Lord Of The Lost

William frowned, his expression dark and contemplative. His thoughts churned like a storm.

"If you have too many lice, you stop worrying about itching," he muttered to himself, his tone edged with dry humor. The chaotic battlefield didn't allow him the luxury of patience, but as long as the thieves didn't fully wake up, he could handle this situation. After all, he now possessed the complete characteristics of both a werewolf and a demon; powerful traits that made him a force to be reckoned with. Soon, he would undergo his job change, and when that happened, these incomplete, unstable characteristics lingering in his body would need to be purged.

But his mind snagged on one unsettling detail.

"Not just a thief," he said, narrowing his eyes. "A corrupt thief?"

The Forum Master's voice interrupted his thoughts, calm yet grim. "The extraordinary characteristics in their bodies are out of control. The Death Movement... it pushes them into madness. Any thief who hears it will lose their mind completely."

William's brow furrowed deeper. The implications of this were staggering. The Death Movement wasn't just a weapon; it was a curse. Its ability to force supernatural characteristics out of control made it terrifyingly powerful, even against seasoned extraordinary beings.

---

The Forum Master explained further. "The higher the level of life, the more unstable their extraordinary characteristics can become when pushed too far out of balance. At lower levels, a person might suppress the chaos with sheer willpower. But once those characteristics grow stronger, losing control becomes catastrophic. Sanity shatters, and… well, you can imagine the rest."

William nodded grimly. For experienced transcendents, avoiding this kind of instability was a matter of survival. The extraordinary thieves on the opposing side must have noticed the growing instability within themselves, and their fear was palpable. Fear that, if left unchecked, this chaos could consume them entirely.

And then it happened.

---

Boom!

A deafening explosion tore through the battlefield, like the earth itself had been split apart. The ground cracked in jagged lines, forming a web of destruction that stretched tens of meters. Dust and debris filled the air, and the lingering melody of the Death Movement seemed to falter for a moment.

William's instincts kicked in as he steadied himself against the shockwave. His eyes scanned the chaos for the source, and it didn't take long to find it. Amid the carnage, one figure stood out.

"The Hand of the Madman," the Forum Master muttered, his voice cold but certain.

It was a piece of rare equipment, identifiable even amidst the chaos. The oversized glove, worn by a high-level thief, had the destructive force to rival some of the most dangerous items in the game. The thief wielding it had slammed the earth with such ferocity that the harmonious rhythm of the Death Movement was disrupted. The haunting melody stumbled, like a dance partner tripping over their feet, and its grip on the battlefield began to weaken.

Worse still, the blast awoke the thieves who had fallen under the Death Movement's spell.

---

The thieves, momentarily entranced by the cursed music, now stirred back to life, their eyes gleaming with rage and desperation. Those who had lost themselves to madness moments ago were now aware and furious. But for many, the chaos had left scars. Some thieves were still partially out of control, attacking wildly, even turning on their allies without hesitation.

The players, earplugs still stuffed tightly into their ears, took advantage of the remaining confusion. They moved like shadows, sniping the unbalanced thieves at close range. But it wasn't long before the tide of the battle turned once again.

The thieves roared to life, their ranks regaining cohesion. The fighting resumed, fiercer and bloodier than before. The battlefield became a maelstrom of violence, with no mercy spared on either side.

---

A scarred thief, mounted on a warhorse, shouted above the chaos. "There's an ambush! Retreat, now!"

In his right hand, he wielded the oversized glove, the Hand of the Madman its surface crackling with residual energy. He gestured sharply to his men, a signal that sent them falling back like a tide receding from the shore. The thieves, despite their numbers, recognized the danger of staying too long. Prolonged exposure to the Death Movement would only push their characteristics further out of control. And that... would spell their doom.

From somewhere on the battlefield came a chilling, guttural roar. A thief transcendent had fallen. The news spread quickly: a player had managed to take down one of the extraordinary thieves.

But even this small victory couldn't stem the tide of retreat. The thieves, led by their scarred commander, withdrew with remarkable discipline. The chaos subsided as their forces dissipated into the distance.

---

The melody of the Death Movement began to fade. The singer, still immersed in her performance, seemed almost otherworldly. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene as though she existed in another realm entirely. And then, just as the final note rang out, her form shimmered.

With a burst of white light, she disappeared.

William watched her vanish, a mix of admiration and unease filling his chest. She had given everything to the performance, pushed herself to the brink. The Death Movement had claimed its due, taking the singer offline. Her sacrifice had turned the tide, but at a cost.

---

As the dust settled, the surviving players surveyed the battlefield. Their exhaustion was palpable, but so was their relief. They had survived; a victory, though a costly one. The wounded were gathered, the dead players marked for resurrection, and the battlefield was combed for spoils.

