Black Thunderstorm and the Iron Wall of Order

The Gray Fog rolled slowly across the wasteland.

At the top of a raised black rock, Jarro stood motionless.

As the leader of the Werewolf, it was much larger than ordinary Werewolf, its more than three-meter-long body rising and falling slightly, with low, muffled breaths constantly coming from its chest.

The eerie green vertical pupils swept down from above, revealing human bones gnawed white, large patches of congealed black blood, and the wreckage of defense lines that had been completely burned through and smashed.

Within a radius of ten miles, there wasn't even a trace of living beings.

Jarro's nostrils flared open and then tightened slightly; it recognized the smell—the smell of Ghoul.

Those Ghoul that only follow behind and gnaw on rotten flesh actually beat it to the punch and washed the area first.

To Werewolf, those vermin were never considered true members of their own kind, much less equals among the Dark Races.

They are nothing but parasites in rotten skin, bedbugs that crawl forward by sheer numbers and filth, only fit to follow behind the strong and lick the remaining bones clean.

But these very things crossed it and stepped into the hunting ground it was meant to tear open, which in itself was a desecration and a provocation.

Since there was no tactile sensation of flesh being torn apart by claws, nor the desperate screams of its prey, the mad blood that had seeped into Blood Moon's bones was still burning, making its limbs itch.

The pent-up frustration grew heavier and heavier, eventually coalescing into an almost instinctive rage.

Jarro's mouth slowly parted to reveal a row of pale white fangs, and an uncontrollable growl rolled from deep in his throat.

It suddenly raised its neck, its gaze piercing through the swirling Gray Fog, fixing fixedly on the distant, still-glowing White-Gold Sacred Flame.

Blackpine Fief.

In the eyes of the Fourth Tier Werewolf, that territory was now nothing more than a nearly hollowed-out skeleton.

The outer Fifth Ring collapsed completely, the ground was full of craters and scorched earth, the temporary Caltrops were crooked and leaning, and the wooden stakes and stone blocks still standing behind the ruins were as brittle as rotten bones that would break at the slightest impact.

His only thought was to rush in, smash through the walls, drag everyone else out, tear open their throats, and crush their bones.

"Awooo!!"

Jarro suddenly opened his mouth, and a roar exploded from the deepest part of his throat, forcefully dispersing the Gray Fog within a radius of dozens of meters.

Its four limbs crashed to the ground, the bloody mane on its shoulders and back bristled, and its sharp claws dug directly into the rock layer before it suddenly sprang out.

The explosion was terrifyingly fast, leaving only a few afterimages torn apart and a large cloud of black ash in its wake.

The roar still echoed across the wasteland.

Hundreds of wolves, already at their most agitated, moved in unison.

Those pairs of beastly eyes gleamed with the same ferocious light.

Its low-lying body pressed along the scorched ground, like a black tide rolling across the wilderness, its charging speed several times faster than that of a heavily armored warhorse.

They followed Jarro, enraged by being outmaneuvered, and charged madly toward the exposed Defense Zone of Blackpine Fief.

As the wolf pack charged forward, they constantly changed direction and angles; one moment they were facing the front, and the next they were pouncing diagonally to the side of the Caltrops.

Upon reaching the area of Sacred Flame, the Werewolf stepped directly into it, its flesh sizzling and smoking, yet its movements remained uninterrupted.

Just then, a burst of Platinum Flame suddenly erupted from behind the inner defensive line.

Hundreds of Holy Knight clad in greyish-white robes surged out from the city gate ramp and the gap in the inner wall. The front ranks of heavy shields took their positions, followed by the ranks of spearmen, and in the blink of an eye, they formed a wall of platinum shields in front of the gap.

The Werewolf under the Blood Moon had long since lost its reason.

--

Their mouths were full of blood and foam, and all they could see was that row of Tower Shield.

But just before the impact, the movement suddenly changed. The spine twisted violently, abandoning the head-on collision, and instead used a side kick with the shoulder blade and a reverse joint to slam into the narrowest seam between the two Tower Shield.

For an ordinary Knight, this blow would be enough to smash through the shield wall.

But the heavily armored Holy Knight in the front row didn't even flinch.

The moment the impact struck, the entire row of Holy Knight held their breath.

A plume of scorching white mist simultaneously shot out from the gaps in the helmet.

Platinum Battle Aura pressed down along his taut shoulders and back, then lit up inch by inch along the Holy Runes inside the Tower Shield.

The next instant, the entire row of Holy Knight seemed to be nailed into the ground, like a city wall radiating platinum light.

The wolf pack slammed down on them.

"Thump--!"

The dull thuds almost overlapped into one, causing the remaining walls behind to tremble.

Several of the fastest charging Werewolf suffered dislocated bones on the spot, their shoulder and collarbone shattering in front of the shield, spitting out foamy black blood.

But the row of Tower Shield, tilted at a 45-degree angle, didn't even sway.

If they can't break through, they'll just hang on.

Its claws gripped the Refined Steel edge tightly, the tips rubbing against the shield surface, drawing out a trail of sparks.

