Lord Of The Lost

WHOOSH!

In a single bound, he shattered rocks where William had been standing. But William was faster. With effortless grace, he descended into the canyon below, his movements light as a feather, as if gravity barely touched him.

Karon landed heavily, his face dark and furious. "Chase him!" he barked.

The werewolves needed no further orders. They poured into the canyon after William.

Despite the werewolves' raw power, they weren't all built the same. The Wolf Path, the branch of supernatural evolution Karon embodied, prioritized speed. Magic wolves, like William, shared some of that speed advantage but lacked the same overwhelming strength.

The werewolves were hunters born and bred, their focus on raw physical dominance. William knew that in terms of pure power, he couldn't go toe-to-toe with them. Against Karon, every clash had put him on the defensive. He had no way to confront the werewolf head-on.

The earlier battle was proof enough: William had only managed to blind Karon through a precise and opportunistic strike. If the spear had been fully in Karon's hands, William wouldn't have stood a chance.

Even with his dragon scale armor dulling the blows, he had taken a direct hit from the elite werewolf. The damage had nearly reached his internal organs. One more mistake, and he would have been finished.

This was no ordinary fight. It was a game of survival.

The wolf pack had now locked onto William as their ultimate prey. Every werewolf in the area was laser-focused on his trail.

But William wasn't panicking. He had one critical advantage: the premonition of a demon wolf.

The innate ability gave him an unshakable sense of danger. He could feel the invisible threads of the hunt tightening around him, the looming presence of the pack creeping closer with every second.

Still, he didn't run blindly.

He moved like a shadow, slipping through the wilderness with incredible agility. His body seemed to float, barely disturbing the ground beneath him. While the werewolves charged like a storm, tearing through the terrain with violent force, William glided forward like a ghost, his presence almost undetectable.

The gap between them fluctuated, but no matter how hard Karon and the pack pushed, William stayed just out of reach.

The steep mountains ahead should have slowed him down, but William moved effortlessly, leaping and climbing as if the rugged terrain were nothing more than a gentle slope.

Karon growled in frustration. The hunt had begun, but their prey was unlike anything they had faced before.

The werewolves spread out instinctively, following their ancient hunting instincts. They fanned across the mountain, positioning themselves for ambushes, cutting off potential escape routes.

This was the strategy that had allowed wolves, in ancient times, to take down prey as mighty as dragons.

But even as the pack pursued him with relentless determination, William kept his calm. His [Desperate Situation] ability was working in his favor, sharpening his senses, amplifying his strength and speed as the danger increased.

For the wolf pack, the hunt was just beginning.

The farther the wolves were from William, the less they gained from the hunt's shared power. But the closer they drew, the more lethal the pursuit became. It was like dancing on the edge of a knife; every second a gamble for survival.

Nearly twenty ordinary werewolves, combined with the deadly elite Karon, created a suffocating sense of pressure. The odds were overwhelming, but this pressure only pushed William further, sharpening his focus and drawing out the maximum potential of his abilities.

Every attribute of his had surged by at least six points. And as a demon wolf, speed was his defining strength.

That meant one critical advantage: Karon could chase him all night, but he would never catch him.

---

William descended into the dark valley with fluid, practiced ease, jumping between jagged rocks, landing softly with each step. The shadows swallowed him whole, and in an instant, he was gone.

[Hide] + [Stealth].

One was a passive trait, the other an active skill. Together, they turned him into a ghost.

Thirty seconds later, he spotted another ordinary werewolf prowling the valley. William moved like a shadow, his presence undetectable. He followed the beast silently, his movements smooth and deliberate.

And then, the moment came.

William's hand shot out, gripping the werewolf's head in a vice-like hold. The creature's senses flared, but it was too late to react.

With his other hand, William thrust his evil spear forward, driving it cleanly through the werewolf's neck. The beast went limp instantly. Without hesitation, William tossed the body aside and melted back into the darkness.

