The Demonized Leopard was a Shadow Leopard, attuned to dark elemental power, with the black spots on its fur serving as proof of its mastery. As a Shadow Leopard, its greatest strength wasn't direct confrontation but ambush and tracking. Following the faint traces left behind by the old wolf, the Shadow Leopard arrived at its cave just before nightfall.
The old wolf was slow to react. Despite its years of experience allowing it to wake immediately and avoid the Shadow Leopard's initial strike, the predator still blocked the cave entrance, unwilling to let the thief escape.
The old wolf's single remaining eye glimmered coldly in the darkness, locked onto the Shadow Leopard with an unyielding gaze. Combined with its blinded, festering eye socket, the wolf's appearance was one of pure menace.
The Shadow Leopard, on the other hand, moved with the grace of a cat, circling the wolf cautiously and searching for an opening. Its muscles were tense, its head low, and though it seemed composed, it was far from relaxed.
After a brief standoff, the old wolf lunged first. Unlike the younger, more energetic Shadow Leopard, the old wolf couldn't afford a prolonged battle. Its muscles, already tight from the standoff, ached painfully as its wounds tore open further. Pus dripped from its blind eye socket, making its expression even more grotesque.
The Shadow Leopard was cunning and perceptive, fully aware of the old wolf's deteriorating condition. It made no move to pursue or provoke further; instead, it simply blocked the cave entrance. This time, the leopard was determined to end this intruder once and for all. The night belonged to the Shadow Leopard, and the faint glow of dark elemental energy shimmered on its black spots as the surrounding shadows seemed to gather around it, enhancing its speed. This fight would end in death for one of them—the Shadow Leopard was certain of that.
Though the wolf was physically weaker and slower, it had one undeniable advantage: its magical attunement was far deeper than the leopard's. Magical creatures didn't necessarily grow stronger with age, but the longer they lived, the more elemental power they accumulated. Both creatures had their strengths, and neither backed down. The wolf knew it couldn't outlast the Shadow Leopard, so it took the initiative and attacked.
...
The battle ended inconclusively. The old wolf's hind leg was left crippled by the Shadow Leopard's bite, while the leopard suffered a deep, three-inch wound across its soft underbelly, exposing its internal organs. The Shadow Leopard could no longer pursue; it needed time to heal. As one of the dominant predators of the region, it had many rivals of equal strength. Magical creatures were intelligent—they rarely fought to mutual destruction. Though the wound looked fatal, with enough time and food, the Shadow Leopard would recover.
The old wolf wasn't so fortunate. While the Shadow Leopard's wound would eventually heal, the wolf's shattered hind leg was beyond repair. The corrosive dark elemental energy lingering in the bite ensured that the leg would never recover.
The night wind cut like blades against the old wolf's ragged fur. Its blinded eye, crippled leg, and numerous festering wounds signaled the inevitable—its time was coming to an end. Patches of its fur were torn out, leaving bare skin exposed to the cold. The wolf's remaining eye glimmered coldly in the night as it thought back to better days. Five or six years ago, it could have faced this Shadow Leopard alone and emerged victorious, perhaps even killing it outright.
But there were no 'what-ifs' in the wild. The law of survival was clear: only the strong endure. The old wolf could feel death approaching. Whether it was tonight, tomorrow, or a month from now, it wouldn't be long.
"Awoooo~~~"
The old wolf howled atop the mountain ridge, its lone eye reflecting the moon's pale light. In that howl was a lifetime of memories: battles fought to claim dominance over its pack, leading them through the outskirts of the Mophy Forest, ruling its territory with pride.
The memories felt so vivid that the wolf's eye grew moist. Its howl carried not just sorrow but defiance—a final cry against the cruel inevitability of fate and the injustice of a world ruled by strength alone.
The mournful howl of the old wolf echoed between the Bering Mountains, reverberating through the valleys. Many beasts and magical creatures hiding in their dens emerged one after another, responding to the old wolf's call with their own howls.
From an outsider's perspective, the old wolf's behavior seemed like a death wish. Its howl was a provocation to every dominant creature in the Bering Mountains. At any moment, another magical beast might respond to the challenge and fight the old wolf to the death.
But the old wolf didn't care. It continued howling at the moon, pouring its final traces of vitality into this cry—a final farewell to the world.
