The silhouette of the werewolf-like Lycan stood clearly outlined against the massive full moon crowning the mountain peak. Its form was tall and imposing, fur rippling in the crimson moonlight like living shadow. Where its face should have been shadowed…

Two red eyes burned.

Those eyes locked onto Bruce.

Cold. Ancient. Intelligent.

A chill ran down Bruce's spine the instant their gazes met. It wasn't fear, not quite, but something deeper. Instinct. A warning whispered directly to the soul. When the Lycan finally looked away, the pressure lifted slightly, yet the unease lingered like frost beneath the skin.

Bruce exhaled slowly.

That one… is different.

He had no doubt now. The Lycan watching him from the mountain was the Alpha of this region. No normal mutant, no ordinary dungeon beast, could have spotted him from such a distance, much less locked onto him with that kind of awareness.

Wanting to confirm whether the Alpha had moved, Bruce lifted his gaze back toward the peak.

It was still there.

Standing exactly where it had been.

For a brief moment, Bruce wondered why it had stopped staring at him, then the Lycan raised its head toward the sky.

Bruce's eyes narrowed.

So that's it…

AWUUUUUU!!!

The howl tore through the air like a blade.

It wasn't just loud. It was commanding. Dominant. The sound echoed endlessly across the mountain range, rebounding off stone and snow, rolling through the dungeon like a decree carved into reality itself.

The Alpha's head was tilted upward, body silhouetted perfectly by the blood-red moon behind it. The moonlight traced every line of its howling stance, turning the sight into something breathtakingly beautiful.

If only Bruce's life wasn't in danger.

The howl stretched on, deep and resonant, vibrating through the ground beneath Ash's claws. And when it finally faded, something else followed.

Panting.

Faint at first.

Then more.

Bruce's eyes widened as movement exploded from the mountain. The Alpha Lycan descended straight down the slope with terrifying speed, its massive form flowing effortlessly over jagged terrain. Behind it came others, wolves and Lycans moving as one, disciplined, synchronized. These Lycans and wolves like it all has gray skin.

At some point the Alpha stopped and the Lycans and wolves all sped past it ahead to the front, it growled as if giving them orders.

The beasts followed its orders, moving in a unique formation.

This wasn't chaos mutants were known for.

This was coordination.

Bruce noticed it instantly. These weren't like the previous packs he had slaughtered. The formation was tighter. Purposeful. And mixed among the werewolf-like Lycans were mutant gray wolves, larger, warped, radiating unstable mana.

Just as Bruce began to assess their numbers, new sounds reached his ears.

Footsteps.

Heavy ones.

From behind the mountain.

More figures emerged, some from the left ridgeline, others from the right, descending in clean, deliberate lines, converging toward the battlefield below.

They were surrounding him.

Not randomly.

Methodically.

"…Interesting," Bruce muttered, his eyes twitching slightly. "That Alpha isn't just strong. He's smart."

The sight was chilling.

Dozens, no, hundreds, of wolves and Lycans pouring down the mountain from multiple directions, silhouettes cutting through crimson moonlight in perfect synchronization. The scene radiated an eerie, almost ritualistic pressure, as though Bruce had stepped into the center of an ancient hunt.

He tightened his grip around Red's hilt.

As the pack drew closer, Bruce's brows furrowed.

There was something else.

Something wrong.

On the foreheads of the approaching wolves, right above their eyes, symbols began to emerge clearly in his vision.

Red circles.

Perfect. Clean. Unnatural.

The moment Bruce focused on them, a strange sensation crawled up his spine. His mana reacted instinctively, rippling uneasily within his core.

Those circles weren't just markings.

They meant something.

Bruce's gaze sharpened. "…A red moon symbol."

And the longer he stared at it, the more certain he became.

That mark was not merely decoration.

It was a sign.

Bruce smiled, the unsettling feeling in his chest finally brushed aside. "Let me test my dagger skills on these beasts."

Red slid effortlessly between his fingers as he flexed his hand, the dagger spinning once, twice, clean, fluid, instinctive. Then Bruce leapt from Ash's back.

The drop was a blur.

Before his boots even touched the ground, Ash opened its maw.

A mixed breath of dragon fire and Soul Flame erupted outward, sweeping across the advancing pack like a tidal wave. The flames didn't just burn flesh, they collapsed coordination. Wolves screamed as shadows were erased. Lycans roared as Soul Flame gnawed directly at their cores. The perfect formation shattered, beasts scattering in every direction.

And Bruce landed.

The moment his feet touched the ground, he vanished.

Red flashed.

A Lycan's head spun away from its body before it realized Bruce was there. Another lunged, Bruce slipped past its claws, blade tracing a clean red line across its throat. Blood sprayed into the air, frozen mid-motion as Bruce was already gone.

He moved like flowing water.

Step.

Slash.

Twist.

Cut.

A wolf leapt from the side, Bruce ducked under it, Red carving upward through its abdomen, splitting it cleanly in half. A Lycan brought its claws down with terrifying strength, Bruce pivoted, the claws missing by a hair's breadth as Red pierced straight through its eye socket and out the back of its skull.

Bodies fell in his wake.

Every movement was efficient. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Bruce weaved through the battlefield at blinding speed, cloak snapping, boots barely touching the ground. Red danced, short slashes, deep thrusts, spinning arcs that severed limbs, necks, spines.

The Lycans were stronger.

That much was clear.

Their bodies were tougher, muscles denser, reactions sharper than ordinary direwolves. Some managed to track Bruce's movement for a fraction of a second longer. Some even tried to counter.

It didn't matter.

Red sliced through them all the same.

One Lycan managed to grab Bruce's arm mid-swing, muscles bulging with terrifying strength.

Bruce smiled.

He twisted his wrist once.

CRK!

The dagger severed every finger holding him. Bruce stepped forward and buried Red straight into the creature's chest, twisting as he withdrew it. The Lycan collapsed, eyes still wide in disbelief.

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