Lord Of The Lost

Beyond the gear, the biggest find was a damaged recipe for a warrior's secret potion.

It had once been complete, but at some point, something happened—and it was shattered.

Yet, despite its imperfections, the gray dwarves had relied on this formula to sustain their warriors' strength across generations.

It was clear they had lived in constant hardship, never venturing far, fearing the horrors that lurked beyond.

The maze was in constant flux, and every move risked death.

If they encountered a Sequence 8 creature, they would be forced to flee, losing more of their kind in the process.

It was a life of survival, not progress.

Metatron, after a quick examination, concluded:

"This secret potion is only effective for non-transcendents below Sequence 9."

That made it incredibly valuable—especially for players below level 10.

But there was a problem.

Refining it required an active dose of Sequence 9's extraordinary properties.

In other words—it wasn't something they could easily mass-produce.

---

William's Decision: Seeking the Complete Formula

"We'll hold off for now," William decided.

The risk of failure was too high, and the materials too rare to waste.

If they could find the complete formula, it would be far more efficient.

Both the Pavilion Master and Metatron agreed.

They had resources, but there was no point in rushing into potion-making without the right knowledge.

Instead, they turned their focus to finding the missing pieces.

---

Exploring the Ruins: Empty and Picked Clean

Under Metatron's guidance, they soon discovered two more ruins.

Both were completely looted.

It was clear that other adventurers had already passed through.

This made sense—true relics held remnants of extraordinary power.

In the war of the gods over a thousand years ago, entire villages and cities had been buried underground.

Yet only structures infused with magic managed to survive intact, standing like monuments of an ancient world.

Everything else? Lost to time.

They had no choice but to move forward.

---

A Roar That Shook the Maze

Just as they set their sights on a third ruin, a thunderous roar tore through the air.

A chilling presence blanketed the maze, pressing down like a heavy storm.

They looked up—

A massive shadow streaked across the sky, blotting out the light.

Its very presence was suffocating.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, Sophia whispered in awe—

"A dragon..."

Even among high-level beings, dragons were on another level.

Unlike witches, who had to endure a coming-of-age ceremony before reaching full strength, dragons simply matured with time.

They did not need trials.

They did not need rites of passage.

They simply became powerful—and that was that.

Sophia's own sister, the Black Swan, had died in the witch clan's ceremony of adulthood.

A tragedy that still haunted her.

---

William's Realization: The Risk of Flight

William narrowed his eyes, carefully observing the creature.

Its power level was clear—

"A Sequence 8 dragon. That means... it's still young."

That was both a relief and a warning.

Relief, because it wasn't fully grown.

Warning, because even an underage dragon was still a dragon.

This was exactly why William never flew over the maze.

Even with his Black Crow Wings and invisibility cloak, certain Sequence 8 creatures could still see through stealth.

If he took to the skies, he'd be dead before he hit the ground.

The Dragon's Lair and the Weight of Legends

Dragons lived longer than witches.

Thousands of years had to pass before a dragon even reached adulthood.

The Pavilion Master observed the wyvern circling above them and estimated, "That's a level 25 wyvern."

But don't be fooled by the number.

Even a level 28 gargoyle wouldn't stand a chance against it.

The Dragon Path's extraordinary characteristics were far superior to the Gargoyle Path—it was a completely different league.

William bit his knuckle, his eyes gleaming with thought.

Sophia glanced at him and immediately caught on.

"Interested?" she asked.

William nodded. "Carcefa hinted that I should slay a dragon… and dragons are worth a fortune."

More than just powerful creatures, dragons were walking treasure troves.

Their blood could awaken hidden power in rare equipment, like Dragon Scale Armor.

Their bones and teeth were used in forging legendary weapons.

Their hearts carried extraordinary magic properties.

Everything about a dragon was valuable.

Sophia, ever fearless, grinned. "Then let's give it a shot."

William hesitated.

It wasn't just his life on the line—Sophia wasn't a player.

If she died, there was no respawning.

"Let's follow it first," he decided.

In the outside world, dragons were just myths. Even in the Lost Maze, their numbers were scarce.

This might be their only chance to track one down.

---

The Palace Above the Cliffs

Wearing invisibility cloaks, they moved swiftly, keeping their eyes on the soaring wyvern.

