Lingchen Yao clenched a fruit knife, back flat against the alley’s greasy wall, eyes narrowed like slits in storm clouds as he scanned the street.

Chaos churned like a broken tide. People lay trampled, a scatter of fallen reeds in a flood. Three Magic Maidens of the First Symphony were locking down a gray wolf, too busy to soothe the panicked crowd.

One hundred thirty-one beasts—minus the Crimson hawk wheeling overhead, that left one hundred thirty.

Wolves hunt as a pack, a winter wind with many teeth.

So this wasn’t the only gray wolf. He didn’t dare burst from the alley—step into open ground and he’d be the lantern moth, and the wolf the flame. If three First Symphony Magic Maidens couldn’t finish it, a normal guy like him would be nothing but a plate set out for a hungry guest. He refused to gamble.

But staying here—

The alley was filthy and narrow, a damp gullet no one walked. Canines scent like rain on dust; this nook wasn’t safe. A gray wolf could track him like a needle finds thread, bite through his neck, and end him in one snap.

While he weighed it, the street’s battle-noise cut off. Silence pressed like glass on his ears, then ripped open with a scream. Gunshots cracked after, followed by helpless calls.

He edged an eye out, peering again. A massive gray wolf drifted from the shelter’s direction, blood slicking its gray mane like rust on steel. It chewed something wet and fibrous. Its jade-green eyes grazed the two remaining girls with the hunger of a winter night.

A green-clad girl held a dull black pistol, feet skidding backward like a leaf dragged by wind. Her outfit hung in ragged strips, claw-gouges deep to the bone. Her shaking finger pulled the trigger. Dark-gold rounds rode a wave of heat, slammed into the wolf’s plush fur, and rang like steel on steel.

Old-tech from a bygone age—pure hot weapons. Most Order Keeper Magic Maidens of the First Symphony carried them to patch their lighter combat power.

No use. This wolf’s hide was a slate mountain.

Terror flashed over the girls’ faces. The giant wolf walked with an awful grace, eyes flicking between them, choosing its next “lucky” meal to enter its belly.

The limping wolf from before licked a heart-shaped Magic Stone, Blood smeared like a red petal. Pale-pink tatters lay everywhere, fading into starlight as they drifted apart.

That Magic Stone!

It took down a First Symphony girl in a blink? That thing was on par with Cantata Two—or even the third rank.

No way… this unlucky?

Then forget this route. He’d circle another way.

Lingchen Yao softened his steps, inching out of the alley like a shadow sliding off a wall.

Bzz—bzz—

His whole body jolted, locked up. He yanked out his buzzing phone and killed Chen Xiaoyin’s call in a heartbeat.

Did they… hear that?

Of course. Luck rotted to the core.

A black shape flashed before him—the limping wolf. It still staggered, but its wound had knit a dark-red scab around torn flesh. Soon, it would run like wind again.

He tightened on the fruit knife. This was the worst draw. If it were something slow, he might bolt. But this was a wolf.

A wolf—agility like blades of rain, bite force like a snapping trap.

He couldn’t outrun a wolf. He couldn’t stop a wolf.

If nothing changed, he was a dead candle.

The wolf lunged, jaws yawning like a bloody gate. Its green eyes mocked, as if saying, Even if you taste worse than those three, you’ll fill my belly fine.

Run or freeze—both were wrong. He slashed the Blade again and again, carving only empty air.

The wolf’s leap landed. Its teeth locked on his forearm. A tug—flesh and fabric tore free like wet paper. The stench of Blood flooded the alley. Muscles near his elbow jittered from pain. His Blade slipped, clattered to the ground with a clear, trembling ring.

The wolf licked the Blood at its mouth; its green eyes sparked like winter lanterns. Its tail whipped, body lowered, hind legs coiled. It was set to strike again, eager for a second harvest.

“Hey, kid, you’re gonna die…”

A harsh mechanical voice knifed through his skull—the same as the Eye Orb from his rented room.

“Go left, kid!”

The command fell like iron. Lingchen moved on instinct, jumping left. Claws skimmed his right arm, scoring a shallow, burning line.

“Close…”

He hadn’t even drawn a breath when the wolf came again—faster, harder, a storm rolling downhill. Orders reached him, but his body lagged. He threw up both arms to guard his chest.

