The five had barely found their footing when they heard it.
Sounds closing in from every direction. Low, guttural rumbling growls, deeper and heavier than jackals’, carrying a threatening tension as if the beasts were coiling to strike. Moonlight — against all expectations, a moon hung in the sky above this place, far brighter than the grey haze they had seen on their last visit — spilled over the yellow‑dry grass, revealing a ring of shadows slowly contracting around them.
Wolves. Not two or three, but more than a dozen.
They emerged silently from the shadows of the withered woods. Their grey‑brown fur glinted coldly under the moonlight, each wolf noticeably larger than the jackals they had fought the day before. Their eyes were not dull yellow, but dark green, like scattered embers glowing in the dark, closing in slowly around the five‑person group.
Freddy drew in a sharp breath. "...Were they waiting for us?"
"They have been lying in wait," Gwendolyn’s voice came from Cecil’s shoulder, calm and icy. "The scent markers of this territory still remain. After the jackals retreated yesterday, the wolves claimed this land as their own."
Cecil stood perfectly still. His gaze swept across the formation of the pack. Twelve wolves formed an uneven circle. A gap in the ring was framed by two dead trees, forming a natural barrier. It was no escape route, but a trap. If anyone fled toward that opening, the two wolves hidden behind the dead timber would cut off their retreat instantly.
"Do not run toward the dead trees," he said. His voice was quiet, yet every one of the four heard him clearly.
"We won’t run." Freddy’s tone was tight, though he did not step backward. Turner poked half his head out of his arms, his grey fur bristling on end.
"Robin could fly up," Oliver whispered.
"Don’t," Cecil cut him off. "They are waiting for someone to take flight. Once you rise into the air, you become an easy target."
Oliver froze mid‑movement. Robin tightened its claws on his shoulder, making no attempt to take off.
Cecil closed his eyes.
Silver runes lit up deep within his consciousness, clearer than ever before, as though a dust‑covered mirror had just been wiped clean.
[Infinite Divine‑Beast Awakening System]
Host: Cecil von Ashford
Currently Contracted Divine‑Beast: Gwendolyn (Sealed · Last Frost Dragon)
Divine‑Beast Unlock Progress: 1.5%
Current Combat Value: 55
Available Attribute Points: 1
Three bars stretched beneath the attribute‑point counter:
[Agility]——［■■□□□□□□□□］
[Speed]——［■■■□□□□□□□］
[Strength]——［■■□□□□□□□□］
Before, only text had appeared here, no progress bars. Now a faint grey bar lay beneath each stat.
Cecil opened his eyes. The wolf pack had drawn two steps closer. The nearest one stood less than five metres away. Its dark‑green eyes glowed eerily in the moonlight, thin strands of saliva dripping from its jaws onto the parched grass.
He stared at the three status bars.
In their last fight, he had spent two points on Agility. His speed and reaction time had improved greatly, yet Strength remained his weak point. The punch he landed on the jackal leader’s jaw yesterday had staggered the beast, but lacked enough force to deal real damage. Against this larger wolf pack, agility and evasion alone would not be enough. He needed raw striking power.
He focused his mind on [Strength].
A warm current flooded his limbs. Unlike the sensation from boosting agility and speed, this warmth was deeper and slower, like warm syrup seeping into the gaps between his bones. His shoulders sank slightly, his centre of gravity lowered automatically, and his feet settled more firmly against the ground. It was not that his body had grown heavier, but a solid readiness, every muscle primed to unleash force at any moment.
"You have changed," Gwendolyn said from his shoulder. She could sense no shift in the cold energy flowing inside him, yet the tension in his muscles had transformed all at once.
"I know," Cecil replied.
He glanced back at the four behind him.
"Edwin, have Rust bite their hind legs. You do not need to cripple them, only slow them down," he instructed, his tone steady and measured, as if reciting a well‑rehearsed plan. "Freddy, let Turner draw the attention of the wolf on the left. Strike once then retreat, do not overcommit to the fight. Lydia, send Ivy along the ground between the two wolves on the right, use your vines to bind and delay them, no need to squeeze tight, just hold them back. Oliver — have Robin fly low, no higher than the top of my head, and harry their eyes with its claws."
