Lord Of The Lost

Sophia, well-versed in werewolf history, understood this better than anyone.

Killing a Sequence 8 dragon while still at Sequence 9?

The rewards would be unimaginable.

Faster progression, cutting months or years off the struggle.

Greater resistance to higher-level beings, making future battles easier.

Unlocking potential hidden within the Werewolf Path.

A successful dragon hunt could reshape their entire future.

But looking up at the massive cliffs, no one acted rashly.

Above them stood a ruined palace, its golden light piercing through the darkness like a beacon of the past.

It was more than just an ancient structure, the very air around it vibrated with power, forming a divine ring of golden brilliance that defied the maze's eternal twilight.

A dwarven temple?

William frowned.

It didn't feel like one.

The earth around it was split and broken, as if some cosmic force had ripped the land apart, leaving one side sunken while the other was thrust high into the cliffs.

And now, it was home to a Sequence 8 Wyvern.

---

"Not Yet."

"Now is not the time."

Metatron's voice was quiet but firm.

Even using [God's Perspective], he could not simulate a single outcome where they survived the encounter.

William knew it too.

His [Desperate Situation] ability allowed him to escape even when things turned dire.

But this time?

Only he and Sophia would make it out alive.

Everyone else…

Would die.

No second chances. No revives.

But no one looked discouraged.

Their power grew with every passing day.

The upgrade pace had slowed now that they were transcendents, but they were still improving at an unnatural speed.

Right now, a dragon was too much.

But in time…?

William memorized the ruins' location.

They would return.

---

A New Threat – The Barbarians

As they left the cliffs behind, the team encountered a new kind of enemy.

Barbarians.

A savage race that stood somewhere between humans and werewolves, sharing traits from both.

They were not mere beasts, but their minds were untamed.

Barbarians had their own extraordinary path, with abilities that reflected their wild nature:

[Stupidity] – They were unaffected by illusions, pain, or mental attacks.

[Brute Force] – Their raw strength surpassed most humanoid creatures, but they struggled with control.

[Wildness] – Their instincts were razor-sharp, making them natural fighters and survivors.

Unlike werewolves, they did not evolve through hunting legendary creatures.

Instead, they relied on pure endurance and overwhelming physical might.

But their path to power was limited.

They could never reach the heights of Wolf Lords.

William glanced at their towering frames and grimaced.

Werewolves hunted prey stronger than themselves.

Barbarians?

They just survived, nothing more.

There was no challenge in fighting them.

Sophia cracked her knuckles, smirking. "This should be quick."

---

The Future of the Hunt

The road ahead was clear.

The dragon would remain in its golden fortress, untouched for now.

But William, Metatron, and the rest of the team knew—

One day, they would return.

And when they did…

It wouldn't be a hunt.

It would be a reckoning.

The Rise of Humanity and the Shadow of the Past

Not all supernatural paths that originated from humans still recognize them as kin.

Some transcendent races have long since cut their ties to humanity, believing themselves to be something greater, purer, or more ancient.

Because of this, a thousand years ago, the world was a brutal and savage place.

It was an age of darkness, where humanity existed only as prey, enslaved, or hunted by powerful alien species.

At the time, humans had already developed the path of warriors, but warriors alone were not enough.

The threats they faced weren't just stronger predators but beings beyond comprehension, supernatural creatures, ancient races, and even gods.

It wasn't until the first knight emerged; carving out the path of knighthood and crushing those who underestimated humanity, that everything changed.

With the birth of the Knights, the tides turned.

Humanity fought back.

And eventually, they challenged the gods themselves.

But long before that battle, something far older had emerged.

A labyrinth, 1,600 years ago.

A massive, shifting prison of mysteries and horrors, where time and space collapsed upon themselves.

Those who ventured in were either lost forever or changed into something unrecognizable.

The barbarians were among them.

Lost in the maze for centuries, they adapted, surviving through sheer brutality and resilience.

---

Unlike the gray dwarves they fought earlier, these barbarians were in another league entirely.

Their leader alone was a Sequence 8 brute, towering and built like a mountain, wielding a stone axe so massive that it easily weighed four to five tons.

