Lord Of The Lost

The Black Forest loomed close now, its shadowy outline just visible through the thin mist that clung to the wilderness.

As William arrived near the edge, a heavy cavalryman atop a powerful warhorse spotted him and immediately hurled a glowing scroll in his direction.

[Cold Fury]!

William caught the scroll, his brow furrowing as he inspected it.

"This is…"

The Forum Master, standing nearby with a weary smile, interrupted. "Something I was planning to keep for myself."

The scroll was no ordinary item. It was a rare artifact of unpredictable power, capable of devastating multiple Sequence 9 transcendents in a single strike. The "multiple" here wasn't clear, perhaps ten, or maybe eight or nine; but the sheer scale of its destructive potential was undeniable.

The Forum Master explained, his voice tinged with regret. "I originally wanted to use it on Scarface. If it had worked, I could've taken his [Hand of the Madman] and turned a small investment into a massive gain."

Unfortunately, the opportunity had never come. The scroll had been left unused, eventually handed to him by the mayor under the pretense of suppressing a bandit rebellion.

Now, the Forum Master had no choice but to pass it on.

He sighed. "I hope you can make good use of it."

The Forum Master's forces, high-level players and heavy cavalry; could handle ordinary Sequence 9 werewolves at a significant cost. But against Sequence 8 werewolves, they were completely outmatched.

Then, the Forum Master shared something that made William pause.

"We encountered an elite werewolf, Karon."

His tone was grim. "There were six of us in heavy cavalry, and two died in the very first encounter. By the end, I was the only one who survived."

He had fled for his life, and even now, he wasn't sure how many of the magic warhorses had survived the chaos.

Against ordinary werewolves, heavy cavalry had a clear advantage. Their high mobility allowed them to treat the entire border town as a battlefield. In manageable numbers, they could annihilate werewolves with calculated strikes.

But a dying werewolf's final howl had drawn Karon into the fight. Along the way, Karon began gathering the remaining werewolves, creating a moving army. At least twenty to thirty werewolves were now heading directly toward the Black Forest to support the Wolf Lord.

"Karon will be here soon," the Forum Master said with resolve. "I'll hold him off."

William nodded, no words exchanged. He knew the Forum Master wasn't defenseless, he still had hidden cards to play.

The Forum Master had access to three rare items, none of which were ideal for the current situation but still capable of turning the tide under the right circumstances.

As William spread his wings and left the rolling hills behind, the Forum Master watched him go, murmuring to himself: "Fifty-fifty odds…"

---

As William flew through the misty night, faintly haunting melodies reached his ears.

A beautiful, eerie song carried on the wind, a signature move of the Singer using [Death Melody], an ability designed to disrupt and disorient.

William's hope rose briefly, but the victory was short-lived. From behind him came a series of bone-chilling wolf howls; deep, guttural, and full of defiance. The werewolves had suppressed the effects of the [Death Melody], their savage instincts breaking through the magic.

But this was only the beginning.

Powerful magic, pulled from the [Blood Clan Magic Book] and the cursed [Human Skin Book], was unleashed next. The hills were soon engulfed in a storm of magical energyb shadows, lightning, and blood-red auras clashed violently, illuminating the night.

William glanced back briefly, watching as the hillside lit up with bursts of otherworldly power. Then he refocused on the silent, foreboding Black Forest that stretched ahead.

---

The forest was vast, blanketed in mist so thick it seemed alive. William activated his [Secret] ability at full power, doing everything he could to suppress his presence. The closer he came, the heavier the air felt.

The Wolf Lord wasn't just powerful, he was overwhelming. William knew that engaging him directly would be suicide.

Flying low, William scanned the ground carefully. His heart skipped a beat when he spotted them.

A group of tall, hulking figures stood together in the wilderness, their shapes unmistakable. Surrounding them was a hunchbacked and gaunt figure; a werewolf, but smaller and weaker-looking than the others.

William's instincts screamed at him. The Wolf Lord's entourage.

Without hesitation, he veered sharply to the side, flying wide to avoid detection.

To be seen now would mean certain death.

His wings carried him swiftly over the wilderness, the ominous Black Forest drawing closer with every beat. William's mind raced, preparing for what lay ahead. The stakes had never been higher.

