NOVEL WEB Chapter 115: War 5
The Outlands trembled under the weight of war.
Roars, war cries, explosions, and beast soul echoes formed an orchestra of chaos that stretched across miles. The land was scarred in every direction—craters smoked, ancient trees had fallen, and rivers now ran red.
Though the initial clash had shaken both sides, now the battle had spread—fracturing into countless pockets of ferocious conflict.
And in those countless battlegrounds, heroes were rising.
--
Clad in snow-pale armor that glimmered with soul-infused frost, General Isolde of the Great Lumen stood atop a raised ridge, directing her battalion with an unwavering voice.
"Glacier Wedge Formation! Maintain pressure on their left flank!"
Beside her, her Icewind Basilisk beast soul hissed, projecting waves of cold from its mouth that froze not only the flesh of enemies but the very soul essence that fueled them.
A massive werewolf lunged forward, three meters tall and armed with twin crescent axes glowing with bloodlight.
Isolde didn't blink.
With a graceful pivot, she raised her frost-blade high—drawing sigils in the air—and brought down an arcing slash that released a crescent of frozen light.
The werewolf's axes shattered mid-swing.
> "You are not welcome in our world," she said coldly.
The Icewind Basilisk lunged next, burying its fangs in the enemy's chest and dragging the creature into a frozen tomb.
Behind her, her elite sub-commanders followed her rhythm, forming a perfect harmony of assault and defense.
"General Isolde is like an army herself," murmured one young Souler in awe.
Elsewhere, in the charred woods bordering the Outlands, Kira, formerly Mira, darted through the battlefield like a streak of flame.
Her fiery-red armor shimmered with embers, and her long raven-black hair streamed behind her like a war banner. In each hand she wielded a pair of phoenix daggers, glowing with soul fire.
Her beast soul—the Blazing Talon Phoenix—circled above, screeching with defiant pride, its feathers raining purifying fire.
Kira wasn't part of any large unit. She was a mobile frontline killer, darting into chaotic skirmishes and turning the tide in seconds.
Three werewolves surrounded her, snarling, ready to close in.
"Wrong move," she whispered.
With a blur, she danced between them. One step—an arc of flame. A twist—two necks opened. A flip—her phoenix dove down and engulfed the last one in holy fire.
A small squad of injured human warriors cheered from nearby.
> "That's Kira of the Phoenix Fang!" one shouted. "We're saved!"
"Save yourselves by getting off your ass and fighting," she said without slowing, already moving to the next clash.
At the cliffs overlooking the valley battle, two stout figures moved like twin battering rams.
The Steelwright Brothers, Hagan and Thorne, were armored Souler smiths from the mountain clans of the North. Their beast souls were golem-forged titans—living machines with glowing runes embedded into their stone bodies.
Their movements were slow—but each strike was devastating.
A pack of werewolves had attempted to flank the human forces from the cliffs.
They never expected to be greeted by a wall of metal fists.
> "Incoming from the right!" Thorne shouted, slamming his hammer into the ground. A wave of kinetic force sent two wolves flying off the cliff.
> "Let 'em come," Hagan growled. "They can't out-stubborn a Steelwright."
With each synchronized attack, their beast soul titans mimicked them, amplifying their impact a hundredfold. The cliff path became a choke point—a bottleneck that turned the ambush into a massacre.
---
Skies Above – The Thunder Herald
Above the battlefield, the sky darkened unnaturally.
A thundercloud gathered—swirling unnaturally, crackling with soul-essence lightning.
From its heart descended a man with lightning tattoos etched across his skin and eyes glowing with arcs of electricity.
Aeron, the Thunder Herald.
A solitary Souler from the Republic of Vaelt, Aeron had refused all rank and title—yet he arrived on the day of war, unsummoned.
> "The sky is my arena," he said simply.
With a whisper, he summoned his beast soul: Stormheart Leviathan, a massive serpent made of lightning and stormclouds.
The moment it appeared, it screamed.
From the clouds, lightning struck across the field with precision—surgically erasing werewolf packs before they even realized they were spotted.
Every bolt left behind only smoke and silence.
> "The sky burns for mankind," Aeron said.
---
Meanwhile – Lancelot in Formation
Back near the central command line, Lancelot stood at the heart of a tight tactical triangle.
He was quiet—but deadly. Each of his movements was precise, like a blade forged by discipline and cooled by years of war.
