Our Family Has Fallen

Two figures continuously collided in the clearing. Onlookers couldn’t even make out their precise movements, only hearing the constant clang of striking metal and the grating sound of friction.

The power exerted between the two was directly evident on the ground. The freshly tilled, soft soil was now pocked with craters, the original turf and dirt splattering everywhere as the earth was ravaged by their wild forces.

With a ZZZT, a shower of sparks erupted as the two figures violently disengaged. Only when they steadied themselves could they be identified as Lance and the Warwolf, now transformed into a Werewolf.

By now, the two had been locked in a fierce battle for a long time, and Lance had lost all his initial arrogance.

It was the first time since arriving in this world that he had encountered such a tenacious foe.

His clothes were nearly torn to shreds, stained with blood, and his exposed skin bore wounds of various sizes. Some were so severe that flesh was torn open, blood flowing uncontrollably.

Lance’s constitution was exceptionally resilient; ordinary swords and blades striking him were like hitting thick cowhide, barely breaching his defenses. It was akin to having a degree of innate damage reduction. But now he was in such a sorry state, a condition he hadn’t been in since he’d cut a swathe through a group of bandits while wearing armor.

This time, the damage was clearly inflicted by the Werewolf. Boosted by its incredible speed and agility, its claws and Wolf Fangs, imbued with a strange Supernatural Power, became terrifyingly effective.

Lance, wielding his greatsword, struggled to keep up with its rhythm. Often, it could lash out with three claw strikes (multiple actions per turn) for every one swing of his sword. Sometimes, he’d rather take a clawing than a bite—one meant a flesh wound, the other, crippling injury. After being wounded, a strange power would linger in the injuries, preventing the flesh from healing and forcing him to expend more Spiritual Essence to wear away this residual force.

It was only because it was him; anyone else would likely have been torn to shreds by the Werewolf by now.

Although the bizarre lycanthropic transformation had granted it a powerful physique and decent regenerative abilities, clashing head-on with Lance was definitely taking its toll. It lacked Lance’s seemingly endless reserves of strength. Its condition had visibly deteriorated, its body covered in numerous wounds, and patches of its fur had been sheared off. Most noticeably, its left arm hung limply at an unnatural angle—the result of a direct hit from Lance’s greatsword. The heavy blade might be edgeless, but the sheer force behind it was more than even the Werewolf could withstand.

Their brief separation indicated that both combatants were struggling to maintain such a high-intensity battle.

The surrounding area had long been cleared, with only Grendel observing from the sidelines. And it was precisely because of this vantage point that she truly grasped the Warwolf’s terrifying power. This strength far surpassed that of any Champion recorded in her tribe’s history; not even Legendary-level experts should possess such might. The more she searched her memories for any clue, the more terrified she became.

This isn’t power, it’s a Curse… What exactly did he Sacrifice during the ritual? And to whom, or what, was it offered? If she had encountered such a powerful Warwolf on the night her tribe was annihilated, she probably wouldn’t have even had the will to flee.

Yet now, this incredibly strong Warwolf had been intercepted by that man—he had even managed to severely wound the monster. Her fear was dispelled by his actions, and a fierce desire for revenge surged within Grendel’s heart.

The instant the two combatants separated, she made her move—an opportunity she had awaited for so long!

”Wrath of Nature!”

Grendel let out a roar, a display of ferocity she had never shown before. Gripping her Magic Wand with both hands, she slammed its base onto the ground before her. An overwhelming Force of Nature surged forth, and in Lance’s eyes, her entire being erupted in a dense, emerald radiance.

However, Grendel slowly closed her eyes, intending to feel nature with her heart, to merge with it, for only then could she receive nature’s response. The previous environment hadn’t permitted it, but now, she trusted Lance to protect her.

When is a Spellcaster at their most terrifying? A safe environment, sufficient time for Casting Spells... just like right now. At this moment, I am Nature itself!

Lance also sensed an unnatural tremor from the earth. The next second, countless roots surged wildly from the ground. Compared to this, her previous efforts were mere trifles. Roots on a scale more than ten times larger converged from all directions, lunging at the Werewolf like the closing petals of a monstrous flower.