Mott moved slowly across the frost-covered wilderness, his pace measured and deliberate, like an old man weighed down by years of hardship. Yet, despite his deliberate steps, there was a latent power in his stride, he was a werewolf, after all, and far from frail.

The bright moon hung low in the sky, its glow so intense it seemed to merge with the earth. The night wind whispered through the stillness, brushing over the vast, silver-streaked plains, which shimmered under a layer of white frost. The scene was hauntingly beautiful, untouched by any sign of human life.

Mott suddenly stopped, turning his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the quiet expanse.

Roca, standing nearby, asked respectfully, "Wolf Lord, have you sensed something?"

Mott shook his head, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "Alas, I am old now."

Without saying another word, he walked alone toward the edge of the Black Forest, where the enigmatic presence of his grandmother, Iris, lay hidden.

---

The Black Forest was a place of shadow and legend. William had been here before, first when he brought Sofia, and then again when the stakes grew higher. Now, it was the werewolves' turn to arrive.

Standing at the forest's edge, Mott's deep voice broke the silence, carrying with it a strange, rippling power.

"Iris, are you there? Are you well?"

His words weren't loud, but they reverberated through the air like the gentle ripples left by a swallow skimming over water.

The forest stirred. Branches creaked, leaves rustled, and the sound of Iris's voice seemed to come from all directions at once, as if the world itself were answering.

"Mott, where is your brother, Mutu? I thought the two of you would come together," the voice said, calm yet tinged with a knowing sadness.

Mott's shoulders sagged slightly, his expression heavy. "You took Sofia away," he began. "And Mutu… he never recovered. He sacrificed himself for the tribe's survival. In the end, he let the children eat his flesh and blood so they could live."

Mott's voice wavered, sorrow pooling in every word. "It wasn't until his death that I realized the immense weight my brother carried. He had endured so much, his very marrow dried up by the years. Yet, even as his body withered, he gave everything he had. But his final effort was in vain, his decayed body could not produce a pure-blooded werewolf. In his last moments, all he found was despair."

Iris sighed, her voice like the rustling of leaves. "How tragic. Mutu could have become the tenth hero of the werewolf clan. But the fall of the original moon… it severed the path forward for all of you."

Mott nodded bitterly. "If the original moon had not fallen, the werewolf tribe wouldn't have ended up like this."

Iris's voice softened, distant yet full of lament. "How can fish survive without water? How can birds thrive without the sky? Werewolves cannot exist without the moon's embrace."

Mott's eyes gleamed with a faint fire as he asked, "Iris, tell me, how many years have we been chasing the glory of the ancient moon?"

Iris responded solemnly, "More than five hundred years."

Mott clenched his fists. "For centuries, we've pursued the afterglow of the ancient moon, yet it remains beyond our reach."

Iris replied with a whisper that carried the weight of centuries. "Who can pluck the reflection of the moon from the river of time?"

Mott's voice grew quieter, tinged with bitterness. "How many werewolves who once bathed in the light of the original moon still remain?"

Iris's tone was heavy with grief. "Mutu is dead. Now, there are only you and I. We've witnessed the demise of all the werewolves of that era. We're the last, and we, too, are nearing our end."

Mott's face darkened. "Mutu led the alliance between the werewolves and the witches. Sofia's union with the witch marked the beginning of everything."

Iris's voice grew distant, as if echoing through the forest itself. "The witch is the queen of the night, but even she was forced to kneel to the original moon. The original moon took its place not only as the guardian of the night but as a god among gods. Its power was unmatched, and even the witches, once rulers of the dark, had no choice but to become its followers."

Mott's voice tightened with frustration. "The Moonlight Goddess was nothing but a subordinate god back then. She was born out of a storm of turmoil but later rose to become one of the gods."

Iris sighed deeply. "That turmoil caused an entire kingdom to collapse, swallowed by the earth. And it changed the original moon forever."

Mott's voice grew darker, a bitter edge cutting through his words. "It became… strange. Twisted. No one knows what it found in the darkness, but whatever it was, it consumed it. That discovery led to its fall, and with it, the ruin of the werewolves. Since then, we've wandered without a home, clinging to survival as the witches shielded us."

The forest fell silent again, but the weight of their conversation lingered in the air.

Mott stood at the edge of the Black Forest, gazing into its shadowy depths. The werewolves had survived this long, but the cracks in their path had deepened into chasms. And now, the future seemed closer than ever to slipping into oblivion.