A massive silver-white serpent coiled and lunged at Glenn with a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye.

  The battle had already stretched on for hours. When his stamina was nearly depleted, he had considered transforming once more to end the fight swiftly—something he was loath to do. The reason was simple: he had no idea what dangers awaited beyond this place. If he exhausted his strength here, he might not live to see what came next.

  Once his trump card was used, he would have nothing left to rely on.

  But then, as if fate itself intervened, a mage foolishly summoned a large, succulent boar to join the fray. Instead of panicking, Glenn felt a surge of delight. He tore the beast apart and devoured it, regaining his strength and inflicting near-fatal wounds on several melee fighters in the process.

  Had their healers not reacted in time, those warriors would have perished on the spot.

  It had to be admitted—this group fought with remarkable coordination and experience.

  For now, the serpent circling him remained alive, reserved as his emergency ration.

  The summoner who had conjured the boar hadn’t realized the absurd mistake he’d made. To them, a werewolf eating meat was nothing unusual—his boar’s death seemed perfectly reasonable.

  By then, Glenn had already begun constructing a plan in his mind, a detailed strategy to end the battle once and for all.

  While Glenn grew more composed and efficient, his opponents faltered, their strength steadily waning. None of them had expected a fifth-tier werewolf to be so agile, so cunning—his combat experience seemed to surpass theirs, and their attacks grew less and less effective.

  What a terrifying capacity for adaptation.

  “Change our attack pattern! He’s getting harder to handle!” someone shouted.

  “How are we supposed to change it? The strategy was set before the fight—no one prepared a backup plan!”

  “You’re the ones who said a mere fifth-tier werewolf would be easy! Look at us now!”

  Arguments broke out amid the chaos. They were never a truly united group—each member was proud, temperamental, and self-serving. Situations like this—where things spun out of control mid-mission—were not uncommon.

  Against brainless beasts, such disarray might not matter. But Glenn was no mindless brute.

  In a sudden burst of movement, he shifted his focus and charged at a dual-blade warrior preparing to strike from behind.

  The man’s twin-sword technique was exquisite, yet utterly futile before Glenn’s overwhelming ferocity. Within mere seconds, every defense was torn apart.

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  His wolf claws lunged toward the exposed opening in the man’s guard.

  The others reacted swiftly, but too late. Ever since the argument broke out, their rhythm had crumbled.

  The massive serpent wrapped itself around Glenn’s waist, but it did little to hinder him.

  Only the shapeshifting mage reacted in time, casting a familiar spell.

  The moment the arcane energy flared, Glenn’s attacking claw transformed—into a plump, fleshy pig’s rump.

  But Glenn had foreseen this. What seemed a straightforward strike abruptly shifted mid-motion, sweeping sideways with brutal force. The warrior’s body was lifted off the ground, twisting helplessly—

  The other claw followed instantly.

  A piercing metallic shriek filled the air as the warrior’s protective barrier shattered. Glenn’s massive claw ripped straight through him, splitting his body clean in half.

  His upper torso crashed to the ground—astonishingly still alive, perhaps thanks to his high level.

  Coughing blood, he croaked weakly, “H-help me… please…”

  His plea was met not with mercy, but with the thunderous impact of that same monstrous pig’s rump.

  Though soft and pliant by nature, under the force of a fifth-tier werewolf, it became a deadly weapon.

  Bang!

  Flesh and bone exploded in a spray of crimson.

  The battlefield fell silent. None of them had expected an actual death.

  Yes, in past hunts, casualties had occurred—but those were under poor conditions, with meager preparation. This time, they were fully equipped, armed with top-grade gear. The mission was supposed to be foolproof.

  “Stop holding back! Fight with everything you’ve got! Otherwise, you’ll be the next to die! This werewolf is far stronger than any of you imagined!”

  The voice came from above—the red cocoon-like column pulsing with fury and disappointment.

  Glenn sliced the serpent constricting his torso into chunks, chewed on a piece, then looked up at the figure on the platform.

  “Worm,” he said coolly, “don’t be in such a hurry. Once I’m done with them, you’re next. And this time, I’ll make sure you die for good.”

  The conviction in his tone ignited everyone’s rage, as if he had already declared victory.

  “I’ll tear you apart, werewolf! I swear it!”

  “Don’t think killing one man means you’ve won! He was the weakest among us!”

  “I’ll turn your pelt into a carpet—it’ll look splendid under my feet!”

  Every one of them was someone of status—elite among elites. Arrogant, pampered, revered. None of them could endure such humiliation.

  Watching their flushed faces contorted with fury, Glenn chuckled inwardly.

  Anger—the greatest enemy of reason.

  Deep within the demonic nest, the Demon Lord stood beside a roaring chasm of molten lava, one clawed hand resting on the skull of a colossal bone dragon.

  “Is this as wide as you can open it?” he murmured, as if speaking to himself.

  From within the depths came a chilling, echoing laugh—the same voice that had reverberated when the rift first split open.

  “Heh… did you really think opening a gateway between worlds would be so simple? Just locating this place consumed much of my strength. Widening the breach this far is my limit. Whether the passage holds now depends on you…”

  Though the voice filled the cavern, only the Demon Lord could discern its true meaning.

  “There shouldn’t be any surprises,” he replied confidently. “That human woman’s strength exceeded my expectations, but she’s still too weak to alter the grand design. Once this rift stabilizes, no mere humans will be able to close it.”

  “Hmph. You speak too lightly of ‘surprises,’” the voice warned. “Do not forget—this place is not our primary objective. Even if you fail to hold it, that’s of little consequence. But whatever happens, do not lose the Fang of Flames. It is worth far more than your life.”

  The Demon Lord’s gaze shifted toward his mount—The Fang of Flames.

  It was a gift from the Fire Clan’s chieftain—one of the great demon tribes. Once, it had been an ancient dragon that fell into the Abyss, transformed by the infernal fire below. Its potential was limitless—indeed, perhaps even greater than that of the Demon Lord himself.

  “I will not betray the trust of my master,” the Demon Lord said solemnly. “Under my command, the Fang of Flames will rise to the highest throne.”