Impact lifted him and spun him. His backpack slammed a concrete corner. Blood climbed his throat, hot as smoke. The scent excited the wolf; it squinted in bliss, savoring the taste of fear blooming on Lingchen Yao’s face.

The more a prey fears, the sweeter the meat.

It bared bloody fangs; saliva poured like resin. It copied the giant wolf’s pace, savoring each step toward him.

“You’ve got one shot. Play dead—like you’re done.”

The Eye Orb spoke, and doubt flared like thorns. He didn’t trust it.

“You don’t have to trust me. I’ll still speak. What’s left in me says this: Dreadwolves live in the shallow Abyss, feeding on flesh steeped in fear. Abyss Monsters crave rich Mana—Magic Stones or a modified me. What’s inside me is premium stock. If they eat me, they can evolve higher.”

It made ugly sense. Lingchen squinted; a red film at his eye-corner turned the world foggy. He could only make out a gray-red shape easing closer.

“You die, I die.”

No time for silence. He weighed the ledger fast.

“If you die here, you can’t chase the past, right?”

The mechanical voice grew urgent, like wires heating.

“I’ll trust you once… just this once.”

He went slack like a dead fish. Left hand gripped the fruit knife. Right hand pressed the ground, gathering a coil of strength.

“Its weak point’s the Magic Stone tucked in the fur along its back! Low-tier Abyss Monsters can’t live without their Magic Stone! Your knife… trash material, but if you force it, you can pry it! Use everything—every last bit!”

Cold from the wolf washed over him. It stood near; he couldn’t see. He could only wager on the Eye Orb.

“Kick back hard. Think nothing. Rise, then cut! Now!”

Lingchen snapped up from the ground. The wolf’s steps hitched; deep in its green pupils, two blue sparks lit. He drove the fruit Blade into its spine, levered up, then cut again.

He didn’t stop till the back was a red ruin. The Magic Stone tore free trailing flesh, rolled across the street like a dark heart. The wolf staggered two turns and sank to a thin whine.

The giant wolf smelled a kin’s death, raised a forepaw high, and swatted the two Magic Maidens into the earth like fallen petals. Lingchen had barely stood when it ghosted behind him; its breath burned his cheek like a furnace. He clutched his right hand and backed away, step after shaky step.

“Awooo!!”

The roar shook steel and concrete; its weight ripped his eardrums like paper. Blood threaded from his ears.

His body hit the wall of itself, half-propped on the ground.

Don’t fall… don’t die here.

The giant wolf’s eyes curled with mockery. A lazy paw sent him cartwheeling. It didn’t want him to die too soon.

If I drop here… everything I’ve done is for nothing.

His face went wax-pale; his mouth brimmed with Blood.

He hated his powerless hands. He loathed the smallness of himself.

Yes. Cause and sin—rooted in weakness. Weakness gets you killed. Weakness makes you lose.

“Eye Orb, anything else?”

“Kid, you see as much as I do—nothing. We’re about to die. It won’t give you a clean end… There’s a way, but my database says you don’t meet the conditions.”

“Fine… kid, I don’t want to die early either. And turn into a pile of waste…”

The Eye Orb swelled, hopped onto his left wrist. A silver-gray bracelet flashed like a shard of moon, set with a hexagram of jet-black Magic Stone polished to a mirror.

“A dragon of elder legend—crossing Abyss, starlight, and time—casts calamity and judgement upon the mortal world!”

A vast hexagram carved itself into the ground. Blood seeped into the lines like river ink. An immense Abyssal Aura rose, black wind coiling from stone. The giant wolf flinched as if hammered, dared not step.

The Abyssal Aura circled the city’s sky like smoke from an ancient pyre, then thinned and scattered. The giant wolf bared its teeth, charging in with emerald fury. It lifted its foreleg to give this ant a last, crushing blow.

Pressure fell like a mountain. The claws’ shadow stretched in sunlight, crawling nearer, nearer.

This time… I’m really dead. Miracles belong to protagonists, after all…

His body burst; Blood drowned the hexagram in crimson.

A pair of black-gold slitted eyes snapped open. From beneath the hexagram, a blurred voice rose like thunder from a cave.

“I grant.”