Point of View: Squad Leader
The storm consumed everything.
The wind didn't just blow—it struck with relentless force, raising curtains of snow that reduced visibility to only a few meters, while the trees, rigid and completely frozen, creaked with every gust as if they were about to shatter.
The entire landscape felt dead.
Trapped in an endless winter.
We moved in silence, without the need for words, leaving footprints that vanished almost instantly beneath the drifting snow.
Our target was one of the smaller tribes.
We were two hundred and one—every one of us Ascended, every one prepared for battle—and yet the feeling persisted: a constant, unsettling presence, as if the territory itself was watching us.
Then I heard it.
First a crack.
Then another.
And finally, the howls—distant, but clear.
Disordered.
Instinctive.
A warning.
They had detected us.
Even so, no one stopped.
The King continued forward at the front, his figure barely distinguishable within the storm, as if he were part of it.
When he stopped, we all did.
"When I kill their alpha… I'll regroup with you."
His voice was firm—strong enough to impose itself over the wind.
We answered in unison.
"Yes, King!"
And then we saw them.
Shadows moving through the snow—large, fast, descending without formation or coordination, driven purely by instinct.
Lycanthropes.
They charged without hesitation.
"Split up!"
The order was executed instantly. I activated my Arts as the snow around me rose and adhered to my body, forming a solid layer that reinforced my defense, followed by a surge of strength flowing through my muscles.
Around me, the others did the same.
And yet…
When I looked at the King, something unsettled me again.
He had activated two Arts—
Just like us leaders.
But they always felt… different.
The clash with the lycanthropes was brutal.
One of them leapt at me with claws extended. I managed to block the impact, but the force drove me back several steps before I countered, tearing open its flank.
The wound began to close.
Slowly.
But without stopping.
Around us, the battlefield erupted into chaos—shouts, dark blood staining the snow, bodies colliding without order.
Then the alpha appeared.
And everything changed.
It was larger than the others—nearly three meters tall—with silver fur that stood out even through the storm, and a body covered in scars that spoke of countless battles.
Its presence was overwhelming.
Instinctively, I felt the danger.
Its eyes locked onto the King instantly.
And it attacked.
The movement was fast, violent—aimed straight for the throat—but when it struck the transparent barrier the King always had, the shield trembled without breaking, absorbing the blow as if it were nothing.
The King didn't move.
Not even a step.
His response was immediate.
A deep slash that tore into the alpha's flesh with ease.
I waited to see the regeneration.
But it didn't happen like before.
The wound tried to close…
And failed.
The difference was undeniable.
The alpha growled and attacked again. This time, it managed to wound him—a visible cut, but shallow, incapable of truly affecting him.
The King simply advanced.
Without hesitation.
Each strike he delivered was more precise than the last—deeper, more decisive—while the alpha's breathing grew heavy and erratic… until it finally stepped back.
For the first time.
In that moment, I understood.
The difference between them wasn't just strength.
It was control.
When the alpha roared and charged desperately, the King dodged by the narrowest margin and answered with a sequence of exact, calculated blows that shattered its balance and sent it crashing to the ground.
It tried to rise.
It couldn't.
Its body trembled, weakened, and when it tried to howl, the sound broke apart before it could fully form—cut short by another strike.
The King stopped in front of it.
He watched it.
And then he rose onto his hind legs.
Before all of us…
He roared.
The sound wasn't just a roar.
It was pressure.
A declaration of absolute dominance that cut through the storm and could be felt within the body itself.
Even I…
Felt my instincts react.
In the next instant, he crushed the alpha's head with a single, decisive motion.
The skull shattered without resistance.
And it was over.
The lycanthropes retreated.
Not out of strategy.
Out of fear.
Their howls changed—losing aggression, turning into desperate warnings.
But it was too late.
The King dropped to all fours and charged.
What followed was no longer a battle.
It was a hunt.
Panic consumed the enemy.
They tried to flee.
They tried to resist.
Nothing worked.
One by one, they fell.
Watching him ignited something in us, and the slaughter only intensified.
When it was over, the wind filled the silence once more, and the snow slowly began to cover the spilled blood.
I breathed heavily as I took in the scene.
Then I looked at him.
Standing still.
Covered in blood that wasn't his.
And I understood.
We may share the same cultivation.
The same number of Arts.
But we are not the same.
We never were.
And for the first time…
I didn't just feel fear of his strength.
I felt awe.
I whispered, relieved—
"Good thing I never challenged him…"
When I glanced at the other leaders in the distance…
I found them staring at him as well.
And I realized—
They were thinking the exact same thing.