Chapter 78: The Young Fox's Sudden Attack

Chapter: The Young Fox’s Assault

Their stamina would be depleted in a short time, but at the same moment, their destructive power soared several times over. In the blink of an eye, the adventurers suffered heavy casualties, their formation collapsing instantly.

“Sophie, Honey, get behind me!” Vinigo shouted, raising his shield.

Only the shield skills of Captain America could withstand the force of spears hurled like city-breaching ballista bolts. Around Vinigo, several other shield-bearing warriors attempted to block the attacks, but their tower shields either shattered or were knocked from their hands the moment they were struck by the spears. None could withstand the assault from the werewolves.

Such strength had long surpassed the limits of humankind.

Fortunately, there weren’t many spears left. Nimble individuals like the white-bearded man deftly dodged the flying javelins and remained unharmed.

“Cover the wounded retreat. Old man, take the others and spread out, we’ll flank them,” Vinigo shouted.

“Listen to him! If we don’t take down these bastards, none of us will escape,” the white-bearded man declared, evidently held in high esteem among the adventurers. At his rallying cry, many responded.

“Sophie, follow me. Big Cat, take Honey and get farther away,” Vinigo ordered. Shield raised, he advanced with Sophie toward the werewolves.

The werewolves knew nothing of tactical withdrawal; their frenzied minds held only thoughts of attack. As Vinigo pressed forward, the remaining werewolves discarded their few remaining spears and, howling, charged with claws bared.

When the wolf’s claws struck Vinigo’s round shield, he felt his body sink as if hit by a cannonball. Gritting his teeth, he braced his legs, nearly driving his feet into the earth to withstand the savage onslaught.

At that moment, Sophie lunged from behind Vinigo, using his shoulder for leverage, and delivered a sword strike from above.

Style Thirty-Eight: Falling Star!

The Ghost Wolf roared, leaping ahead of the others to intercept Sophie’s dueling blade. His claws met the greatsword with a sharp, clear clash.

Those were not metal claws, but the Ghost Wolf’s own deadly talons!

Vinigo grunted softly, swinging his right arm in a sweeping arc with his shield toward the Ghost Wolf’s left shoulder, while simultaneously dashing to the other side, his empty left hand trailing a blade of compressed air toward the wolf’s right shoulder.

When high-speed air currents from different directions converge, they produce a razor-sharp vacuum effect. Vinigo’s left-hand skill, Azure Sky, was perfect for precise manipulation of air, creating an invisible, cutting edge.

It slid lightly across the Ghost Wolf’s right shoulder, leaving a long, shallow wound.

Such a wound meant little to a werewolf with thick hide, powerful muscles, and rapid regenerative abilities.

But to Vinigo, nothing was insignificant.

He leapt back a few steps, scattering a handful of red powder and making a mocking face at the Ghost Wolf.

The red powder, once in contact with blood, boiled instantly. This highly irritant mixture was specially prepared by Vinigo for combating werewolves—their keen sense of smell made them vulnerable to this weapon.

Moreover, the powder also acted on blood. Its unique formula launched a sustained attack on blood cells, seriously undermining their vitality—thus weakening regenerative abilities, as if the cells had been assaulted by strong acid and fire.

“Mary’s Alchemy Shop’s Spicy Powder—one gold coin a pack, no haggling,” Vinigo smiled at the Ghost Wolf.

The answer was a furious howl.

Sophie wielded her greatsword with calm determination, her relentless movements forming a majestic battle hymn—slow, yet overwhelming.

The Ghost Wolf’s claws flashed like lightning, striking three to four times in the blink of an eye.

The difference in their speed was vast. Yet, Sophie’s sword always met the wolf’s attacks, sometimes even gaining the upper hand and suppressing him.

It sounded odd, but it was the truth. Sophie’s swordsmanship, under the guidance of Sir Temp, had soared in quality.

Her technique fully exploited the advantages of the dueling blade, turning the greatsword’s length and weight from weaknesses into strengths.

Vinigo sighed. Sophie’s style leaned toward traditional knighthood—helping her when she was not in danger would only earn her displeasure.

So Vinigo turned his attention to the other werewolves.

The elite spear-wielding werewolves, their combat abilities surging under the effects of Boiling Blood.

Strong? Relatively, their weaknesses were also obvious. Vinigo feared nothing more than an opponent with clear vulnerabilities.

Silver Frenzy Slash!

