Lord Of The Lost

The forum was a sea of despair and frustration. Messages flooded in, each one more grim than the last.

"How many brothers from Feather Village died?"

"All of them! There were too many thieves, we didn't stand a chance!"

Another voice chimed in, filled with anger:

"Our Blackrock Village players were on the flank. The thieves hit us hard; we're wiped out too! The death penalty is brutal. We lost everything!"

One post captured the helplessness many felt:

"I don't even know where I am anymore. I don't know who I am, and I sure as hell don't know which thief killed me!"

Someone else vented their frustration:

"A thief hit me with an arrow from the shadows. Why won't they fight head-on like real warriors?!"

"Fight them head-on? Are you crazy? I heard there are several extraordinary thieves in their ranks. I got one-shotted by one of them."

The tone turned accusatory.

"Where were my teammates? Where were the guards? The patrols?"

"Where are the reinforcements? Border Town is practically a graveyard now. The guards only care about the village, what about the players? If the thieves wipe us out here, the guards are next! Don't they know the saying, 'the lips and teeth are cold?'"

A post captured the growing panic:

"This is it. We're done for. We're about to be annihilated!"

The forum was filled with lamentations, an unending chorus of wailing and frustration.

---

William leaned back in his chair, scrolling through the chaos. His frown deepened with each new post. After a moment, he stretched his stiff fingers over the keyboard and typed a single message:

"What's the situation now?"

The response was immediate.

"Big brother! You're here!"

"Brother, you're online! Finally!"

More replies poured in:

"The Forum Master said the thieves have sent everything they've got, including several extraordinary thieves. It's bad, really bad."

"We had nearly 300 players. We fought a few skirmishes, but when we advanced further, the thieves ambushed us out of nowhere!"

"There were at least twice as many thieves as us. It was chaos."

"We lost more than a dozen players in the first clash alone!"

One plea stood out:

"Big brother, if you're here, please save us. We can't hold on much longer!"

William's jaw tightened. He could feel the desperation behind every word. This wasn't just about losing a fight. If they were defeated, the penalties for death, the loss of equipment, and the morale hit would cripple their future in the game.

"...I'll be there right away," William typed back.

---

William logged back into the game, spawning in the hidden cave he'd prepared earlier.

In the air before him floated the ferocious phantom of a wolf's head, a spectral manifestation of the werewolf's extraordinary characteristics. It radiated power and menace. William reached out, sealing the solidified characteristics into his inventory.

He took a shaky step forward and almost collapsed, his body still wrecked from the ritual. Gritting his teeth, he downed another bottle of energy potion and began wrapping his injuries with bandages. Though the pain dulled slightly, he knew he wasn't anywhere near full strength.

A moment later, he transformed into his Black Crow form, his massive wings stretching wide. With a heavy flap, he launched himself into the sky, heading for Border Town.

---

As William approached the town, the familiar figure of a White-Faced Owl flew toward him, its pale feathers shimmering in the sunlight.

The owl's voice was urgent. "The Forum Master sent me to find you."

William nodded, his tone curt. "I understand."

The owl turned and flew in another direction, presumably to relay more orders. William didn't wait, his injuries hadn't healed, but he forced himself to maintain speed.

From the air, the battlefield came into view. His heart sank at the sight below.

The players' defensive line was in tatters. The thieves had torn through their ranks like a predator gutting its prey. The once-organized force of nearly 300 players was now a scattered, broken mass. More than half of them were either dead or gravely injured.

The battle stretched across the terrain, a chaotic melee of nearly a thousand combatants. Players and thieves clashed in a brutal struggle, but it was clear the thieves held the upper hand. Their movements were coordinated, their attacks relentless. The players, already demoralized, were being pushed to the brink.

William's sharp eyes caught sight of key moments:

- A thief's dagger plunging into a player's back before they crumpled to the ground.

- A squad of players overwhelmed by an ambush, their desperate shouts drowned out by the clang of steel.

- An extraordinary thief cutting through opponents like a scythe through wheat, his movements a blur of lethal precision.

"This is bad," William muttered under his breath. "At this rate, they're going to be annihilated."