Moonlight quietly bathed the old wolf's body. Its brown fur gradually turned a luminous white under the silvery glow, though the wolf remained unaware of the transformation. As it howled, its throat quivered, and its body began to change. The wolf, previously one meter tall and two meters long, slowly grew to one and a half meters in height. Though its length remained unchanged, its frame now carried the robust build of a tiger.
The transformation brought an immediate change to the wolf's senses. A warm sensation spread across its body, and the sharp pain from its wounds turned into a dull numbness. The old wolf finally stopped howling, bewildered as it looked down at its transformed form.
Perhaps it was the wolf's deep attachment to life that unlocked this hidden potential, or perhaps fate had decided to grant it one last stroke of fortune. In an astonishing turn of events, the old wolf had absorbed the moonlight and comprehended an elemental affinity close to fire—light.
Moon Wolves, low-tier magical creatures, are known for their agility and keen hunting instincts. Moonlight serves as both their greatest camouflage and their most vital source of power. Wherever moonlight shines, Moon Wolves thrive.
As a magical creature aligned with fire, the old wolf was supposed to evolve into a Fire Wolf upon advancing. However, becoming a Moon Wolf—a noble among magical wolves—was nothing short of a miracle.
The old wolf's single eye, glowing with a faint green light, gazed at its now snow-white fur in astonishment. Was this still itself? It sniffed at its own body, confirming the familiar scent. Overwhelmed with excitement, it let out another long howl.
Having lived for so many years, the old wolf immediately realized it had advanced. A low-tier magical creature is a force to be reckoned with, even in the outskirts of the Mophy Forest. The old wolf had witnessed countless times how these creatures dominated weaker magical beings. For the old wolf, becoming a low-tier magical creature had been an unreachable dream—until now.
This time, the wolf's howl carried less of twilight's sorrow and more of dawn's vitality. There were few magical creatures in the Bering Mountains, and the wolf's howl—laced with newfound strength—commanded respect. The creatures that had been echoing its earlier howls fell silent. With their sensitivity to elemental energies and sound, they all understood: the howling beast was now a low-tier magical creature.
After this triumphant howl, the old wolf fell silent. Its injuries hadn't healed. Advancing to a low-tier magical creature couldn't restore its blind eye or fix its crippled leg. Its body was still heavily wounded. But Moon Wolves carried the power of light, and light—second only to the life element—possessed remarkable healing abilities. With enough moonlight, the old wolf's body would slowly mend itself.
While advancing wouldn't increase its lifespan, becoming a Moon Wolf granted the old wolf an additional ten years—an inherent advantage of the light element. This was why Moon Wolves were considered noble among magical wolves.
The old wolf remained itself, but now it had clawed its way back from the brink of death, transforming into an aged but reborn Moon Wolf. In reality, the wolf was only in its twenties. Compared to the forty-year lifespan of most Moon Wolves, it should have been in its prime. But its heavy injuries had permanently shortened its life. Even with this miraculous advancement, it had only about ten years left to live.
The wolf didn't care about its short lifespan. Instead, it felt grateful—grateful for this final twist of fate. It wasn't thinking about revenge on the Shadow Leopard. Instead, it dreamed of returning to its old pack, reclaiming its position as the pack leader. A wolf pack led by a low-tier magical creature would be far more formidable than one led by a mere magical beast. With such leadership, their numbers would double, and their strength would grow immensely. The wolf, a creature of community, no longer wished to remain a lone wanderer.
However, the light element coursing through its body was still faint. Most of it had already been absorbed by the wolf's most severe injuries—the blind eye and the crippled leg—while the rest dispersed to heal the wolf's scattered wounds. Its blind eye, long decayed, could never be fully restored, but at least the pain had eased. Its injured hind leg, however, still had a chance to heal since the damage was recent.
The cold night wind blew across the wolf's pale fur, but it no longer felt the biting chill. Above, the moon glowed brightly, an endless reservoir of power for the Moon Wolf.
For a magical creature, there are two primary ways to heal: through the gradual restoration of elemental energy or by consuming large quantities of food. The old wolf, having just advanced, had expended all its energy on healing. Its elemental reserves were now nearly empty, and the only way to replenish them was through sustenance.
Its sharp nose twitched, catching a faint scent on the breeze. This was no ordinary scent—it was human.
In its younger days, the old wolf had hunted humans who wandered too far into the outskirts of the Mophy Forest. Human flesh was far more tender and flavorful than that of wild beasts. Saliva pooled in the wolf's mouth as it began to follow the scent, limping yet determined.