The final tally was grim. Two hundred and forty-five thieves lay dead, their bodies littering the battlefield. The players' casualties were nearly as high, a near one-to-one ratio. But unlike the thieves, the players could be resurrected. For the thieves, death was permanent.

William glanced at the Forum Master, who stood amidst the wreckage, surveying the aftermath with a hard, calculating gaze. "We survived," William said, breaking the silence.

The Forum Master nodded slowly. "Barely. But a victory's a victory. And next time… there won't be a retreat."

For now, the border town could breathe a little easier. But the war was far from over.

The Forum Master's face was grave as he handed the [Human Skin Book] to the mayor of the border town, revealing the grim news recorded within. The atrocities described in its cursed pages sent a shiver through the room. It wasn't long before another report arrived, confirming the horrors; an entire village had been massacred by bandits. The town was under siege not just by thieves, but by chaos itself.

Amid this brewing storm, the mayor made a bold decision. Summoning the Forum Master to a private meeting, he handed him a rare and powerful item: the combat skill scroll, [Cold Fury].

"This is yours now," the mayor said solemnly, placing the scroll into the Forum Master's hands. "Do what must be done. Eliminate the thieves, the source of all this trouble."

Later, as the players gathered to discuss their next move, William looked at the Forum Master with a raised brow. "Isn't this good?" he said, his tone tinged with irony. "The mayor handing out rare items himself? That's not exactly standard treatment. Most players don't even get to meet him, let alone receive something like this."

The Forum Master sighed, a faint smile crossing his lips. "It's not as simple as you think. Sure, [Cold Fury] is powerful; extremely so. It's strong enough to stand against elite-level werewolves, possibly level 20 and above."

William leaned back, arms crossed, thinking about that level of power. "I've fought elite werewolves before," he muttered, glancing at his dragon scale armor. "Even with this gear, their basic attacks hit like a sledgehammer. I was nearly coughing up blood. A skill like [Cold Fury] could wipe out four or five extraordinary thieves without breaking a sweat."

The Forum Master gave a bitter chuckle. "And yet, if I fail to kill those thieves and extraordinary people, I'll have to return the scroll. The mayor won't let me keep it if the job isn't done."

William frowned. "That's a stiff deal. Still, [Cold Fury] could make all the difference. But…" He hesitated, his curiosity getting the better of him. "How exactly did you manage to borrow [The God's Prayer Book] from the cathedral? That's not something anyone can just waltz in and take."

The Forum Master smiled faintly, almost sheepishly. "Angie helped with that. He's on very good terms with the bishop. Somehow, he even managed to snag the Moonlight Code from the church."

William's expression turned incredulous. "He sold out Metatron to get it, didn't he?"

The Forum Master gave a knowing grin. "What can I say? He has his methods."

---

William shook his head, still processing the audacity of it all. Borrowing rare items like the [God's Prayer Book] wasn't just unusual, it was borderline impossible. The cathedral housed only one such item, a treasure considered sacred to the town. And yet, through Angie's connections, the Forum Master had managed to secure it.

"Still," the Forum Master added in a low voice, "the bishop isn't what he seems. I tried identifying him using my skill [Identifying Everything], but it's not omnipotent. The higher the level of the target, the harder it is to get a clear read."

William raised an eyebrow. "What did you manage to figure out?"

The Forum Master crossed his arms. "Not much. But from what little I could gather, the bishop's strength is probably comparable to that of an elite werewolf. Even without rare items, he's formidable. The cathedral isn't just a place of worship, it's the backbone of the border town's defenses. Without it, this town would have fallen long ago."

William nodded slowly, his mind racing. The thought of the bishop being a hidden powerhouse didn't surprise him, but it reinforced the delicate balance of power in the border town. Even with all these rare items, the [Cold Fury], the [God's Prayer Book], and the cursed melody of the [Death Movement] the town's situation was still teetering on the edge of disaster.

---

The Forum Master, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts. "Even with everything we've prepared, something doesn't feel right," he muttered. "It's as if the thieves knew about our plans. They didn't fall for the bait, no matter how carefully we set it up."

William tilted his head thoughtfully. "You're saying there's a leak?"

The Forum Master hesitated, his sharp intuition warning him that he had overlooked something critical. He didn't answer, but his silence spoke volumes. William could see the unease in his eyes.

Shaking off the moment, William suddenly straightened. "Enough speculation for now. We're not going to solve this here. But I do have one request."

The Forum Master looked up. "What's that?"

William's voice was calm but firm. "Call the white-faced owl. I want to hear what it has to say."

The Forum Master's brows furrowed, but he didn't argue. Whatever William had in mind, it was clear he wasn't going to leave any stone unturned. The situation in the border town was dire, and every advantage, no matter how small, could mean the difference between survival and annihilation.