Lord Of The Lost

William didn't hesitate. He flipped his body around the spear, gripping it like a gymnast on a pole. With a clean, precise motion, he delivered a sharp whip kick to Karon's left wrist. The force of the strike made Karon release his grip on the spear, his claws forced open.

William landed on the ground, gripping the spear tightly as he straightened himself.

Karon, despite his injuries, recovered quickly. A veteran of countless battles, he touched the empty socket where his right eye once was and then traced his claws over the wound on his chest. His flesh began to knit itself back together at an alarming speed.

But his missing eye that would never grow back.

For the first time, Karon's grim confidence faltered. This wasn't how he had expected the battle to go.

He had the advantage, greater speed, overwhelming strength, years of experience as a hunter. He had treated William as a genuine threat from the start, never underestimating him. Like a lion, he had used his full strength to hunt the "rabbit."

Yet here he was, grievously wounded and half-blind.

The moonlight bathed the wilderness in an icy glow as Karon's frustration twisted into rage.

"I'll tear you apart and eat your corpse to restore what you've taken from me," he growled, his voice dripping with malice.

And then he howled.

"Awooooooo!"

The ancient howl echoed across the wilderness, cutting through the night like an icy blade. It was savage, raw, and filled with a primal terror that sent chills down William's spine. Even the air seemed to grow heavier, oppressive.

The sound was a signal, a call to his pack.

Karon's body began to change.

His form swelled, growing another half meter in height. His spine arched further, his body taking on an even more beast-like posture. His claws lengthened, curving like sickles, and his fangs gleamed under the moonlight, sharper and deadlier than before.

His fur grew thicker, longer, like a suit of wild armor draped over his back. The coarse, hardened strands bristled with every movement, impervious to the gusting winds around them.

A notification appeared in William's mind:

[Event Triggered: Wasteland Group Hunt]

[Wasteland Group Hunt: Only elite werewolves can trigger this ancient hunting ritual. By invoking the ritual, the werewolf gains enhanced attributes and is blessed by the liberation of their wild instincts, entering a berserk state.]

The reality of the situation hit William like a cold wave.

Including Karon, there were over thirty werewolves scattered across the wilderness. And now, Karon had unleashed the full power of his kind, turning this into a hunt.

William gripped his spear tighter, the weight of the coming battle heavy in the air.

The demon wolf's premonition flooded into William's mind, a chilling awareness of what he was up against.

He sensed it: an invisible thread connecting Karon and all the werewolves around him, binding them into a deadly collective consciousness.

This wasn't just instinct; it was something far more terrifying.

In their vision, an illusory arrow appeared, pointing in a single direction. Every werewolf present could see it, guiding them like hunters to their prey. Following the arrow didn't just enhance their senses; it temporarily unleashed their wild instincts, pushing them into a state of frenzied liberation.

And every single arrow pointed at William.

If the hunt succeeded, every werewolf involved would receive a promotion, a step closer to their full potential.

William narrowed his eyes, his mind racing. He knew the werewolf path had three defining characteristics, but once a werewolf surpassed Sequence 9, they often unlocked new, more dangerous abilities.

[Wasteland Group Hunt], he realized, was likely one of these terrifying upgrades.

He smirked, his voice sharp and mocking. "What's the matter, Karon? Are you afraid I'll kill you?"

Karon's face remained stoic, his voice deep and calm. "Human, you're delusional. This isn't a duel. It's a team game. You're nothing but prey in the pack's jaws. Why not call your companions? Or is it because you can't rely on them?"

William's expression hardened. His tone turned icy. "I don't need them. I'll kill all of you myself."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air before turning on his heel. "You want to hunt? Then hunt me. Bring everyone you've got. Let's see who leaves the wilderness alive."

And with that, William bolted, sprinting into the night.

Karon snarled and let out a long, guttural howl.

In seconds, the werewolves sprang into action, their movements unnervingly synchronized, as if one mind guided them all. When they moved as a pack, their coordination was flawless, their cohesion terrifying.