"What about you?" Lydia asked.
Cecil drew his rust‑edged blade from his waist. Its surface was still flecked with rust, yet it felt far more solid in his grip than it had the previous day. After investing points in Strength, the hilt sat steady in his palm, as if loose joints had been tightened into place.
"I will hold the front line," he said.
The pack moved. The three wolves at the front lunged simultaneously, far faster than the jackals had been. Their grey‑brown forms blurred into three streaks beneath the moonlight, yet Cecil could track every movement. His passive Agility boost remained active, sharpening his eyes to follow high‑speed motion better than before.
He did not dodge.
He stepped forward to meet them. The ground trembled faintly under his footfall. The boost from Strength affected more than his fists and shoulders, amplifying his stride length and the explosive power of each push‑off. He swung his blade horizontally, the flat of the sword slamming into the first wolf’s cheekbone. A dull thud echoed as the force landed, jerking the wolf’s head sideways and shifting its whole body off balance.
The second wolf lunged at him from the side. Instead of pulling his blade back to defend, Cecil drove his left elbow forward. Powered by his boosted Strength, the elbow struck the wolf’s shoulder blade. The beast let out a short whimper, its front legs buckling beneath it.
The third wolf snapped toward his right leg. Cecil lifted his boot and kicked it square on the jaw. A sharp crack rang out as boot met muzzle, forcing the wolf’s jaws to snap shut, the clatter of its teeth carrying clearly on the night breeze.
Within three seconds, all three wolves had been repelled. They staggered backward, shaking their heads, and did not leap forward again immediately.
Cecil lowered his blade to his side. Dark, viscous liquid trickled down its rusted edge — not blood, but a mix of wolf saliva and rust flakes. His breathing had quickened, though he was nowhere near his limit.
Behind him came the crunch of Rust’s jaws sinking into a wolf’s hind leg. Turner’s grey form darted through the grass, drawing an angry snarl. Robin’s claws raked across one wolf’s ear, earning a high‑pitched yelp. Ivy’s green serpentine body coiled around the front legs of two wolves, sending them stumbling.
"Hold formation!" Cecil called out, his voice calm but clear.
Gwendolyn hopped down from his shoulder to land at his feet. Her blue‑and‑white frame settled on the grass, her tail lifting slightly. A deep, rolling hum rumbled in her throat — not a roar, but a primal resonance vibrating through the air, powerful enough to make fine dust tremble.
The two nearest wolves stepped back at once. Their ears flattened against their skulls, their tails tucked tight between their legs, a primal display of animal fear.
Cecil felt the resonance wash over him. Gwendolyn had not unleashed frost, but something far older, the ancient aura of a dragon suppressing lesser predators.
His body warmed faintly beneath the resonance, not from cold energy, but a response triggered by the system.
[Combat Value: 57]
[Available Attribute Points: 1]
Another point. The system had registered his successful strikes against the three wolves, rewarding him with fresh stat points.
He allocated the new point directly into [Speed].
His body shifted once more. This change was subtler than the previous ones. Rather than individual muscles growing stronger, time itself seemed to slow down in his perception. The wolves’ movements grew visibly slower in his sight. Every lunge, shift of weight, even the twitch of their ears became crystal‑clear.
Cecil tightened his grip on the rusted sword.
"The second wave," he said.
From the mid‑rear of the pack, a larger grey wolf stepped slowly out of the shadows. Its hind legs were longer than the rest, its eyes a deep shade of emerald‑green, like two aged copper coins.
The alpha.
It fixed its gaze on Cecil. Just like the jackal alpha from the day before, it was sizing him up.
Cecil held his rust‑stained blade horizontally before him. Much of the surface rust had worn off during the earlier clash, revealing pale grey metal underneath.
"Come on," he said.