NOVEL WEB Chapter 114: War! 4
The wolves blinked.
Then one of them choked.
A fan had pierced its throat before it even realized she was behind it.
She didn't stop moving.
Each leap was like a gust.
Each strike—targeted to joints, eyes, and weak points.
Her movements were almost dance-like—a blend of martial grace and Soul-infused speed.
One after another, wolves began to fall.
Five.
Ten.
Thirteen.
The rest turned to flee, but Isolde didn't give them the chance.
She pointed her fan to the sky.
"Rain of Roses."
It started with a wind howl.
Then, like falling stars—dozens of piercing, wind-etched rose thorns rained from above, chasing the retreating wolves down and shredding their backs open as they ran, their howls drowned in the wind.
Silence returned to the ridge.
Kira, panting, lowered her hand. "Remind me to never piss you off, General…"
Isolde didn't reply. She was already ordering her men to move the wounded, reset the formations, and reinforce the slope.
She didn't fight for glory.
She fought for survival.
—
Elsewhere – The Central Plains
The werewolf vanguard had begun their coordinated charge.
This part of the battlefield was flatter — more ideal for heavy combat. And thus, Lancelot stood at the center, wielding twin soulforged broadswords, his Warden Beast Soul cloaked around him like black armor.
He laughed wildly as he dashed into the frontlines, every movement carrying the force of an avalanche.
> "COME, MUTTS! FACE A MAN WHO HAS DANCED WITH DEATH!"
Beside him, the Great Dame's second prince, Aurex, unleashed his Crimson Horn Stag, which dashed with flaming hooves and gored through werewolf after werewolf like a spear of light.
And yet… despite the intense back-and-forth, the battle was only beginning.
—
At the Rear — Ivana's Command Center
Ivana stood on a floating frost platform overlooking the entire battlefield.
She wore her ceremonial Soul Battle Garments now — shimmering white robes lined with glacial thread and imbued with defense arrays. Her fans were folded, pressed against her waist. Her eyes glowed faintly with soul insight.
> "The Progenitor hasn't entered," she said, brows furrowed. "He's watching…"
Beside her, David monitored movement patterns, while high-ranking strategists fed her live reports through enchanted crystal mirrors.
> "General Isolde has secured the north. Lancelot and the Dame front are holding."
> "Any major casualties?"
> "Minimal. Our defenses are holding... for now."
Ivana's eyes narrowed.
> "Good. Begin Phase Two."
A massive wall of mist and snow began to encircle the battlefield perimeter — a weather manipulation array channeled through her Glacien Strider and the Silver Stag. This would choke enemy vision and enhance ally defense, creating terrain the wolves would struggle to navigate.
If the Progenitor wanted to test humanity…
Then humanity was going to give him hell.
—
End-of-Chapter Tease
At the far side of the battlefield, standing atop a hill of bones, the Progenitor finally moved.
His aura pulsed. Trees nearby withered.
He opened his mouth—and howled.
The sound wasn't just a roar.
It was a command.
The first of his true champions—the Moon-Scarred Pack—stepped forward.
They were stronger than the Shadowfangs.
Stronger than the scouts.
They had names. Titles. Achievements.
And they were coming.
Boom.
The ground trembled again.
Across the vast battlefield of the Outlands, the echo of steel and claws reverberated. The second phase of the werewolf invasion had begun—bigger, bloodier, and more desperate.
But this time, humanity was not alone.
All across the rugged, frost-coated plains outside the portal, Souler elites from different Empires took their stand, forming layered formations that shimmered with defensive auras, elemental walls, and resonating beast soul signatures.
Their cloaks fluttered in the wind.
Their eyes burned with resolve.
They would not allow Earth to fall.
---
Northern Ridge: General Isolde's Return
The air was thick with mist, but General Isolde moved through it like a blade cutting silk. Her troops were repositioning in preparation for the Moon-Scarred Pack's next push.
"Reinforce the upper cliffs! Fortify the runic beacons!" she barked, every word sharp and efficient.
Beside her stood a new arrival—a lean man with violet armor and a dark mask covering his jawline. His name was Marshal Aelric Varne of the Northern Ice Domain, one of the last independent states still allied to the Great Lumen.
He didn't speak much. But his presence was felt.
His beast soul—a serpent of ice with wings made of glass—coiled protectively around him.
"Just say the word," Aelric muttered in his usual cold tone, "and I'll bring the northern storm."
Isolde glanced at him, nodded once.