The moonlight bathed the wilderness in its pale glow, illuminating the silvered fields.

The werewolves, once upright in humanoid form, now hunched over, their upper bodies leaning forward. From above, they looked indistinguishable from the wild wolves that had once roamed these lands in ancient times.

Over thirty werewolves divided into two groups with precision.

One group, numbering more than ten, broke off to chase the captain and his party, while Karon led the other half deep into the wilderness, directly pursuing William.

Karon's mind was clear. The group William ran with was likely the main fighting force defending Border Town. Eliminating them would cripple the town's defenses.

But something gnawed at Karon's confidence.

Even in his enhanced hunting state, he found it difficult to close the gap with William.

The werewolves moved like a storm, their thundering strides stirring violent gusts of wind and clouds of dust that trailed behind them.

William, on the other hand, seemed almost untouchable, like a whisper of wind gliding effortlessly through the wilderness.

One escaped; the other chased.

Their speed was inhuman. In mere minutes, they had covered dozens of miles, racing like meteors through the desolate terrain.

The chase carried them into a mountainous region, the landscape becoming jagged and steep. But for werewolves, this was no obstacle. Their powerful forms surged forward with ease, their claws gripping the earth as they leapt and climbed.

True to their nature, the werewolves spread out, scattering across the terrain. They instinctively broke into smaller groups, positioning themselves for flanking maneuvers and ambushes.

This wasn't random chaos, it was a calculated hunt, an instinct etched deep into their bones.

Even during ancient times, wolves were known to take down creatures far stronger than themselves, including dragons that ruled the skies. The pack's relentless coordination was both their strength and their deadliest weapon.

For the werewolves, patience was second nature.

Though built for short bursts of speed, their enhanced physical forms had evolved during the hunt, shifting into long-distance endurance machines. They were no longer just predators; they were tireless hunters who would chase their prey to the ends of the earth if necessary.

William knew this wasn't a battle of speed or power alone, it was a test of wits, endurance, and willpower. And he was determined to prove that he wasn't just prey.

The legendary wolf pack hunts were a nightmare etched into folklore: relentless predators who could chase their prey day and night, without rest, for ten days or even weeks. They didn't need to rush the kill; instead, they slowly crushed their target's spirit. At first, the prey would run, desperate to escape. But eventually, they would realize; no matter how fast or far they went, they could never outrun the pack.

When exhaustion consumed them, the wolves would pounce, tearing them apart.

Now, Karon felt the first pangs of unease.

At the start, William's figure had been faintly visible, always just at the edge of their sight. But suddenly, without warning, he vanished.

The bond of the [Wasteland Group Hunt], which linked him to the other werewolves, became vague. The search arrow, a supernatural guide that marked their prey, was flickering in and out, its direction muddled. Sometimes it pointed ahead, other times it seemed to lead everywhere and nowhere at once.

Even the werewolves' keen sense of smell, a trait they prided themselves on; picked up nothing. William's scent had simply vanished.

Swish!

In an instant, the flickering search arrow snapped back into focus, pointing toward the mountain.

Karon growled, ready to strike, when a sharp, pained howl shattered the night.

"Awoooo—"

The arrow flickered again, becoming hazy, as unpredictable as smoke in the wind.

Karon surged forward, arriving at the source of the sound.

What he found chilled him: the bloodied body of one of his packmates sprawled across a rock. A gaping hole in the werewolf's chest poured blood onto the stone, staining it dark red.

Karon's head snapped up.

On a hill a hundred meters away, bathed in the silver glow of moonlight, stood William.

He was calm, confident, almost regal. The bright moon hung behind him, framing his silhouette in light. His tall, well-built frame gleamed in elaborate armor, and he rested his blood-stained spear casually on his shoulder.

William turned his head slightly, cold eyes locking onto Karon. With deliberate ease, he raised a hand and curled a finger in a provocative gesture. "Come."

Karon's rage exploded. With a furious snarl, he coiled his legs and launched himself forward, his speed like a bolt of lightning.