The Werewolf in the back row climbed up by stepping on their companions' backs, their fangs aimed straight at the visor and breathing holes, and in the blink of an eye, the entire shield wall was covered with a dark mass of wolf bodies.

But the area behind the shield formation remained calm.

The second rank of riflemen couldn't see who was in front of them; they only listened to commands.

"Thrust." As soon as the command was given, the armor-piercing spear, imbued with Battle Aura, was neatly thrust out along the gaps in the shield.

Just as the spear tip was about to touch the flesh, the Platinum Battle Aura suddenly wrapped around it, and with a hiss, fine arcs of electricity flashed along the spearhead.

The next instant, the spear tip pierced through flesh and blood, shattered ribs, and plunged deep into the chest cavity.

"Withdraw." The spears were simultaneously pulled back.

The spear shaft was suddenly pulled back along its original path, and at the same time, the Holy Knight twisted his wrist, twisting the spearhead half a turn inside his body, violently shredding his internal organs.

The wound, now free from the suppression of Battle Aura, burst open on the spot, spraying black blood onto the shield with a slapping sound.

Before the corpses in the front row even hit the ground, the Werewolf in the back row were already trampling over the blood and bits of flesh, continuing to push forward.

However, the opening was too narrow, so a temporary defensive array of stakes was erected to further narrow the path through which they could squeeze in.

Those in front can't jump high enough, and those behind can't turn around properly; even the fastest legs can only step on their teammates to get forward.

Holy Knight, however, play a completely different style.

Werewolf rely on pouncing, biting, and tearing, using their entire bodies to fight for that tiny gap.

The Holy Knight, however, kept his aura under control from beginning to end. His Platinum Battle Aura would light up and then fade away, like a solemn prayer ceremony.

The wolf carcasses on the ground quickly piled up.

The shield bearers in the front row simultaneously raised their right legs, and Platinum Battle Aura pressed down along their knees and boots, causing the entire row to take a half-step forward with a thud.

The soles of the boots stomped over the pile of wolf carcasses, bones and entrails exploding underfoot.

The battle line, which was originally blocked by the pile of corpses, was pushed forward a bit more by this half-step.

The shield wall continued forward, the spears continued to be thrust out, and the wolf pack was like being crushed into a slowly turning meat grinder, crashing into it wave after wave, only to be shattered in front of them wave after wave.

Castian stood on the high platform at the rear of the formation, his gaze passing over the front shield formation and landing on the wolf pack that was still pressing forward.

He was waiting for the wolf's head, the one capable of smashing a hole in the iron wall, to emerge.

Just as the shield formation continued its forward push, the night sky above the center suddenly darkened.

A massive black shadow soared over the heads of the wolf pack, accompanied by a muffled thud as it tore through the air, and plummeted from ten meters away to the center of the shield formation.

"Boom--!"

Frozen Tundra, shattered bones, and black blood exploded simultaneously, even causing the front-line Tower Shield to tremble backward.

The moment the Holy Knight looked up, they saw a wolf's body, three meters tall, crouching at the edge of the breach.

The spears in the front row were thrust out almost simultaneously, three spearheads wrapped in Platinum Battle Aura piercing straight at its belly.

But it didn't even try to dodge; with a twist of its body, its enormous, deformed right claw swept down with the force of the wind.

"Bang!

The three frontmost Refined Steel shields twisted instantly, their surfaces collapsing violently.

The left arm bones of the three Holy Knight holding the shield shattered almost simultaneously.

The man on the far left, shield and all, flew sideways, knocking over two spearmen in the back row. He landed with a mouthful of blood.

The other person was thrown into the air, his breastplate dented, and blood was already flowing out from the seams of his faceplate after he hit the ground.

The third person fared the worst; half of his shoulder collapsed on the spot, and he spat out a mouthful of dark red blood and froth mixed with bits of flesh.

The once perfectly sealed shield wall was dented by this claw.

It didn't even look at it, but instead stepped on a still convulsing body, suddenly tilted its head back, and let out another long howl.

"Awooo!!"

The howl was like a hook, piercing deep into the minds of the entire wolf horde.

Almost simultaneously, all the Werewolf behind them jolted, their eyes rapidly becoming bloodshot, their already bulging muscles tensing up again, and bluish-black blood vessels bulging out from under their skin.

Their saliva dripped more and more from the corners of their mouths, and they couldn't even care less about dodging gunfire or protecting their heads when they pounced.

The Werewolf, whose chest had just been pierced by a spear, was still crawling forward, dragging his leaky lungs and ruptured intestines, frantically trying to squeeze into the gap.

The wolf pack suddenly pressed forward.

The opening, which had been firmly blocked by shield and spear formations, was suddenly flooded with a black torrent.

Several berserk Werewolf leaped into the air, stepping on the corpses of their companions, while many more crawled forward along the ground, stuffing their claws and fangs into the crevice.

The platinum iron wall, which had been as neat and mechanical as a machine, was now being smashed and groaning.