The wi4nd whipped around him as he tightened his grip on his spear. There was no time to hesitate. William angled his wings downward, preparing to dive into the fray.

"Hold on," he muttered, his eyes narrowing with determination. "I'm coming."

William didn't waste words. With a grim expression, he gripped his spear tightly, spread his black wings, and launched himself into the air.

The sound of rushing wind followed him as he shot toward the battlefield, a dark streak slicing through the sky. The sound was sharp and eerie, like a whistle cutting through the chaos below. The noise turned heads, and soon, all eyes were on the massive black figure descending at high speed.

"What the hell is that?!" someone shouted, their voice tinged with alarm.

"Look! It's a bird… no, it's—"

"Holy crap! That thing's huge!"

The thieves paused mid-fight to glance upward, their confusion quickly turning to fear as the enormous black crow dove toward them with deadly precision.

---

William plummeted into the fray like a force of nature. His movements were sharp and calculated, his spear a blur as he carved through the battlefield. He skimmed the ground at incredible speed, his wings just inches above the dirt, weaving through the chaos with the grace of a swallow gliding over water.

Everywhere he passed, thieves fell.

Blood spattered across the battlefield as his spear found its mark again and again, cutting through flesh like a scythe through wheat. The path he left behind was marked by bodies, each one collapsing as crimson flowers bloomed in his wake.

Unlike the werewolves, which required devastating meteor-like dives to defeat, the thieves didn't stand a chance against his sheer speed and precision. Most of them were only level 5 or 6, their armor and reflexes no match for William's relentless assault.

The sight of his attack was mesmerizing, almost surreal. Even amidst the chaos of battle, the players paused to take in the black-winged figure ripping through the enemy lines.

"The breeze is coming!"

The words came from the Forum Master, his voice booming across the battlefield. Like thunder cracking in a storm, his declaration sparked a wave of hope that rippled through the players.

"The breeze is here!" someone echoed, and another voice joined the chorus.

Players who had been retreating in despair found their courage reignited. Desperation turned into determination as they rallied, falling back into formation and fighting with renewed vigor.

---

William didn't stop. He spread his wings wide, banking sharply before diving into the fray again, his spear flashing like a bolt of silver lightning. In a single swoop, he dispatched a dozen thieves, their bodies crumpling to the ground before they even realized what had hit them.

Despite his awe-inspiring display, William was running on fumes. His injuries were severe, and every movement sent sharp pain radiating through his body. By the time he landed, he was trembling, barely able to stay upright. He stumbled slightly, coughing as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Through the chaos, he caught sight of the Forum Master standing at the front lines.

The man's staff crackled with electricity, bolts of lightning arcing from its tip with pinpoint precision. Every few seconds, a thief would drop, their body seared by magic. Despite the disarray among the players, William could see the remnants of an organized defense.

About five or six magicians huddled together in the center, casting spells with practiced concentration. Though their movements were clumsy, their magic was powerful. Fireballs erupted, frost spread like a creeping plague, and lightning struck with devastating accuracy. These magicians, armed with superior staffs, accounted for at least 70% of the enemy casualties.

Around them, shield-bearing players formed a protective circle, holding the line while the magicians unleashed their spells. Further out, a handful of heavily armored cavalry fought valiantly, charging through the thieves in an attempt to disrupt their ranks.

It was clear the players were doing everything they could, but their numbers were dwindling fast. The cavalry, though effective in slowing the enemy, was too small in number to turn the tide.

---

William staggered toward the Forum Master, his wings dragging slightly as he fought to stay upright. His breaths came in short, shallow gasps, and the pain in his chest was almost unbearable.

"Use whatever tricks you have left," he said, his voice low but firm. Blood dripped from his lips as he continued, "I… I can't hold on much longer."

The Forum Master turned, his face etched with a mix of determination and concern. "We'll hold them, but you need to rest."

William shook his head, gripping his spear tighter. "No rest. Not until this is over."

The Forum Master nodded grimly, raising his staff. "Then we fight together. Let's finish this."

Above the battlefield, the sky darkened as the players prepared for one final stand. The tide had yet to turn, but with William at their side, hope flickered anew.