After a while, the creature began descending, its wings beating against the wind as it approached a majestic structure atop a steep cliff.

The sight left them breathless.

A grand palace-tower hybrid, standing against time itself. Layers upon layers of architecture stretched toward the heavens, adorned with golden light that shimmered against the twilight sky.

It was magnificent.

It was ancient.

It was legendary.

And it was where the wyvern had chosen to land.

"Sophia…" William called out, sensing something off.

Sophia had stopped moving.

Her body trembled, her eyes wide with shock—and then, suddenly, tears welled up.

She almost collapsed, unable to keep pace with the group.

William turned, concern flickering across his face.

"Sister… You finally woke up?" Sophia whispered, her voice cracking.

A faint, almost ethereal voice echoed in her mind.

"I sense the breath of dragons."

It was the Black Swan, her sister's lingering soul.

"I thought I was the only one left."

---

A Faint Voice from the Past

The Black Swan's voice was so weak, it barely carried.

Sophia fought back sobs.

For so long, she had felt her sister's presence fading, like a candle flickering in the wind.

One of her goals in coming to the Lost Maze wasn't just to find the Holy Grail.

She needed to find something—anything—that could strengthen her sister's soul.

But now…

"Don't cry, Sophia. No matter what happens, stay calm."

Her sister's words resonated in her heart.

Sophia wiped her eyes, forcing herself to regain composure. "I'm in the Lost Maze," she whispered internally.

"I understand," the Black Swan replied. "I am weak… I cannot speak for long. But listen… The dragons here… they are dangerous to you."

A pause.

"But this is also… a trial. You carry werewolf blood… If…"

The voice faded.

And then, silence.

The Black Swan had fallen back into slumber.

Sophia clenched her fists, her gaze steely as she tugged at William's sleeve.

---

The Weight of a Legacy

The group was staring at the palace in awe, its epic presence filling the air with reverence.

"What is it?" William asked, turning to Sophia.

She took a deep breath.

"Do you know the hero of the werewolf tribe?" she asked suddenly.

William frowned slightly.

"I've only heard that they reached the pinnacle of the Werewolf Path."

Sophia shook her head.

"That's just the surface."

Her voice was solemn, heavy with history.

"Werewolf heroes are not just powerful warriors. They are hunters of the legendary. They lead their packs to bring down beings far greater than themselves."

A cold wind blew past.

William's eyes narrowed.

Sophia continued, her voice filled with respect and anticipation.

"Across history, only nine werewolves have become true heroes. Each of them did the impossible."

"They hunted legendary dragons, legendary giants, and legendary demons."

"And in doing so, they reached the absolute pinnacle of the Werewolf Path."

William exhaled slowly, understanding the weight of those words.

This wasn't just about killing a dragon.

This was about becoming something greater.

Sophia stared at him, her golden eyes burning with intensity.

"If you want to prove yourself, William… this is how you do it."

For most extraordinary beings, reaching Sequence 7 meant hitting a dead end.

There was no natural advancement beyond that point, unless they hunted legendary creatures.

For werewolves, this was the defining challenge.

A Wolf Lord who could take down a legendary being would experience an unnatural breakthrough, surpassing Sequence 7 and ascending into the unknown.

These legendary hunters became known as the heroes of the werewolf race.

Their power wasn't earned through slow, calculated mastery.

It was taken, ripped from the hands of the strongest prey they could find.

---

For a werewolf, hunting wasn't just survival, it was a way of life.

Just as warriors fought battles to grow stronger, werewolves thrived on the hunt.

It was a natural process.

By constantly challenging and eliminating the weak, the werewolves honed their extraordinary abilities far faster than any other path.

A Sequence 9 warrior might need years of grueling training to reach Sequence 8.

But for a werewolf?

One perfect kill could achieve the same result.

It was a shortcut to power, but one that came with terrifying risks.

Fight or die. There was no middle ground.

For every forty or fifty warriors who tried to ascend this way, only one survived to reach Sequence 8.

The rest?

Dead. Or worse, broken beyond repair.

Even so, the werewolf way never changed.

They embraced the brutality of the hunt, knowing that only the elite would survive.

This was why werewolves were legendary in the dark world, feared and revered.

Yet, despite their reputation, their numbers remained shockingly small.

Even in their strongest era, only a few thousand werewolves walked the world.

This was the price of strength.