"I'll hold you to that."
—
Western Front: Flames and Fangs
On the Western Flank, near the scorched forest ridges, Commander Faylen Verdis of the Desert Sun Empire led a regiment of Sunbound Warriors—bare-chested Souler monks whose bodies radiated heat, flames, and raw kinetic power.
Faylen was barefoot, dancing barefoot across flaming stone, twirling a twin-tailed chain whip made of soulsteel. His beast soul, the Solar Mirage Dragon, flared behind him like a golden comet.
> "For every world you ravaged," he roared, "you'll pay in blood today!"
The werewolves charging toward him felt their paws blister on the terrain he superheated, their vision disoriented by heatwave illusions.
Suddenly, one wolf lunged straight through the fire—
Only to get whipped mid-air, the chain crushing its ribs and hurling it through a boulder.
The other monks followed their commander's rhythm, turning the West into a hellscape of flames and glowing strikes.
—
Central Lines: Lancelot's Rampage
Steel clashed. Blood sprayed.
Lancelot stood at the center of the chaos, his iron armor stained red, swinging his dual broadswords with wild strength. Around him, his handpicked battalion of Soulforged Knights held formation.
With every swing, a werewolf fell.
With every roar, morale surged.
> "Dame's steel never dulls! For Earth!"
His beast soul—The Warden Drake—rippled over his shoulders like a spectral cape. It was now partially merged with him, coating his body in dark scales that absorbed Qi attacks like stone into mud.
Fighting beside him was Serena Thorne, his loyal strategist. Unlike him, she didn't fight with brute strength.
She manipulated terrain—turning the ground into razor pits, slowing enemy movement, and redirecting ambush attempts with perfect foresight.
She whispered to a glowing rune on her palm—
> "Now, Initiate Spell Circuit: Mirror Bloom."
Boom.
A dome of crystalline light exploded into being, catching three werewolves mid-air—stunning them just long enough for Lancelot to slam into them like a battering ram.
> "I'll take that as your signal, Serena!" Lancelot bellowed.
She smirked from behind her visor. "Good to know you're still trainable."
—
Eastern Sky Pass: The Beastkin Aid Arrives
Just as the east began to falter under relentless werewolf pressure, the skies howled—but not from the wolves.
From above descended Yuriel Flameclaw, a lionkin war chieftain who had pledged allegiance to the Great Lumen in exchange for sanctuary.
His crimson mane blazed like fire, and his hybrid beast soul—The Emberpride Monarch—let out a deep rumble, shaking the clouds.
"Earth burns, yet we stand!" he roared to his kin. "Show them the savagery of honor!"
His axe cleaved through wolves with a roaring trail of flame. Behind him, a hundred lionkin warriors surged into battle, turning the tide with feral rage and loyalty unshaken.
—
Ivana's Outpost: High Command
Back on the elevated central command ridge, Ivana moved calmly through the chaos, her silver and sapphire robes billowing in the wind. Reports flew in, magical screens lit up, scouts relayed real-time info—but she remained serene.
Every decision she made was swift.
Every order she gave turned the tide somewhere.
General Isolde's broadcast came through:
> "The Moon-Scarred have breached the northern beacon line. I need two Phantom-class enforcers and a wind relay now."
Ivana didn't blink. "They're already en route. Let them know they're to support Aelric, not replace him."
A tactician beside her frowned. "You trust him that much?"
Ivana looked down at the sprawling battlefield, her eyes glowing faintly with divination soul-sight.
"I trust his will to win more than most generals' entire battalions."
Then she turned.
> "Ready the Stag Phantom. I'm entering the field."
---
Meanwhile… Across the Portal
The werewolf side had gathered behind the Progenitor, their eyes bloodshot with hunger, but their bodies tensed with unspoken reverence.
The Progenitor stared through the veil of essence and wind, watching the battle unfold.
"Interesting," he growled, "they've lasted longer than the last three worlds combined."
The spy-wolf knelt beside him, quiet.
Somewhere behind, the Moon-Scarred Elite regrouped, wounded but grinning. Their alpha, Skorak of the Three Moons, stepped forward.
His three scars glowed faintly.
"Do we begin our final push?"
The Progenitor didn't answer.
He raised one claw, and pointed forward—
"Yes. Let's go hunting."
***
A/N
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What do you guy's think of the story so far... I've been uploading consistently since the start of this book, please support with powerstones Golden tickets and gifts... It'll help lighten my mood and give me courage to continue