NOVEL WEB Chapter 113: War 3
He burst forward with terrifying speed, crashing through a squad of Soulers like a meteor.
One of the bounty hunters, Krayt, moved to intercept — only to be sent flying by a single backhand blow.
Blood sprayed.
The werewolf leapt for Ivana, roaring—
But BOOM!
Lancelot arrived, fists crossed in an "X," taking the blow head-on. His boots skidded across the ground, leaving a trail, but he did not fall.
Ivana's eyes flashed. "You're late."
"I wanted to make an entrance," Lancelot grinned.
Together, they launched a coordinated assault — Lancelot going low, Ivana weaving frost around the wolf's limbs, freezing joints mid-motion.
And then…
SLASH!
Ivana's fan slashed across the lieutenant's chest — frost engulfed his torso.
BANG—!
Lancelot's uppercut exploded upward, sending the lieutenant flying, unconscious.
The crowd watching from afar — human and Souler alike — let out a wave of cheers.
But not everything was going smoothly.
On the northern ridge, a breach had occurred. Three werewolves of the Progenitor's guard had slipped through the terrain — heading directly toward a vulnerable refugee site nearby.
Ivana turned sharply, her eyes narrowing.
And at that moment — as the mist began to gather again — something else stepped through the werewolf portal.
Not a normal soldier.
But something different.
Something… ancient.
The true battle was only beginning.
The battle raged.
Every corner of the outlands was a theatre of war — the clash of claws and steel, the symphony of fan blades slicing through wind, the rumble of summoned beast souls shaking the earth with every step.
But war was not just chaos. It was a test.
And now… that test was intensifying.
—
Northern Ridge: The Breach
Far from the central battlefront where Ivana, Lancelot, and the core elite held the werewolf horde back, the northern ridge had thinned. It was a difficult terrain — filled with jagged stone paths, razor-thin cliffs, and steep gorges. It wasn't seen as a tactical priority.
And that was exactly why three of the Progenitor's Shadowfangs slipped through.
They were elite. Trained in stealth, in terrain hunting, in assassination.
Their fur was darker than the night, their eyes bloodless and calm. They didn't growl. They didn't roar. They simply moved — like ghosts on four legs — darting through the narrow passes until they stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking Sanctum Ridge, a small human outpost turned refugee shelter.
Dozens of tents.
Women. Children. Unarmed commoners.
Protected by just two low-tier Souler units and a few mercenaries.
Perfect targets.
The lead Shadowfang turned to the others and nodded.
Attack.
—
Sanctum Ridge Refugee Site
The peaceful silence of the shelter shattered the moment a mercenary on watch caught sight of the sprinting black blur across the horizon.
"BEASTS! INCOMING!"
The alarm bell clanged three times. Mothers grabbed children. Older men lifted makeshift weapons. One of the Soulers, Kira, only at Mid Profound, gritted her teeth and stepped forward.
"We have to buy time," she said. "They're coming for blood."
Her beast soul — a wind-summoned falcon — screeched as it materialized around her. Her partner, Jeko, manifested a stone-armored badger with thick claws.
They weren't strong. But they were determined.
And then the Shadowfangs arrived.
—
The first wave was brutal.
Jeko was flung across a tent like a ragdoll, crashing into the rocks with blood trailing his path.
Kira stood her ground, summoning wind arrows from her fan, launching them as fast as her Qi would allow — but the Shadowfang simply vanished.
Then appeared behind her.
A claw rose.
But before it could strike—
CRACK—!!
A blast of emerald lightning slammed the Shadowfang mid-air, flinging it into a boulder.
Mira collapsed, breathing hard.
When she looked up, her eyes widened.
A woman was descending from above — her hair a cascade of green, her robes flowing like leaves caught in a breeze.
General Isolde of the Great Lumen Empire had arrived.
—
Isolde's voice rang out calmly, but firmly.
"I expected an ambush. You think we'd leave our children unguarded?"
Behind her, thirty elite Dame Soulers shimmered into view. They had been hidden — cloaked using a layered camouflage formation.
The Shadowfangs paused for the first time.
And then, like wolves who knew they'd been baited, they roared and attacked.
—
The battle that followed was short — but intense.
