Point of View: Rangar
From the moment I received the call, something didn't fit.
The system relayed my subordinates' situation in real time: prolonged pursuit, increasing exhaustion, enemy numbers rising. It wasn't an uncommon scenario in Rasganorte, and because of that, my initial response was automatic.
I would send reinforcements.
I selected the nearest group—fifty of ours who could arrive quickly enough to stabilize the situation—and after that, without analyzing it too deeply, I added a second order.
I would go as well.
Not because I believed it was necessary.
But as a precaution.
Lycanthropes could be persistent, but there was always a limit. Sooner or later, they would abandon the hunt and return to their territory.
That was their nature.
They could pursue.
They could attack with ferocity…
But they didn't stray too far.
They didn't sustain prolonged offensives without reason.
That was the logic.
That's why I didn't question it.
That's why I didn't analyze it further than necessary.
I thought they would stop.
I thought the reinforcements would be enough.
I thought…
My presence wouldn't be necessary.
But this time, it didn't happen.
The pursuit didn't just continue—it escalated beyond reason.
When I received the next updates from the reinforcement group, the situation had changed. It was no longer a controlled retreat.
It was constant combat.
Even then, I didn't imagine it would reach this point.
I never thought I would have to intervene directly.
And yet—
Here I was.
The moment I crossed into the battlefield, the change was immediate.
My subordinates reacted instantly.
Their roars cut through the storm, filled with relief and determination, rising above the wind as they repeated the same call again and again.
"King!" — "The King is here!"
I could feel it clearly.
Their morale surged.
Fatigue seemed to retreat.
Their movements became firmer. More certain.
Even among themselves, without hiding it, they began to say it with conviction—
Now that the King was here…
They would win.
But I did not share that certainty.
I didn't respond to their calls.
I didn't return their roars.
I made no gesture.
Because the moment I stepped onto that battlefield…
I felt it.
Something was wrong.
It wasn't a vague suspicion or a passing doubt.
It was constant pressure—a clear, unsettling sensation that settled in my mind and refused to leave. My instincts reacted immediately, tightening every muscle in my body as my attention shifted beyond the fight.
Something was watching us.
Not a scattered presence like a group.
Singular.
Fixed.
Patient.
And it did not belong to any of the lycanthropes before me.
I scanned the battlefield, ignoring the clashes, the blood, the screams—analyzing every detail with precision.
The lycanthropes were tired.
Wounded.
Yet they kept fighting.
That alone was strange.
But the truly abnormal part wasn't their endurance.
It was the distance.
I checked the map.
It confirmed what I already suspected.
We were too far from their territory.
Far beyond what any pack would accept for a prolonged pursuit.
It didn't make sense.
Not with what I knew of them.
I had fought their kind before.
I knew their behavior.
They were beasts—impulsive, violent…
But limited.
They didn't organize complex strategies.
They didn't coordinate movements on this scale.
They didn't chase enemies this far just for vengeance.
So…
Why?
The answer came on its own.
The alpha.
A Level 2 Ascended.
I had underestimated it.
I assumed it would be like the others—a stronger beast, but nothing more.
That was my mistake.
And as if that realization had been the signal they were waiting for…
The lycanthropes began to fall back.
It wasn't disorder.
It wasn't fear.
It was control.
They pulled away just enough to widen the distance between them and us, executing the movement with a synchronization that did not belong to mere beasts.
My subordinates noticed immediately.
The shift in the atmosphere was enough for even them—hardened by countless battles—to tense their stances and begin scanning the surroundings more carefully.
The confidence that had risen with my arrival didn't vanish.
But it changed.
It became alertness.
Something wasn't right.
And then they appeared.
From the flanks.
From the rear.
From places where there had only been snow moments before.
More lycanthropes emerged from the storm, advancing without haste, closing the encirclement with precision.
I counted them in silence.
Three hundred.
Four hundred.
Approximately.
All Ascended.
The circle closed completely.
There was no escape.
It was a trap.
A perfectly executed one.
And yet…
There was one detail that broke the pattern.
An empty space.
A single point where none of them stood.
My gaze fixed on it immediately.
The presence was there.
I had felt it since the moment I arrived.
The air in that direction was different—denser, heavier, as if even the storm itself was affected by its existence.
And then it began to take shape.
At first, it was just a faint silhouette within the snow, barely visible—but as it moved forward, its figure became clearer.
It was a lycanthrope.
It didn't look different from the others.
But its presence…
Was dominant.
The others reacted before I did.
They lowered their heads slightly.
They averted their gaze.
It didn't need to impose itself.
It didn't need to speak.
I understood immediately.
The alpha.
My eyes narrowed.
I had underestimated them.
But that wasn't the real question.
The real question was—
How intelligent was it?
Could it think like us?
Plan?
Anticipate?
Or was it simply a beast with more developed instincts?
I observed it carefully as it advanced calmly toward the center of the encirclement.
Its body showed signs of experience.
It wasn't young like the others.
Its posture was steady, controlled—and there was no wasted movement.
This wasn't just strength.
It was precision.
It was experience.
And that…
Made it far more dangerous.
For the first time since this hunt began, I understood the magnitude of my mistake.
We hadn't been the ones dragging them out of their territory.
We had been guided.
Straight into this.