By the time Karon arrived, he found the lifeless corpse of his packmate lying against the rocks, blood pooling beneath it.

Karon stood silently, his crimson eye scanning the scene.

Every werewolf was a trained and dangerous warrior. For a species already in decline, their numbers were precious. Losing one warrior was bad enough. Losing two? It stung.

But what angered Karon most wasn't the loss, it was the humiliation. These deaths were meaningless.

"Awoooo!"

Karon's mournful howl rolled through the valley like thunder, summoning his pack with grim urgency.

The wolves moved quickly, and when William attempted to take down a third werewolf, the pack shifted tactics. Instead of scattering, they closed ranks, surrounding him in an instant.

William paused, his eyes narrowing as he realized the truth.

"A trap…"

The lone werewolf had been bait. The pack had set this up, forcing him into their net.

William knew he couldn't let this drag out. His body, pushed to its absolute limits by his [Desperate Situation] ability, wouldn't hold out for long. He needed to act fast, finish this before the pack could overwhelm him.

With a sharp exhale, William released a surge of dark energy from his left hand. A thick, inky black mist exploded outward, enveloping the battlefield in moments.

The black fog, dense as smoke, stretched across dozens of meters, creating chaos and confusion.

In the swirling darkness, William struck and retreated with precise movements. Ordinary werewolves couldn't match him in a direct fight, but they didn't need to. Their role was to delay him, to hold him just long enough for Karon to arrive. And Karon's power was on an entirely different level.

When Karon entered the fray, William clashed with him twice, their blows echoing like thunder through the valley. But each time, William disengaged, using the momentum of their collisions to retreat deeper into the shadows.

---

Eventually, William found a brief respite in the darkness, hidden from view. He sat on a jagged rock, breathing heavily as he downed two quick sips of an [Energy Potion].

The werewolves' ambush had failed, and now they were on edge. They moved more cautiously, spreading out but maintaining just enough distance to provide mutual support.

The roles had reversed. Now, the hunters were the hunted.

From his perch atop a high rock, William watched as the werewolves below searched for him. Their movements were methodical but tense, their sharp senses tuned to even the slightest disturbance.

William plucked a small stone from the ground, rolling it between his fingers. His eyes narrowed, calculating his next move.

Activating [Stealth], he enveloped himself in near-complete invisibility. Even more importantly, his [Secret] trait allowed him to conceal not only his presence but also his weapons and, in this case, the small stone in his hand.

He held his breath, his focus absolute.

The challenge lay in timing. The moment William launched an attack, his stealth would break, exposing him instantly. Werewolves, with their razor-sharp instincts, would react in a heartbeat.

To strike from the shadows, undetected, required precision so perfect it bordered on the impossible.

But William didn't hesitate.

He narrowed his eyes, the moonlight glinting faintly off his armor, and prepared to strike. The werewolves wouldn't see it coming.

Bang!

The stone struck a werewolf squarely on its body. The impact wasn't enough to wound, it didn't even break the skin; but it served its purpose.

Every werewolf immediately turned, charging toward the one who had been hit, their instincts pulling them into action.

At that precise moment, William made his move.

Boom!

He leapt from his hiding place, his right foot crashing down like a thunderbolt onto the skull of an unsuspecting werewolf. The creature didn't even have time to react before it was crushed under his force.

Before the other wolves could regroup, William spun, gripping his spear. With a sharp thrust, he impaled the second werewolf rushing toward him, ending its life in an instant.

Karon, realizing too late that this was a diversion, roared in frustration and turned back to intervene.

But William was already gone, vanishing into the wilderness once more.

For more than half an hour, the battle raged across the open plains. The wolves fought with relentless ferocity, their howls echoing through the night. But William met them blow for blow, his cunning and precision turning the hunt against them.

Ten werewolves lay dead.

William, however, wasn't unscathed. His dragon scale armor was half-destroyed, its once-pristine surface now scarred with deep claw marks. Blood seeped from wounds where the scales had been torn away.