Three days passed in the blink of an eye.
Soon, the mid-year assessment arrived.
"Hurry, hurry, I've lured the wild wolves!" A youth shouted anxiously as he ran frantically.
Wrapped around each of his calves was a faint green whirlwind. It was these two whirlwinds that gave him a speed surpassing that of ordinary people.
However, the wolves chasing after him were getting faster and closer.
The blazing sun shone through the trees, casting its light on the wolves, revealing their gaping mouths.
"The wolves are coming, tighten the ropes!" Four youths lying in ambush suddenly pulled up the coarse hemp ropes hidden in the bushes, instantly forming a tripwire.
The running youth leaped lightly, jumping over the tripwire, and continued running forward.
But the following wolves were tripped solidly by the tripwire, falling heavily to the ground, creating a distance of five or six meters.
"Ouch!" The four youths were also dragged by the ropes and fell to the ground, just like the wolves.
"Go!" The youth running ahead had already turned back, shouting loudly.
The people on the ground scrambled to get up, rushing towards the wolves.
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In the heart of an ancient forest, where whispers of the past intertwined with the rustling of leaves, Isolde stood serene and resolute. Her emerald eyes glimmered with an inner light, reflecting a soul in harmony with nature's boundless wonders. With her slender fingers brushing against the petal of a nearby wildflower, she seemed more a part of the woodland tapestry than a visitor.
The tranquility of this verdant paradise was suddenly shattered by the arrival of three menacing wolves, their eyes aglow with hunger and malice. They circled Isolde, their growls echoing through the trees, a grim chorus heralding violence. Unperturbed, Isolde's gaze did not falter; she breathed deeply, her connection to the life force of the forest awakening a formidable power within.
As the first wolf lunged towards her, Isolde's hands danced in the air, and the ground beneath her feet came alive. Vines, thick and robust, surged from the earth like serpents, entwining around the wolf's body, halting its advance with unyielding grasp. The creature's struggles were futile against the strength of Isolde's will, its fierce snarls diminishing into whimpers of defeat.
The second wolf attacked from behind, a blur of fur and fangs. Isolde, with a graceful pivot, extended her arms towards the sky, and from the branches above, a cascade of leaves descended like a green waterfall. They swirled around her attacker, weaving a cocoon that immobilized the wolf, its ferocity quelled by a prison of foliage.
The third wolf, witnessing the fate of its companions, hesitated, its instincts warring with the fear of this enchanting yet formidable adversary. Isolde, seizing the moment of doubt, whispered to the flowers at her feet. In response, they bloomed with unprecedented speed, releasing a cloud of pollen that enveloped the wolf. Overwhelmed by the potent soporific effect, the creature slumped to the ground, ensnared in a peaceful slumber.
As silence reclaimed the forest, Isolde stood amidst Among the corpses of 3 wild wolves.
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As the drama between Isolde and the wolves unfolded in tranquility's shadow, a different battle raged on the fringe of the forest, where the land became rugged and wild. Here, Tristan, the wolf knight, rode into the fray atop his magnificent mount, a colossal wolf whose fur shimmered like silver under the waning light. Clad in armor that bore the scars of countless encounters, Tristan's presence was a storm of valor and might.
The wolves that encircled him, drawn by a primal urge to challenge this intruder, moved with a coordination born of their untamed instincts. They darted in and out, a fluid dance of shadows attempting to overwhelm Tristan with sheer numbers. But Tristan and his wolf mount were a formidable duo, their bond forged in the heat of battle, unbreakable and profound.
With a battle cry that resonated through the forest, Tristan charged. His sword, a gleaming extension of his will, sliced through the air with precision and grace. Each stroke was a testament to his skill, honed through years of relentless training and countless skirmishes. The wolves, fierce as they were, found themselves outmatched by the knight's prowess and the ferocity of his mount.
The giant wolf beneath Tristan moved with surprising agility, its powerful jaws snapping at any wolf daring enough to venture too close. Its teeth, like daggers of bone, found their mark time and again, sending adversaries reeling in pain and fear. Together, they were a whirlwind of destruction, a dance of death for those who dared challenge their might.
Yet, for every wolf that retreated, injured or defeated, another seemed to take its place. The battle was a tempest, a clash of wills where endurance would be the key to victory. Tristan, sensing the unending tide of foes, knew that brute force alone would not secure their survival. With strategic prowess, he guided his mount, using the terrain to their advantage, forcing the wolves into narrow passages where their numbers counted for less.
The turning point came when Tristan, spotting a rocky outcrop, led a strategic retreat to its base. This position offered a natural defense, narrowing the wolves' approach. Here, he stood resolute, his sword sweeping in broad arcs, creating a barrier no beast could cross. One by one, the wolves hurled themselves into the fray, only to be met with steel and fang.
As the last of the wolves lay defeated, the silence of the aftermath enveloped Tristan and his loyal mount. They stood amidst the carnage, breaths heavy, yet undefeated.
