Lord Of The Lost

The butcher's laughter turned savage, and a terrifying wolf howl ripped from his throat, shaking the air around them. The sound was primal, a blend of power and despair.

"You think players can change anything in this catastrophe?" the butcher snarled, his voice rising with each word.

"You don't know how high the sky is or how deep the earth goes! Wolf Lord Iris can no longer suppress the Black Forest's catastrophe. How long do you think it will take before the main storyline begins?"

The butcher's eyes gleamed with madness. "You think you're strong? Against the catastrophe, you're nothing! Even if every player banded together, they wouldn't amount to more than a drop of rain or a single leaf falling from a tree."

His voice grew darker, more venomous. "Can raindrops return to the clouds? Can fallen leaves return to their branches? No! They fall, carried by the wind, and only fate knows where they will land. That's the nature of this world. The laws of nature cannot be defied."

The butcher's voice cracked as his howl turned into words again. "Why worry about the future? The only thing that matters is now. The power we wield now, this moment, is real. It's all we have!"

The hybrid werewolf stood tall, his massive frame exuding savage energy. His howl echoed again, a deafening cry of defiance and despair that reverberated through the forest.

William tightened his grip on his spear, his cold eyes never leaving the butcher. Madness, power, and desperation swirled together in the air, but William's resolve didn't waver.

William studied the butcher coldly, the truth dawning on him, this man had touched the power of the Black Forest.

It had broken him. The butcher had surrendered his will, embraced despair, and let himself spiral into madness.

William's voice was sharp, his eyes filled with unrelenting fury. "Then show me how much power you've gained from this path of ruin!"

He slammed his spear into the ground, its tip embedding deep into the dirt.

Images of the hunters' sacrifices flashed through his mind, their desperate fight, their invisibility cloaks thrown over him as they bought him precious seconds at the cost of their own lives.

They didn't need to die.

And Little Bob, the loyal companion, still missing. Madness had claimed it, yet even in its final moments of lucidity, its sole obsession had been to slow the elite werewolf.

Would Bob even remember its mission now, after all that had happened?

William gritted his teeth, the words barely escaping his lips: "You truly deserve to die."

The butcher howled, his voice wild and feral. An airwave rippled outward, scattering leaves. Three razor-sharp claws erupted from his right hand as he lunged at William.

But William moved faster.

With a sudden whip kick, his leg swept through the air with a crackling boom!

Bang!

The butcher's body folded in half with a sickening crunch, his spine snapping under the impact. He was flung more than ten meters across the forest floor, tumbling like a ragdoll, dirt and leaves filling his mouth as he skidded to a stop.

Before the butcher could process the pain, William appeared in front of him, seemingly out of nowhere.

William's voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a blade: "Show me your strength."

Without warning, William's right leg shot upward with precision and power.

CRACK!

The butcher's jaw shattered. His wolf-like mouth exploded in a spray of teeth, blood, and minced flesh. He was sent flying into the air, higher than the treetops, before crashing back to the ground with a resounding thud.

William walked toward him, his expression cold, his voice sharp with disdain. "Use your strength!"

Dark energy coiled around William's right leg as he raised it high again.

BOOM!

The ground shook as his foot came down, crushing the butcher's right arm into pulp. Blood splattered across the dirt in thick, dark streams.

William didn't even look at the butcher writhing below him. He stared straight ahead and muttered, "Is that all?"

The butcher coughed up blood and foam, his battered body barely clinging to life. His voice was weak but defiant. "You can't kill me! I'm a player! I'll resurrect… over and over again! I have endless chances!"

William remained unmoved. Without a word, he lifted his foot again and crushed the butcher's left arm, leaving it a mangled mess of bone and flesh.

The butcher laughed through the pain, his voice turning into a desperate, hysterical growl. "You think this means anything? I'll come back! I'll bring the werewolves with me, and I'll make you suffer! The pain you've caused me, I'll repay it tenfold!"

William's expression didn't waver. He stepped forward one last time, his foot coming down with finality.

CRUNCH!

The butcher's skull shattered under the force, spraying white and red across the forest floor. The grotesque sound echoed for a moment before silence fell.

William whispered coldly, "You'll have no chances."

---

A faint hum filled the air.

[Your talent: Killing to Prove Your Truth takes effect.]

