title was temporary. Once he stripped the werewolf's extraordinary characteristics, the title would disappear. For now, though, it was an invaluable asset.

---

After resting briefly, William left the hunters to recover on their own and transformed into his Black Crow form. Flying high above the wilderness, he searched for a remote, hidden cave. Once he found one, he carefully prepared a magical ritual, carving runes and sigils into the stone walls.

When he returned to the hunters, they were ready to move again, determined to capitalize on their victory. The werewolves were wounded and on the run, and the hunters aimed to finish the job, ending the threat to Border Town once and for all.

As they spread out to track the beasts, William fell in step with a senior hunter, his curiosity piqued. "Can you teach me some of your techniques?" he asked, his tone respectful.

The hunter chuckled softly. "You've got guts, kid. I'll teach you what I can while we move."

As they walked, the hunter shared his knowledge of traps, tracking, and wilderness survival. William listened intently, absorbing every detail.

During their conversation, the hunter mentioned something that caught William's attention. "You know Old Bob, right? He was one of the top hunters in Border Town."

William nodded. "I've heard of him."

"Well," the hunter continued, "Little Bob: his apprentice, is even better. That kid's a natural. He's considered the most talented hunter in the region. The Black Forest has been his playground since he was a child. We all have high hopes for him."

William raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Little Bob? He's that good?"

The hunter nodded solemnly. "If he hadn't… turned into a monster, he could've taken on elite werewolves single-handedly. And he's still so young. His potential was endless."

William's expression darkened. "Turned into a monster?"

The hunter sighed. "That's a story for another time. For now, let's focus on finishing what we started. The werewolves won't wait for us to regroup."

William nodded, gripping his spear tighter. The weight of the hunt bore down on him, but he felt a renewed sense of purpose. The fight wasn't just about survival, it was about protecting the people and ensuring that the sacrifices of the fallen were not in vain.

An hour later, the hunters caught another trail; subtle scratches on tree bark, faint pawprints in the dirt, and the telltale scent of a werewolf pack. Adrenaline surged as they prepared for yet another confrontation.

The wilderness was silent except for the crunch of leaves and the soft hum of tension in the air. The hunters advanced cautiously, but it wasn't long before the eerie stillness was broken by the sound of growling. The werewolves were waiting.

The two sides clashed violently.

The closer they came to the end of their hunt, the more brutal the battles became. Exhaustion weighed heavily on everyone. Days of relentless pursuit had worn the hunters thin. Short rests during the chase had kept them alive, but the strain was showing. Their eyes were bloodshot, their movements slower, but their resolve was unshaken.

William, in his dragon scale armor, stood on the front lines, his spear glinting under the faint light. Blood from previous battles streaked the metal, but the weapon remained as sharp as ever. His role was clear, hold the werewolves at bay, endure their relentless attacks, and give the hunters the space they needed to unleash their volleys of arrows and bolts.

The werewolves swarmed, their claws slashing at William with savage intent. Yet, the dragon scale armor lived up to its reputation, deflecting most of the strikes and leaving the beasts snarling in frustration. William gritted his teeth, his spear spinning in a deadly arc as he parried and struck back.

The hunters, emboldened by his defense, focused their attacks. With precise coordination, they surrounded and brought down another werewolf. Its pained howl echoed as it crumpled under their combined assault.

William had asked the hunters to leave the final blow to him when possible; killing a werewolf himself provided the most valuable rewards. But in the chaos of battle, there was no room for hesitation. Survival came first.

Then, a sound tore through the battlefield.

"Awoooo!"

It was a howl like no other; deep, guttural, and impossibly loud. The sheer power of it reverberated through the barren mountain, shaking the very ground beneath them. It rumbled like thunder, echoing across the wilderness with a primal intensity that sent chills down every spine.

William froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The howl was disturbingly familiar.

From all directions, the remaining three werewolves responded in kind. Their desperate howls ripped through the air as their bodies surged with newfound strength. Their already monstrous forms grew more feral, their eyes glowing a deep crimson.

The hunters hesitated, stunned by the sudden shift in the battle. In their moment of distraction, one werewolf lunged, driving its claws into a hunter's chest. The man screamed as blood gushed from the wound, but the werewolf showed no mercy. It crouched over him, tearing into his body with its fangs, devouring him in a grisly frenzy.

William's stomach turned as he watched the horrifying scene unfold. Worse still, the wounds on the werewolf's body began to heal, its muscles knitting together as it feasted. The brutality was overwhelming.

A senior hunter's voice broke the spell of horror. "No! This is a wilderness group hunt!" His tone was one of realization and dread.

William's face paled. The truth hit him like a cold wind. "The elite werewolf…" he murmured. "Wasn't Little Bob supposed to be keeping it busy?"

But there was no mistaking it. A shadow emerged from behind the barren mountain, moving with a speed that defied reason.

The elite werewolf had arrived.

It was a terrifying sight. Standing nearly a meter taller than the others, its hulking form was covered in blood and wounds. From some of its injuries, small, twisting buds of flesh had grown, pulsing grotesquely. One of its eyes was an empty socket, its lid crusted with dried blood, while the other glowed a feral red beneath thick fur. Its six claws gleamed like razors, longer and sharper than any William had seen before.

It leapt onto the mountain with ease, its claws gripping the stone as it howled again, a sound that seemed to shake the very air. The aura it radiated was suffocating, its power nearly tangible.

William's knuckles turned white around his spear. "So, this is what an elite werewolf looks like…"

Before anyone could react, the elite werewolf moved. With two powerful leaps, it crossed several hundred meters, its silhouette a blur of lightning-fast motion.

"Ah!" William shouted, his instincts taking over. Gripping his spear with both hands, he launched himself into the air to meet the beast head-on.

The two collided in mid-air with a deafening CRASH!

The force of the impact was like slamming into a mountain. William's body was thrown back as if by an unstoppable wave. He crashed through two massive trees, the trunks splintering under the force, before tumbling onto a bed of jagged rocks. The ground beneath him cracked as he landed, the impact rattling his entire body.

Gasping for air, William struggled to rise, but pain shot through his chest. He coughed violently, blood spilling from his lips. The dragon scale armor had absorbed most of the damage, but the sheer force of the elite werewolf's strike had still left him with shattered ribs and internal injuries.

His vision swam, but he forced himself to focus. "Damn it…" he muttered, his voice strained. "This thing… is on another level…"

The elite werewolf landed lightly on the ground, its remaining eye locking onto William with predatory intent. The beast's chest heaved as it snarled, its claws flexing in anticipation of the next attack. William planted his spear into the ground and used it to steady himself.