Flanking him were his elite aides—Captain Veyra, a halberd-wielding Souler with a hawk beast soul, and Mason Hollow, a dual-axe berserker bound to an iron boar beast soul.
Lancelot's own beast soul—the Dame Seraphim, Aetherblade Form—manifested behind him in the form of winged light, a fusion of sword and divine aura.
> "Hold position. Use the terrain. No blind charges," Lancelot ordered.
When the enemy pressed in, his blade flashed, and an entire line of charging werewolves were cut in half by a single arc of soul-infused energy.
> "Let Ivana carry the storm. We hold the line."
---
Closing the Chapter
The battlefield continued to erupt.
More heroes would rise. More sacrifices would be made.
But one thing became clear—this was no longer just a war between humans and werewolves.
This was a war of worlds.
And Earth's warriors—Souler or not—would not go quietly.
They would fight.
To the last breath.
To the last beast.
To the last hope of humanity.
The sun hung high above the war-torn Outlands, its golden rays bleeding over a battlefield painted in chaos. The clash between humans and werewolves had grown into a colossal storm—each hill, river, and ridge had become a front of its own.
But this wasn't just a battle of titans.
This was where the unsung blades, the forgotten talents, and the resilient souls proved their worth.
In the dense shadows of the Eastern Woods, two figures moved like whispers in the wind.
Cale and Riven, known in the underworld as the "Ghost Pair," had never belonged to any empire. Mercenaries of exceptional skill, their power lay not in brute force—but precision.
Cale, a thin man with blue-gray eyes, wielded the Whisper Fang, a dagger imbued with his beast soul: Silent Lynx.
Riven, bald and stocky, wore layered cloaks and fought with needle-like chains guided by his beast soul: Mist Wyrm.
They didn't charge the enemy like the frontlines. Instead, they weaved between the trees, silently executing werewolf scouts and flankers.
> "One behind the oak," Cale whispered.
Riven's eyes glowed briefly, and a serpentine mist slithered toward the target.
A gurgled cry later, another scout collapsed with a chain through its throat.
"Twelve confirmed kills. No detection," Riven said.
"Let's keep it that way," Cale smirked.
---
Bloodplains – Commander Enzo of the Black Banner
On the crimson-drenched fields where hundreds clashed at once, a colossal figure raised a war banner high—its base made of enchanted bone, and its fabric sewn from beast-hide.
Commander Enzo, the Black Banner Bearer from the Unified Tribes of Afron, roared from atop a massive saber-horned rhinoceros.
His beast soul: Blood Banner Rhino.
> "Follow me, warriors! These beasts bleed like any other!"
At his call, warriors clad in dark bronze charged forward, rallying behind the thundering hooves of his beast.
When he planted the banner into the ground, it unleashed a pulse of soul-energy, buffing the strength and defense of every human within a fifty-meter radius.
Werewolves slammed into the formation—and shattered.
"We are the wall. They break upon us," Enzo bellowed.
His halberd swung in a vicious arc, cleaving through a charging enemy like cloth.
From afar, her presence was ethereal.
Lady Selina of the Aural Court, wrapped in robes of silver and amethyst, stood on a risen dais with a harp-sword hybrid in her hands. Her beast soul—Moonlight Siren—glowed behind her, casting a gentle aura over her surroundings.
Her power wasn't violent… it was beautiful.
As her fingers danced across the strings, soundwaves laced with mana spiraled through the battlefield.
Each chord created an illusion or altered perception. Werewolves stumbled through phantom forests, attacking shadows. Others froze, hearing voices from long-dead kin.
At the same time, her allies gained clarity, courage, and focus.
> "Your melody gives me strength," one young Souler whispered as he rose, bloodied but unbroken.
Selina did not speak.
She only played, her tears hidden beneath her veil, even as her music sent enemies to their deaths.
---
Warpath Canyon — Twin Blades of Dothar
Deep within a chasm where the narrow path had turned into a choke point, two warriors held the line alone.
Tarek and Vasha, exiled twin princes from the fallen desert kingdom of Dothar, moved with the grace of a storm.
Their beast souls—Desert Scorpion and Sandstrider Falcon—coiled and danced beside them.
Tarek's curved blade glowed with venomous energy, slicing tendons and slowing their enemies. Vasha's dual shortswords moved like feathers on the wind, each strike precise and elegant.
"The heat rises, brother," Tarek muttered.
"Let it rise. We shine under pressure."
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A/N:
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