Lord Of The Lost

Karon's fury burned like fire in his chest. The losses were staggering.

He had expected William to break first, to collapse under the relentless pursuit and give in to exhaustion. After all, attacking wolves came with a heavy cost, even for someone as skilled as him.

But instead, it was Karon who was faltering.

Werewolves were fearless of death, but they could not afford to die without reason. Losing so many warriors for nothing was unacceptable.

Karon growled, his voice dripping with anger. "How could such power exist in a mere border town?"

His mind raced. He had fought ancient werewolves, dragons, and giants, beings with long lifespans and deep legacies. Yet this human had inflicted a loss so severe it defied logic.

"It doesn't make sense," Karon muttered bitterly. "Humans shouldn't have access to this kind of power."

He couldn't understand it. Knights and warriors couldn't do this. If they could, the werewolves would never have been so dominant in the first place.

"A wolf pack under the hunting ritual should be able to fight an equal number of warriors to a draw or wipe them out completely."

But not only had they failed to overpower William, they had suffered catastrophic losses. Twenty warriors wouldn't have been able to kill his pack, yet here was one human who had managed to do it.

"This is something unknown," Karon thought grimly. "Something that threatens everything we know. This must be reported to Wolf Lord Mott. He will decide what must be done."

---

William, observing the pack from the hills, noticed their hesitation.

They were retreating.

Smirking, he stepped forward into the moonlight, his figure imposing against the night sky. His voice rang out, sharp and mocking.

"You're leaving already? Didn't you promise to hunt me down? Or don't you take me seriously?"

Karon's rage flared, his claws twitching with fury. "Do you think you can kill all my packmates?"

William's eyes were cold and unrelenting as he stared down at Karon. His voice was calm, but every word dripped with venom. "Why not? I despise your kind. Not just your companions, your entire clan. I will kill every last one of you, starting with you."

Karon let out a sharp laugh, though it was tinged with anger. His voice grew into a deep roar. "Do you think you're invincible just because of this mysterious power? Do you believe we, the werewolves, are powerless against you?"

His eyes gleamed with a savage light. "You're a fool. You know nothing of the world you've stepped into. The power you think makes you untouchable is nothing before the Wolf Lord."

Karon's voice deepened, becoming almost reverent. "You can't comprehend his vastness. You're like an ant that cannot see the roots of a tree stretching deep underground. You simply don't have the perspective to understand the immensity of his power."

He took a step forward, his tone turning dark and menacing. "If you ever laid eyes on even a fragment of Lord Mott's true form, it would be like standing before an unscalable mountain. You would tremble uncontrollably, and you would live the rest of your days in fear."

The werewolf's voice rose in a thundering growl, filled with contempt. "But you haven't seen it, so you babble nonsense like a blind fool instead of kneeling in terror and confessing your sins before the Wolf Lord."

The night hung heavy, the tension thick as the moonlight bathed the blood-soaked wilderness. William, silent and composed, stared down at Karon, his hand tightening on his blood-streaked spear.

William's cold eyes remained fixed, unshaken by the werewolves' retreat. He wanted nothing more than to stop them, to end the threat they posed once and for all, but he knew his limits.

For now, he relied heavily on [Secret] to deal with the pack, a trait of exceptional quality, one that even elite werewolves like Karon had never encountered. It was the key to William's survival and had caused the wolves significant losses.

But William wasn't deluded. He knew the truth: compared to Karon, an elite werewolf with years of experience, he was still at a disadvantage. The [Desperate Situation] trait gave him just enough strength to hold his ground in a fight against Karon, but no more.

Karon, however, wasn't a fool. He had already paid the price for underestimating [Secret], and William doubted he would fall for the same trick again.

With a long, guttural howl, Karon signaled the end of the [Wasteland Group Hunt]. The ritual failed, a humiliation for someone of Karon's standing as a senior elite werewolf. But he knew there were bigger priorities now.

One by one, the werewolves retreated from the mountains, their silhouettes disappearing into the moonlit wilderness.

---

William followed them from a distance, his sharp eyes observing their every move.

The pack moved as a disorganized group, but William had seen how quickly they could assemble. With just a single call, they could regroup and surround their prey in an instant, cutting off every escape route.

The werewolves' hunting strategy was brutally efficient. They'd surround their target on three sides, leaving one side open as an "escape route." But the open path was a trap, meant to lure their prey into thinking it had a chance. This tactic prevented prey from fighting with the desperation of the truly cornered.