[Your talent has absorbed the incomplete extraordinary characteristics of the werewolf.]

---

The icy wind of Siberia howled outside a dilapidated slaughterhouse.

Inside, a middle-aged man with thick, wild hair bolted upright from a nightmare, his breath ragged. His entire body trembled, drenched in cold sweat. It was as if he had just endured the torture of the eighteen levels of hell.

His lips quivered as he forced out a weak whisper: "No…"

The door creaked open. Standing there was a man of medium build, his slightly curly black hair peeking out from beneath a black coat. His expression was calm, but his presence exuded menace.

The man's voice was low, cutting through the frozen air like a knife.

"Butcher, I've found you."

-----

The moonlight spread across the wilderness like shimmering waves, bathing the earth in its silvery glow.

Above, the full moon hung impossibly close, almost as though it were descending from the heavens to touch the ground.

William, his rage sated after slaying the butcher, felt exhaustion settle over him. Standing beneath the towering trees, he tilted his head back, gazing through the gaps in the leaves.

The moon was massive, brighter than any he had ever seen, dominating the sky as if it had swallowed the stars themselves. Its light turned the endless wilderness into a surreal, eternal day.

It was breathtaking.

But William also understood what this meant. According to mystical theory, magic followed the ebb and flow of the moon, like the tides of the ocean. On nights like this, when the full moon reigned, the magical energy of the world surged to its peak, nourishing all living things, especially those tied to magic.

This included creatures of the dark.

The full moon carried with it layers of mystery, and William knew the battle wasn't over.

Gripping the evil spear still buried in the ground, he pulled it free. From his back, massive wings unfolded, stretching wide under the moonlight.

With a single leap, he shot into the sky.

---

[You have developed new ability characteristics of the Demon Wolf Path.]

[Your level has been raised to Level 13.]

---

[ID: Breeze Blowing Over the Hills]

- Physique: 20.4

- Spirit: 16.1

- Energy: 15.9

---

[Your talent: Killing to Prove Your Truth takes effect.]

[You have absorbed the werewolf's combat experience and gained a skill – Close Combat.]

[Close Combat: Your fighting abilities in melee combat have been significantly improved.]

---

The path of killing allowed William to absorb the extraordinary characteristics of those he defeated. But alongside these characteristics came an added bonus: fragments of their skills.

For example, killing a sword master would improve his swordsmanship. The feedback from each target wasn't overwhelming, but when enough victories stacked together, the knowledge and skills formed unique abilities.

This time, William's battle with the werewolves granted him new insights, but it also highlighted his weaknesses.

His clashes with the werewolves hadn't been smooth. He had taken hits not because his attributes were weaker but because his combat experience lagged behind theirs.

His fighting style was efficient, practical, and brutal; designed to kill as quickly as possible. But simplicity without adaptability was a weakness. Werewolves, with their sharp instincts, could easily predict straightforward attack patterns.

Werewolves possessed two defining characteristics: [Strong Constitution] and [Fighting Instinct].

The first ensured their extraordinary physical stats; strength, speed, endurance.

The second gave them unparalleled prowess in close combat. It made them natural-born warriors, capable of fighting with an almost supernatural intuition, without the need for formal training.

Elite werewolves like Karon could dominate William in the heat of battle simply by instinct alone.

---

Now, William flew low over the ground, the white mist of his wings trailing behind him like lightning. His speed was incredible, but the effort drained his energy rapidly.

The strain of half an hour of brutal fighting had left him physically depleted. His body was teetering on the edge, dangerously close to collapse.

[Self-Healing] was keeping him in the fight, accelerating his recovery with every passing moment. But even that had its limits.

The truth was simple: no living being could sustain this level of high-intensity effort indefinitely. There was always a breaking point.

William felt it creeping closer.

---

The werewolves' own traits had impressed upon him the gap in their abilities. Their [Strong Constitution] made them nearly impervious to exhaustion, while their [Fighting Instinct] turned every clash into a masterclass of combat.

If William wanted to match them, he had to adapt, not just in strength, but in cunning and skill.

Under the overwhelming glow of the moon, William sped forward, his eyes sharp, his mind calculating his next move. He would not stop. He could not stop.

This wasn't just survival anymore, it was evolution.