Lord Of The Lost

As he glided through the moonlit sky, a low, rhythmic sound reached his ears. It was deep and steady, like the pounding of distant drums.

The sound of hooves.

William turned his gaze and spotted them: six heavy cavalrymen riding powerful magic warhorses, galloping across the open plains. Dust and smoke trailed behind them as they thundered forward, their lances raised high.

The cavalry was chasing four or five werewolves, driving them into retreat.

William adjusted his flight path and descended to get a better look.

The central cavalryman, sensing movement behind him, turned in his saddle. He spotted the massive black crow in pursuit and, without hesitation, opened the visor of his helmet.

It was the Forum Master.

William's sharp eyes recognized him immediately.

The Forum Master raised his voice above the thunder of hooves. "Wallace! One of the werewolves has escaped into the woods. I've identified him, it's the butcher!"

He gestured sharply toward a nearby forest, where the trees stood like dark sentinels under the moonlight.

William's mind clicked into place. The Forum Master had gathered all the magical warhorses from Border Town and deployed them in this mission. These weren't ordinary cavalry, they were elite players, personally selected for their skill and experience.

The Forum Master himself was among the highest-level players in the area, already at level 9, his progress ranking in the top five among the many players in the region.

Even his mount was extraordinary. The level 10 magic warhorse beneath him was a creature of unparalleled strength and speed, its every movement radiating raw power.

As the warhorse caught sight of William, it lifted its head sharply, its eyes gleaming with an intelligence that matched its strength.

William gave a slight nod in response to the warhorse as it galloped at a breakneck pace, its speed rivaling that of a hurricane wind. The air roared around him, yet his voice cut through the chaos, clear and sharp as it reached the Forum Master.

"I'll handle the butcher. Don't get yourselves into unnecessary trouble."

The werewolves were a fearsome race, their raw power and supernatural abilities making them high-level threats. However, most werewolves were half-bloods, hovering around level 12, which made them formidable but not invincible.

For the six heavy cavalrymen, each of whom boasted a strength of level 8 or higher, their magical warhorses, averaging levels 8 to 9 were an enormous advantage. Together, they formed a nearly unstoppable force, especially since magic warhorses were faster than werewolves. A direct charge could shatter bones and tendons, even against the werewolf's tough physique.

Still, nothing was without risk. A misstep could mean disaster, but as long as the werewolves failed to exploit an opening, the heavy cavalry remained almost unbeatable.

William flapped his black crow wings, veering away from the cavalry's trajectory. He broke off from the group, aiming for the dense forest ahead.

---

The forest loomed thick and shadowed, its endless maze of trees forming a wall of obstacles. William wove through the foliage effortlessly, his dark feathers brushing against the white mist that lingered in the air.

The moonlight pierced the canopy in scattered beams, creating streaks of silver and a soft Tyndall effect through the mist. William's demon wolf senses sharpened, his awareness expanding like a web across the area.

And then he felt it, the presence of the werewolf butcher.

He zeroed in on his target. Beneath the glow of the moon, William spotted movement. The butcher was curled up in a tree hollow, wrapping a makeshift bandage around his bleeding arm. His breathing was labored, and blood seeped through the cloth, dripping onto the earth below.

Thud!

A black feather drifted through the air, landing softly near the butcher. His head shot up, eyes wide with alarm.

Before he could react, William canceled his black crow form.

A tall, imposing figure emerged from the shadows, standing at the entrance to the hollow. The moonlight highlighted William's sharp, elegant features, and his cold, unyielding eyes bore down on the butcher like daggers.

The butcher, now partially transformed, had the physical traits of a werewolf—coarse fur, elongated limbs, and a wolf's maw. Without those features, it might have been harder to track him. But William's demon wolf premonition was perfect for sensing extraordinary power fluctuations. The butcher, despite hiding, couldn't suppress the energy radiating from his newfound abilities.

William's voice was cold and commanding. "Come out."

The butcher froze, his heart sinking. He knew he couldn't hide any longer. Gritting his teeth, he crawled out of the tree hollow, towering over William at over two meters tall.

William wasted no time. "What did the werewolves promise you?"

The butcher's voice was steady, almost defiant. "I helped Roca escape. In return, he gave me wolf blood."

William's gaze hardened. "And now that you've become a werewolf, how does it feel?"

