Chapter 448: Climax
Upon arriving at Teldron Island, the BGM shifted—mysterious, passionate, with a subtle samba rhythm, matching the island's dense jungles and its native population, many of whom carried werewolf lineage.
The video briefly introduced the Wolf-Worship Cult, a religion originating from the Motley Islands and the southern jungles of the Kingdom of Sepharic. They worshiped the apocalyptic demon wolf Gleipnir, holding live sacrifices in accordance with lunar cycles, favoring raw flesh and blood in their rituals. Their leader was said to be an enigmatic, immensely powerful demigod, and the cult had been waging a long, shadowy resistance against Sepharic's colonial forces.
The frame then cut to the sky.
A full moon turned blood red.
Players didn't yet understand its significance, but instinct told them—something huge was coming.
The screen split between multiple threads:
• Wayne, accompanied by Red-Hair Robinson, arriving at the Sea God Cathedral atop White Mountain, collecting a massive bounty and inquiring about pirate outposts. Many players joked he had developed a pirate-hunting addiction.
• Inside the Backalley Bar on Maritime Law Street, a temporary pirate alliance assembled. Word had spread of General of the Wind Gallagher's death—assassination plans on Angus Motley began moving ahead.
• Meanwhile, Angus Motley himself led his fleet to sink a pirate vessel offshore and was now returning to port.
• Finally, deep in the jungles north of the island, a hidden altar loomed—carved with a massive, austere black wolf head. Before it, tens of thousands of dark-skinned natives knelt, praying with reverent fervor.
Scattered scenes—yet the light brain stitched them perfectly. Long, seamless cuts drew viewers in.
Wayne advanced toward Maritime Law Street.
At the Backalley Bar, the werewolf pirate leader Mason drank, angrily ranting about Gallagher's incompetence.
Angus Motley's convoy reached the docks.
Three separate lines. One convergence point.
The camera locked onto Wayne Sturwell, who disguised himself as a Northern pirate and infiltrated the bar—the enemy's den.
Through his perspective, players caught a small detail: his own bounty—72,000 Vecktas, updated after killing Gallagher. Eagle-eyed players spotted another poster in a corner: his other identity, Batman, with a bounty of 225,000 Vecktas.
After the breadcrumbs, the story advanced.
Wayne stayed calm, listening silently as the pirates detailed their assassination plan. Players relaxed a little—no matter how monstrous the threat, once the protagonist stepped in, things always got solved. Their faith in him was absolute.
Exactly as expected, Wayne acted with perfect judgment, secretly sending players ahead to warn Angus Motley. And then—
Players caught a familiar face.
Yanran Weile.
The famously unapologetic, "self-made iron-will man" suddenly turned meek in front of the protagonist—bowing, agreeing instantly to any command. The same energy as XB. The chat exploded.
"LOL didn't he swear he built everything on backbone? No luck, no handouts, pure grit?"
"Enough jokes. Everyone mocks XB, but deep down, everyone wants to be XB."
"Yan Five Knight redefined what 'backbone' really means."
Back in his training room, Yanran Weile faced his teammates' judgmental stares. He tried to justify himself, failed, then snapped:
"What? If there's a thigh to hug, you think I won't? Am I stupid?!"
The teasing quickly faded as the story entered the true climax. The samba beats tightened into urgency.
More than ten pirates stepped out of the Backalley Bar toward the ambush point.
The corpulent noble Opa Bessemer was already waiting atop a building.
Above each pirate, the light brain printed names and bounties—every one a notorious terror of the seas.
Wayne lurked nearby, concealed to the left.
Two carriages carrying Angus Motley approached.
The curtain was about to drop.
Then—
A colossal torrent slammed down from the sky.
Three enormous bolts of lightning detonated into the carriages, flowing through the water and electrifying them into shrapnel.
Angus Motley burst through the wreckage—but the body dissolved into exploding water clones.
His real self appeared at the Governor's Mansion gates, flanked by neat lines of armed soldiers.
It had all been a trap.
Now, players finally saw what demigod power really looked like.
No longer the shallow impression of "one-punch fodder killed by gods or protagonists"—Angus stood alone against seven or eight high-tier superhumans, matching them blow for blow. Lightning, water manipulation, close-quarters monstrosities—it didn't matter. He held them all off with overwhelming presence, a force of nature that screamed untouchable.
But then—
The camera yanked back.
Opa Bessemer stood atop a rooftop, scroll already torn open in his hand.
Even after witnessing the cataclysm of the Darkland Tragedy, players were still unprepared for what came next.
A BGM eerily reminiscent of HUNTER×HUNTER – "Emergency Situation" kicked in. The kind of music that meant something catastrophic is about to happen.
A column of red light detonated downward.
Inside it—
A white giant wolf, over five meters tall.
Every nearby streetlight died.
The light brain labeled it:
Moonlight Direwolf – Seras (Lv. 107) (Weakened State)
As the pulse-pounding track hammered forward, Seras lifted his head toward the crimson moon and unleashed a world-shaking howl.
The echo carried—then answered from every direction.
Scene shift. Citywide view.
Rapid close-ups flashed across the whole island:
As Seras howled, natives' jaws contorted and extended, bones popping as they erupted into full beast form. Werewolves sprinted on all fours into the streets, a black tidal wave of fur and claws pouring toward the Governor's Mansion.
No end. No borders. A living flood.
Even civilians bitten mid-panic turned instantly, joining the swarm.
Then, blazing silver text erupted on-screen:
THE FIRST OF THE TEN CALAMITIES — THE WEREWOLF PLAGUE!
Cut.
Atop the Sea God Cathedral on White Mountain, Cardinal Ronald Cregi stepped onto the sacred balcony, raised his staff—
—and brought it down.
The soundtrack swelled.
Storm clouds multiplied across the sky, burying the blood moon entirely.
Thick bolts of lightning rained downward, striking locations across the island like divine judgment.
Flash cut after flash cut:
• Werewolves vaporized into charcoal silhouettes.
• Armed alchemical warships soared into the sky, cannons primed.
And then—
Finally.
The protagonist.
In the embrace of torrential rain and radiant supernatural brilliance, he walked forward calmly, one gun black, the other white, held low at his sides.
He stepped into the storm.
And in that moment—
The entire season reached its peak.
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