Every inch of his body was covered in war paint, a special concealment technique that even fooled the Forum Master's [God's Perspective].

It wasn't until William's sharp instincts flared with warning that they realized they were walking straight into a trap.

The Forum Master quickly identified the threat—

A level 24 barbarian.

The entire team froze.

The barbarians were early-stage powerhouses, and if their leader alone was this strong, then what about the rest of them?

William had only one thought—

"RUN."

---

A Desperate Escape

If it were just one Sequence 8 barbarian, they might have stood a chance.

They wouldn't necessarily win, but they wouldn't be completely wiped out either.

But this wasn't just one barbarian.

It was an entire warband.

And the others, though weaker, were still Sequence 9; each one a human wrecking machine.

Without hesitation, the team turned and ran, weaving through treacherous terrain, dodging ambushes, and barely avoiding a massacre.

In the chaos, they stumbled upon something unexpected—

An ancient ruin.

Unlike the other ruins in the labyrinth, this one was strangely familiar.

Its architectural style was eerily similar to the churches in Border Town.

But how could that be?

A church from 1,600 years ago…?

The moment they set foot inside, a wave of exhaustion crashed over them.

William's eyes blurred, his body swayed, and his consciousness wavered—

He was being forced into sleep.

---

The Forum Master barely had time to begin an analysis before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed at the entrance.

Metatron and the gambler fell next, dropping like puppets with their strings cut.

William fought against the overwhelming lethargy, but it was like drowning in a deep, warm sea.

Something was wrong.

The only one unaffected was Sophia.

Her eyes widened in realization.

"A Nightmare?"

A creature that doesn't kill with claws or teeth, but instead drags its victims into a dream they'll never wake from.

For all their caution, this was the first time they had been completely blindsided.

And then—

A sound.

A deep, thunderous gallop.

From the depths of the ruins, a pitch-black horse emerged, its hooves burning with black flames, moving like a shadow given form.

A nightmare.

Not just any nightmare—a Sequence 8 nightmare.

The air around it shuddered with an eerie, unexplainable fear, sinking into their bones.

The moment William locked eyes with it, he felt it—

Pure terror.

Like staring into the eyes of a legendary horror, something that should not exist.

---

William gritted his teeth.

Even as a Demon Wolf, with its natural resistance to mental interference, he couldn't fully shake off the nightmare's influence.

The difference in power was too great.

Sequence 8 suppresses Sequence 9.

There was no fighting back against that kind of natural dominance.

His mind was slipping, being dragged into a dream he couldn't control.

"Get a grip…!"

Then—

Sophia's voice.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Her hands glowed, pushing forward—

[Dispel]!

A surge of magic erupted, pushing against the nightmare's aura.

The fear weakened, but it wasn't enough.

The nightmare charged, a black blur of death streaking toward them.

In an instant—

BOOM!

Sophia was thrown backward, crashing into the wall with a sickening crack.

She coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed to the ground.

But her spell had given William just enough time.

Through the haze of lingering sleep and pain, he lifted the Evil Spear—

And without hesitation, slashed his own palm open.

Deep enough to cut to the bone.

Blood gushed over the weapon, staining it a dark crimson.

Pain pierced through the sleepiness like a lightning bolt, snapping William back to reality.

His grip on the spear tightened.

His eyes glowed with an eerie golden light.

He was awake.

And now—

The hunt had begun.

The Nightmare's Domain

William crouched, muscles tensed like a coiled spring. Then—

BOOM!

He launched forward with blinding speed, body like an arrow released from a drawn bow.

[Piercing Attack]!

The tip of the Evil Spear shot straight for the nightmare's chest—

But then—

It vanished.

No impact. No resistance.

William's attack passed right through as if he'd just stabbed a shadow.

Did I miss?

But then, a faint ripple shimmered in the darkness—

A perfect white hole had appeared on the nightmare's body, as if something had punctured through its inky black form.

The nightmare shrieked, its cry a twisted blend of a horse's whinny and something far more sinister.

A wave of terror crashed over William, heavier than before.

The wound on its body closed rapidly, the missing chunk of its form knitting itself back together.

And then, it charged forward—

Four hooves ablaze, trampling toward him like a living shadow of death.