During the second round of selecting the essence conduit, Tristan did not choose any other conduit but instead opted to strengthen his "wolf fang," enabling him to subjugate a first-level transcendent giant wolf. He followed his family's tradition and became a proud wolf knight in the castle.
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Simultaneously, in a different corner of the forest, Emeric stealthily approached a clearing where three wolves were feasting on the remains of a freshly caught deer. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that danced around him, hiding his presence.
However, the tranquility of the scene was abruptly disrupted when one of the wolves, its instincts honed to perfection, sensed an anomaly. It lifted its head, its eyes piercing through the air, locking onto Emeric. The wolf let out a warning growl, alerting its companions. Emeric, realizing that stealth was no longer an option, braced himself for the inevitable confrontation.
In this moment, Emeric tapped into his essence conduit, a rare and ancient power that coursed through his veins. His body began to contort and expand, muscles bulging, bones reshaping, until he stood on all fours, a formidable werewolf, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.
As the first wolf charged, Emeric met it with a ferocious snarl, his newfound strength and agility on full display. Claws clashed with fangs in a deadly dance. Emeric, despite his fearsome form, maneuvered with precision, using his enhanced senses to predict and dodge the wolf's attacks. With a swift motion, he managed to overpower the beast, pinning it to the ground with his massive paws, asserting his dominance without the need for a fatal blow.
The second and third wolves, undeterred by the fate of their packmate, attacked in unison, a coordinated assault that would have overwhelmed any ordinary adversary. Emeric, however, was no ordinary opponent. He unleashed a guttural roar that shook the leaves from the trees, a primal display of power. He engaged both wolves with a relentless barrage of strikes, his actions a blur of speed and ferocity. One wolf was swiftly knocked aside, dazed but alive, while the other found itself outmatched in strength, its attempts to retaliate thwarted by Emeric's overwhelming force.
As the battle reached its climax, Emeric stood tall, his chest heaving with exertion. The wolves, recognizing the might of their opponent, began to retreat, their survival instincts urging them to flee. Emeric watched them disappear into the darkness, his heart pounding with the thrill of the fight, yet heavy with the knowledge of what he had become.
He silently counted the time in his heart
As the adrenaline faded, Emeric's form shrank back to that of a man, his features softening as the beast within receded.
During the second round of selecting the essence conduit, Emeric chose the "transformation" conduit. Through the fusion with the "wolf fang," he obtained a new essence conduit that allowed him to transform into a "werewolf." Unlike the wolf knights, after transforming into a werewolf, his individual combat capability was greatly enhanced. Although there was a time limit for the transformation, he no longer needed to feed giant wolves or undergo additional enhancements to his own strength. This path was considered cost-effective, and many ascendants in the castle chose to transform into werewolves for combat.
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Meanwhile, at the edge of a dense thicket, Ewan sat in a meditative pose, his figure a silhouette against the flickering shadows cast by the flickering sunlight. Unlike Tristan, Ewan chose not to don armor or wield a sword; his connection to his essence conduit, the "Wolf Fang," manifested in a more mystical and indirect manner. Beside him, a massive wolf of extraordinary caliber, a level 1 supernatural entity, stood as a testament to Ewan's prowess in enhancing his conduit.
Ewan's bond with the giant wolf was profound, forged through shared trials and a deep, mutual respect for the wild's untamed spirit. As he closed his eyes, his consciousness melded with that of the wolf, guiding its actions from afar. The beast moved with a grace and ferocity that belied its size, its eyes glinting with a sharp intelligence.
The battle unfolded in a clearing, where the giant wolf found itself encircled by a pack of wild wolves, their numbers a clear advantage. Yet, the supernatural wolf moved with an agility that seemed to mock the limitations of its form, its jaws snapping shut with lethal precision on any wolf that dared too close. Each movement was a blur, each attack a testament to the bond between Ewan and his companion.
Ewan, though physically distant, was far from passive. As his spirit intertwined with that of the giant wolf, he summoned his unique ability to influence the battlefield. From beneath the earth, small vines began to emerge, unassuming at first glance, yet they played a crucial role in the unfolding drama. With a subtle guidance, Ewan directed these tendrils to entangle the feet of the attacking wolves, their surprise and confusion breaking their coordination and momentum. Some were tripped mid-leap, tumbling into their comrades and creating openings for the giant wolf to exploit.
The giant wolf's assaults became more targeted, taking advantage of the chaos sown by Ewan's vines. It would isolate and swiftly neutralize one wolf after another, its tactics adapting to the changing dynamics of the fight.
As the last of the wild wolves falling to the ground, the giant wolf ceased its pursuit, turning to gaze in the direction of Ewan. Even from a distance, a silent communication passed between them, an acknowledgment of their victory and the bond that made it possible. Ewan opened his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as he felt a surge of pride and affection for his companion. The vines receded into the earth as if they were never there, leaving the clearing peaceful once more, the night once again claimed by the quiet sounds of the forest.
Ewan rose, his connection with the giant wolf allowing him a momentary glimpse through its eyes, sharing in its triumph.