The Werewolf’s towering form showed no hesitation; it leaped instantly, attempting to use its incredible jumping ability to escape the encirclement.

However, Lance wasn’t just standing by.

With a BANG from a gunshot, the Werewolf’s head snapped to the side. The bullet, carrying immense kinetic energy, struck it in mid-air, disrupting its jump and sending it tumbling back down.

Lance blew away the wisp of smoke drifting from the gun barrel, murmuring, I don’t even know what you were trying to jump over.

Grendel’s intervention bought him a moment’s respite. With each breath, the strange power lingering in his wounds was dispelled. Under the effects of Flesh Reconstruction, the bleeding stopped, and his injuries began to heal at a visible rate. His faltering condition rapidly improved under the strengthening effect of Bless, making him even stronger than before!

No matter how strong you are, if you can’t finish me in one blow, you’re in for a war of attrition. If a duel doesn’t work, we’ll make it a group fight. I have allies. What do you have? Oh, right... all your allies are dead.

However, the Warwolf-turned-Werewolf was fated never to hear these taunts. The moment it fell back into the encirclement, it was instantly swallowed by the roots. But if it were truly so easy to defeat, it wouldn’t have battled Lance for so long without a clear victor emerging.

After barely two or three seconds of silence, the roots were blasted away by a powerful force. Amidst the splintered wood, the Werewolf’s figure re-emerged. A patch of fur was missing from its head, but that was the extent of the damage—not even a drop of blood was drawn. That was the mark from the earlier gunshot, which also demonstrated that bullets posed little threat to it from a greater distance.

Yet, Grendel remained completely unfazed. Did it really think I was just standing here doing nothing this whole time?

From seemingly nowhere, an endless stream of roots continued to tear free from the earth’s embrace, surging upwards to attack.

Do you truly wish to fight against Nature itself?!

Had the Werewolf been at its peak condition, Grendel’s roots likely wouldn’t have been fast enough to catch it. Even if ensnared, it would have long since torn its way free. But the preceding battle had left it nearly crippled, and this diminished state allowed Grendel to finally bind it.

The constantly emerging roots overwhelmed it. Its claws, sharp enough to sever metal and stone, would slice through one root only for two more to take its place. With only one functional arm, an opening was soon exploited.

Even the most cunning and powerful beast is no match for a skilled hunter once it falls into a trap.

An arm-thick root seized the chance, coiling tightly around the Werewolf’s right arm. If this limb could be restrained, its combat capability would be drastically reduced...

But wolves possess more than just sharp claws; they also have sharp fangs.

The Werewolf twisted its head and sank its fangs into the thick root binding its arm. In the next instant, the arm-thick root snapped, bitten clean through as effortlessly as if it were a French fry.

Damn it! I knew it.

Seeing this, Lance cursed inwardly. His gaze fell upon the greatsword in his hands, which bore a distinct fang mark—a memento from when he had parried one of its attacks earlier in the battle.

If it can leave marks on steel, a bite to my arm would probably sever it instantly.

But the power of nature is inexhaustible. If one root was severed, two more would sprout to replace it.

Neck, waist, wrists, ankles…

Seizing that fleeting moment, the roots under Grendel’s control swarmed forward, binding the Werewolf in a spread-eagled position. No matter how much it struggled, it could find no purchase to exert its strength.

”Warwolf!” Grendel’s eyes snapped open. She stared at the restrained Werewolf and let out a furious roar, as if finally unleashing all her long-suppressed emotions.

But this was not enough to vent her fury. Her grip on the Magic Wand tightened, her overwhelming hatred transmuting into power. Even from a distance, the creaking strain of the constricting roots could be heard as they tightened, threatening to crush the life out of it.

One should never underestimate the power of plants; a mere sapling possesses the strength to crack a skull. It was only the Werewolf’s extraordinary constitution that allowed it to endure; any ordinary person would have long since been strangled by the roots and turned into fertilizer.

Grendel wanted to devour its flesh and drink its blood; she had no intention of letting the Warwolf die so easily.