A mighty stroke provoked an elite werewolf to charge at him in rage. Vinigo caught the rebounding shield and launched an Assault Starstrike. Brute force met brute force, and Vinigo smashed the werewolf into a cloud of blood.

Boiling Blood—while the werewolves’ attack power soared, their bodies became as unstable as live bombs.

“A dead mutt,” Vinigo muttered mischievously.

He spun aside, dodging another wolf’s claws, slammed his shield into it, braced himself with his hands, and swung his legs up to lock its neck, then smashed it headfirst onto a rock.

“Two dead mutts.”

Vinigo had successfully enraged all the spear-wielding werewolves. They lunged at him en masse. Vinigo laughed, using the airflow of Azure Sky and sprinting speed to lure the werewolves away from Sophie.

“Old man, help!” Vinigo called out.

The white-bearded man grinned, his spear darting like lightning to stab a werewolf’s foot. The sharp tip pierced the ankle easily, toppling the beast. Simultaneously, another adventurer rushed in, thrusting his sword through the wolf’s heart.

“It’s you! ‘Annoying Footstabber,’ the old man whose notorious name has endured for thirty years!” Vinigo exclaimed with delight. “Ronnie Mlac!”

Old Ronnie was a northern legend. He had started adventuring at sixteen, and after thirty years of bitter battles still refused to retire. He had declined the kingdom’s offer of a barony, continuing to fight among the adventurers.

Moreover, the older Ronnie got, the stronger he seemed, his sharpness undulled by age—a true embodiment of “ginger grows hotter with age.” Though he rejected the kingdom’s title, he was respected by all and often addressed as Sir Mlac.

Old Ronnie doffed his hat, bowed to Vinigo, and casually tossed the hat onto another werewolf’s face. In that moment of confusion, his spear flashed and pierced the wolf’s heart.

“Beautiful,” Vinigo praised.

He spun, hurling his round shield, and as a Silver Frenzy Slash struck another wolf, the now unshielded Vinigo, still in Assault Starstrike stance, rammed yet another werewolf aside.

But more and more wolves crowded around him, threatening to trap him. At this rate, even Vinigo’s strength might not save him from serious harm.

“Oh dear, oh dear, you dead mutts really don’t show an old man any respect.” Vinigo still had the presence of mind to tease them, laughing heartily as he spun amid their attacks. Suddenly, the shield he had flung earlier reappeared in his hand, which he pushed forward.

Ultimate Assault Starstrike!

A powerful blow carved a bloody path through the pack. Vinigo, without pausing, immediately disengaged his character construct.

When disengaged, all states reset to zero. Vinigo’s feet erupted with jets of air, propelling him skyward. He turned midair, placed his shield beneath him, and dove headfirst toward the ground.

His target: the cluster of werewolves.

Boom!

In an explosive burst of airflow, Vinigo used Azure Sky to cushion himself, swiftly escaping the encirclement. Now covered in dust, exhausted in body but exhilarated in spirit.

“I can feel it, I feel it… that power to break the limits, that opportunity—it’s right there in you!” Vinigo pointed at the Ghost Wolf, laughing.

Ghost Wolf Akuls, a member of the Infernal Brotherhood and the strongest of the werewolf leaders—why could Vinigo remain so lighthearted even knowing his target was such a foe?

Because of the limit. Vinigo sensed that he could currently construct characters rated at level 30, but not at full power. It seemed that some force was needed to break through this limit.

That power—Akuls possessed it. He wanted it… desperately wanted to break through the barrier in his chest, the breathless feeling, to overcome it.

Release the limit, unleash all power! For the sake of his own goal—the wish he had never spoken to another—this power was essential. If so, what did it matter if he took a little risk?

Boom!

Vinigo, head down, ran Azure Sky at maximum capacity. Wild currents whipped around him, forming a small tornado in moments. As his magic surged, the arid air at the desert’s edge was drawn in, swelling the tornado.

This was what Vinigo had planned all along.

In a region of strong atmospheric convection, the proper use of power could harness nature to produce a mighty tornado. In the desert, the high temperatures near the ground and cold air aloft made Vinigo’s tactics even easier to execute.

Soon, a massive tornado connecting earth and sky formed, moving toward the werewolf lair under Vinigo’s control.

Wherever it passed, countless sand grains were sucked in, forming high-speed rotating blades. Even the wildest werewolves were easily shredded and flung afar by this even wilder force.

By now, the surviving adventurers had long since retreated to a safe distance, watching in awe as this astonishing power, laden with destruction, crashed into the werewolf den.