The butcher clenched his fists, his massive arms, thicker than an average man's thighs; bulging with muscle. His body was an image of raw, untamed power, every inch of it hardened like stone.

"I feel... powerful," he replied, his wolf-like maw curling into a faint smile.

William's response was sharp and cutting. "Short-sighted fool. You're nothing but a half-blood."

The butcher shook his head, letting out a low growl. "You think you're the only one who knows that? You think you can lecture me about werewolves like I'm blind to the truth?"

Hot breath steamed from his wolf-like mouth as he stepped forward, raising one clawed hand. The three sharp claws gleamed in the moonlight.

"The werewolf path is a mid-level path," the butcher began, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and pride. "It has three initial traits. But because we can't fully transform under the moonlight, the core trait is locked, leaving only two traits active."

The bitterness in his voice was palpable. The butcher knew he wasn't like the full-blooded werewolves, those who could draw on the full power of their path. But even half-blooded, the strength he had gained was intoxicating.

William sneered, his grip tightening on the evil spear in his hand. "And you're content with that? To settle for being a half-blood puppet, a shadow of what true werewolves are capable of?"

The tension between them thickened, the moonlight illuminating the forest floor as the butcher's claws flexed, and William's eyes gleamed with sharp intent.

The battle wasn't over. The butcher had made his choice. Now, he'd have to live or die by it.

William's gaze remained cold and unyielding, his spear steady in his hand as he stared down the butcher.

The butcher smirked grimly, breaking the silence. "Werewolves have lost the ability to purify their blood under the moonlight. Most of us are just half-bloods now. Only Wolf Lords can transform a half-blood into a pure-blood werewolf. You understand what that means, don't you? If all the Wolf Lords are killed, the entire werewolf race will die out."

William didn't flinch, his voice sharp. "And only pure-blooded werewolves can advance to Sequence 8. Isn't that right?"

The butcher nodded. "Exactly. And advancing to Sequence 7? That's even harder. Without the ability to purify our blood, we're trapped. The moon goddess has forsaken us. It's a vicious cycle. The Wolf Lords' power isn't infinite, and if it were, elite werewolves wouldn't be so rare. The werewolf path is broken."

William's voice was ice. "And this is the path you chose?"

The butcher raised a clawed hand and shook his head. "No. Why would I choose death? Werewolves have another possibility."

William's eyes narrowed. "What possibility?"

The butcher's tone hardened. "We must redefine what it means to be a werewolf. We must break the curse of the moon and the shackles that hold our path down."

William's mind flickered to Sofia, the enigmatic figure who remained a mystery to him. He still hadn't pieced together the connection between werewolves and witches, but he knew it was tied to something foundational, something that had destroyed one race and fractured the other.

The butcher's voice broke his thoughts. "Werewolves are a tenacious race. We will rise from disaster like a phoenix from the ashes!"

He growled, his words laced with disdain. "Humans only have three high-level paths to follow, and even in Border Town, they can only choose 'Warrior' or 'Knight.' Do you think players can just switch paths whenever they want?"

The butcher leaned forward, his sharp claws flexing as he spoke with venom. "Path transfers are limited. Roca gave me wolf blood, but it came at a cost, he injured himself just to make me a half-blood. How many people in Border Town do you think have the ability to transfer to higher paths? I've heard from Roca that the number is less than fifty!"

He sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "And who controls those spots? The Forum Master, of course. Do you think he'll just hand them out freely? Do you think someone like me would ever get a chance?"

The butcher jabbed a claw at his chest. "Why should I care about pleasing him? My talent is called [Werewolf]. Amazing, isn't it? My body is strong, my self-healing is unmatched, and my compatibility with the werewolf path is perfect. Once the werewolves break free of their shackles, our path will rise to a higher level!"

William snorted, unimpressed. He had used his own talent to take the Demon Wolf path, a higher-level transformation. To him, this ambition of the butcher's was nothing but delusion.

"High or low, it's all the same to me," William said coldly. "The only thing that matters is killing."

The butcher let out a bitter laugh. "You should know better, Demon Wolf. Finding a path that suits you, one with a high ceiling, is a rare and precious thing. You think it's easy? You think every player has the luxury of following a higher path like you?"

William's gaze darkened as he thought about the items in his inventory: two pure-blood werewolf traits and one incomplete hybrid werewolf trait. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity.

"You can't even see the path players are walking," William said with a calm finality.