Isolde's beast soul — the Verdant Thorn Wyrm — coiled behind her, launching thorn-whips that slashed through the Shadowfangs' dodges with eerie precision. Her fan was more a blade than a tool, and her footwork — all Dame style — was graceful but lethal.
The first Shadowfang was impaled mid-dash.
The second tried leaping from above — only for a hidden Soul Archer to pierce its skull mid-air.
The last fought hard — until Jeko, bloodied and furious, rose from the rocks and tackled it, pinning it long enough for Isolde to finish it off.
Sanctum Ridge was safe.
And now… they were ready to strike back.
—
Back at the Main Frontline
The tide was shifting.
Ivana had moved deeper into the enemy lines, flanked by Lancelot and the twin monarchs of Daraq. Her every fan movement shaped the weather itself, and frost platforms danced beneath her boots like stepping stones on air.
She wasn't just fighting.
She was guiding.
Everywhere she struck, a push was made. Her soulforce network connected her to dozens of commanders. Her voice — crisp, composed, chilling — was in every ear.
"Hold your center. Regroup at Point 6. Rotate formation Theta for the siege line."
Meanwhile, Lancelot roared like a thunder god, launching into melee combat with four werewolves at once — his dread warden wrapping around him, taking every blow, converting every strike into explosive counterforce.
The battlefield became a stage for human resilience. And still the Progenitor had not entered.
He was watching.
Waiting.
And then… finally… he began to walk forward.
Each step radiated dominion.
Each step silenced howls.
He was not coming to fight.
He was coming to end.
As the Progenitor stepped forward, the sky above darkened unnaturally.
Deus — watching from far above — narrowed his eyes from within his Divine Plane.
Within the frost-tinted strategy hall, Ivana's eye twitched.
A deep, primal chill brushed her spine.
The real war was just beginning.
And not everyone was going to survive.
The outlands were burning.
Not with fire… but with essence.
With Qi storms, beast soul rampages, and earth that cracked and bled from too many battles fought all at once.
But amidst all this madness, in the Northern Pass, something unexpected happened:
Humanity held the line.
Not through numbers.
Not through might.
But through the brilliance of one woman—
General Isolde of the Great Lumen Empire.
—
Two Hours After the Ambush at Sanctum Ridge
The first Shadowfang corpses were still being dragged aside when the second wave came.
Only this time, it wasn't just assassins.
It was a full scouting detachment — thirty werewolves, fast and coordinated, sprinting like coordinated hounds across the crags.
And they weren't aiming for the ridge.
They were aiming for the southern river, where a hidden Soulstone relay tower was anchored — vital for battlefield communication.
If they destroyed it, the entire northern quadrant would be blind.
But they didn't count on Isolde.
"Form up!" she commanded, her voice sharp as the northern winds.
Her silver cloak whipped behind her as she leapt down the cliff with grace, followed by two dozen elite Souler Sentinels. Her foot landed soundlessly on a rocky ledge, and her fans snapped open — razor-thin, gleaming with embedded Soul Crystal blades.
Her beast soul shimmered behind her: The Verdant Thorn Wyrm, its emerald scales crystalline and reflecting light like a fractured mirror.
As the werewolves approached the Soulstone relay—
Isolde snapped her fans.
"Brambles of Binding."
Dozens of ethereal thorny vines burst out of the ground like coiled serpents. The front pack of werewolves was immediately entangled, their bodies wrapped and compressed by invisible force. Roars erupted as they tried to struggle free—but the more they fought, the tighter the vines coiled.
The second wave leapt to evade—only to meet Kira, the newly healed disciple, now riding her wind falcon through the sky with burning eyes.
"You bastards aren't getting past me this time!!"
Her falcon screeched as it summoned a cyclone, scattering the attackers toward pre-laid trap formations hidden in the ground by Lumen tacticians.
Boom!
Crack!
The terrain responded. Pillars of ice burst from the rock, launched by other Great Lumen mages stationed in the valley.
But Isolde wasn't done.
As the remaining wolves regrouped and snarled, flanking from both sides to encircle her squad, she murmured—
"Phantom Merge. Verdant Crown: Stage Two."
The Thorn Wyrm roared—and merged into her body.
Her silver fan glowed bright emerald. Her hair lifted with the surge of energy. A living floral crest formed behind her head like a halo, with thorny vines whipping in rhythm to her breathing.
"Disperse," she ordered coldly.
She vanished.
***
A/N:
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