But tonight, after the battle in the mountains, the wolves did something unusual. Instead of spreading out and hunting individually, they huddled together, forming a tight, protective formation.

It was rare to see wolves act like this, guarding one another like a fortress, almost as if they were nursing their wounds.

William frowned as he studied their movements. The open wilderness offered no cover, making his [Stealth] ability far less effective here. Worse, with the werewolves no longer pursuing him, he felt the pressure of survival ease, and the traits of [Desperate Situation] wouldn't activate.

He clenched his fists. The wolves were cautious now, and without the right terrain or abilities, William had no way to take advantage of their retreat.

---

"Brother!"

William turned to see the captain, Chris, Jackie, and the others riding toward him on horseback.

Their appearance was grim, blood stained their clothes, their faces pale from exhaustion. Only two of the original five pack horses remained, and the survivors rode together. Captain and Chris shared one horse, while Jackie and the player with [Subjective Slow Time] rode the other.

Despite their battered state, William couldn't help but feel surprised. A dozen werewolves had been chasing them, how were they still alive?

"How's your situation?" William asked, eyeing their bloodied forms.

The captain gave a tired smile. "We killed seven werewolves."

William raised an eyebrow in shock. "Seven? How?"

It didn't make sense. He had expected them to barely survive, let alone take out such a significant number of their pursuers. Their primary mission was to divide the werewolves' forces, not win a pitched battle.

He thought the best-case scenario would be three werewolf kills, tops.

The captain scratched his head awkwardly. "Well… we had some unexpected help."

"Help?" William asked, confused.

The captain nodded. "A group of young hunters showed up out of nowhere."

"Hunters?" William's eyes widened.

"Hunter apprentices, to be exact," the captain clarified.

---

This news baffled William. Apprentices were inexperienced, barely capable of handling minor threats. Yet they had somehow managed to turn the tide of a battle against a pack of werewolves.

Still, the captain's survival and the additional losses inflicted on the wolves, made sense now. Whatever the apprentices lacked in skill, they had provided a distraction and support at a critical moment.

William's mind raced as he pieced it together. Something unusual was happening in the borderlands. The hunters were moving, and the werewolves, powerful as they were, were bleeding for the first time in centuries.

The game wasn't over yet. Far from it.

The pieces on the board were shifting, and William was determined to figure out who or what, was behind it all.

The werewolves had launched a full-scale invasion, and Border Town was in turmoil.

The stakes were clear: the werewolves could not be allowed to march to the Black Forest unopposed.

Even if outright victory wasn't possible, resistance was essential. The town had to buy time, create the illusion of strength, and force the enemy to bleed.

The mayor and village leaders scrambled to gather hunter apprentices; young, inexperienced recruits barely acquainted with combat. They were handed the equipment and tokens of the old hunters, their only link to the seasoned warriors who had come before them.

These untested youths, with no time to train, were thrown into the fray.

Guards and patrol units set up blockades at key routes, intercepting werewolves where possible. The village priest and the archbishop worked together to create defensive barriers, desperately trying to hold the line.

While William and Karon battled in the mountains, chaos erupted across the borderlands. Skirmishes broke out in every corner of the town. The werewolves, enraged by resistance, retaliated with brutal efficiency, leaving entire villages painted in blood.

The captain and his team bid a quick farewell to William and rode off to help in other areas.

The werewolves' relentless nature meant they wouldn't retreat. They fought until death and the humans were forced to do the same.

For players, losing a fight wasn't the end of the world. The penalty for death at level 8 was little more than a day of downtime. But the loss of high-quality equipment was devastating. Even if you idled for a day, you couldn't easily replace sophisticated items, especially in the heat of battle.

---

William, battered and bloodied, stripped off his broken dragon scale armor. Transforming into his black crow form, he soared high into the night sky.

The full moon illuminated the wilderness below, casting the battlefield in silver light. The visibility was perfect, and from above, William surveyed the chaos.

He took a sip from an energy potion, gripping his evil spear tightly. For a moment, he considered diving into the werewolf formation. But he quickly dismissed the idea.

Without the protection of his dragon scale armor, a direct assault would be suicidal. Diving headfirst into the wolves would be no different than throwing himself to Karon on a silver platter. The werewolf would rip him apart in seconds.

Instead, William scanned the terrain, his sharp eyes hunting for any isolated werewolves.