Chapter 187: Paradise
The torn clouds seemed to be enveloped in golden Holy Light as they descended, like a golden rain.
The light of the White Star shone down upon the earth for the first time in a long while. George looked up at the bright White Star, feeling the touch of golden droplets falling on his face and the Holy Light power contained within them, and finally, his tense body relaxed.
He knelt on one knee, propped up by the longsword in his hand, panting heavily.
His body felt drained of all strength, his internal temperature was extremely high, and the breath he exhaled was scorching. His head throbbed as though it were being torn apart. George felt it was difficult even to twitch a finger.
His eyeballs moved slightly as he glanced at Flint, whose bones and internal organs had been shattered by the impact, his body still emitting faint smoke.
The Wolf King still had not died from George's impact. The fury in the Wolf King's mouth had momentarily blocked the strike, and in that brief instant, the Wolf King had escaped.
George did not know whether the so-called noble curse mentioned by the Wolf King was true or false, nor did he care much to find out.
Just the fact that Flint had colluded with the Dark Creatures was enough to seal his fate, especially after he had summoned the Werewolves directly upon realizing the matter was about to be exposed.
If, by his actions, he had protected many humans and in the end had not brought the Werewolves to them, George might have chosen to grant him a dignified death.
But now...
After recovering some strength, George walked over and swung his sword, beheading him.
...
In the Wolf Fort, the Wolf King Ymir lay prone on the ground. His furred body was trembling, damaged and bleeding, with faint Pale Golden Light occasionally flickering across him.
Before him, Hode hung bound on a Cross Painted in Blood, his head hanging low, completely unconscious, yet Ymir felt as though he was being mocked by him.
"Ughroar" With a low growl, his eyes filled with savagery. "I have already felt the wrath in his heart. But you? Wrath?"
"A Dumb Dog, do you think he’s an idiot like you?" a furious voice resounded. "He’s a knight! Have you already forgotten how terrifying human knights are? Even those Virtuous Knights of the Church Nation can resist my erosion with sheer willpower, let alone that knight of his! You fool, you knew how terrifying he was, and yet you still provoked him!"
"If it weren’t for those lunatics from the Church Nation—from the ones inside the Zeda Holy City to the sinful believers blessed by us outside—none of whom harbor much wrath, I wouldn’t even bother with you, you dumb dog!"
"That idiot Gluttony... just what kind of monstrosities did he raise!"
"The wrath harvested from those sinful believers isn’t even comparable to that of the lowly Fishmen!"
"And you, this dumb dog, I only came here to absorb the wrath from the humans in your so-called Paradise, not to fight that madman! Even Gluttony had one-third of his origin smashed through the seal by him. That power was accumulated over tens of thousands of years within the seal."
"You, dumb dog, how could you understand our greatness, the strength of that seal, the terror of someone who could pierce it... and yet you still provoked him over a mere human."
"And worst of all, you kept his people here, and even summoned me! Have you never read their Holy Scriptures?"
"You are at best his toy. But we are his enemies! Dumb Dog, if you can’t replenish the power of this incarnation I’ve lost here in your Paradise, then it shall be taken as your declaration of war against me!"
"Hmph, even though right now we are merely fragments of thought awakened outside the seal, even with the pitiful power gifted by the sinful believers... that model of Faith used to control hearts... it’s surprisingly effective..."
The voice of fury gradually weakened, while Ymir’s eyes trembled as he looked at the person on the Cross Painted in Blood before him.
Through the thin layer of flesh barely clinging to the bones, the heart—once beating sluggishly—suddenly thumped powerfully. The sound of that heartbeat pressed down on Ymir like a dominion, just as he once used authority to suppress humans.
So this was the suppression that the will of that existence could exert?
Even now, Ymir could compare this sensation to when he had faced that knight.
At that time, it had felt like being entangled by Threads; now, it was like being crushed under a mountain.
His limbs were crushed against the ground, creaking under pressure. The Wolf God’s Crown atop his head trembled violently, its fangs madly embedding themselves into Ymir’s skull.
The excruciating pain of his body being crushed and his skull being torn apart made Ymir want to scream, but under that suppression, he could only let out gurgling sounds.
Then he saw that from the heart now beating violently, Holy Light began to shine, filling the heart with purity and beauty.
But under that Holy Light, Ymir felt a dissolving pain all over his body. The Wolf God’s Crown atop his head bored into his skull while also seemingly struggling outward.
Pain, pain, pain—endless pain. The exterior burned, and the interior surged with power injected into his bones by the Wolf God’s Crown after piercing his skull.
It was like a tsunami flooding into a stream—agony.
Ymir knew that was the divine power of the Wolf God, the same power he once used to bestow upon Upper-Ranked Werewolves.
Beyond the pain, Ymir sensed a burden lifting from his will—he knew that the wrath dwelling in his own will had been purified.
As he realized this, the Holy Light slowly dimmed.
So the actions of that existence were merely to purify Wrath—not to target him.
His present pain was just a faint spillover of power during the purification process by that existence.
Suddenly, Ymir understood the words of Wrath.
The suppression gradually faded, the pain of his body melting away receded, leaving only the burning sensation. His head heavy, Ymir slowly drifted into slumber.
Even after he fell asleep, the Wolf God’s Crown atop his head continued growing, until nearly the entire crown had embedded into Ymir’s skull. New fangs twisted and fused, forming two symmetrical backward-curving hard horns.
Long after, two Werewolves entered and lifted the mass of bloody flesh that was Ymir.
The eyes of the two Werewolves were dull, their pupils contracted to needlepoints.
They carried Ymir swiftly through the halls, arriving at a place enclosed by grid-like fences.
Inside the fenced spaces were about a dozen humans.
Leftover meat was tossed on the ground, reeking and unidentifiable. On one side of the fence lay a long stone trough filled with moldy, dark yellow Wheat Flour mixed with gray, dirty water.
This was the Werewolves’ Paradise, and such fenced human enclosures, each holding around ten people, were known among Werewolves as Human Pens.
The humans inside were naked and filthy. There was only one scrawny man; the others were plump or even obese women.
When the Werewolves carried in Ymir, one man was still working. Yet whether it was him or the woman working with him, neither showed any trace of pleasure—only distorted expressions.
"Heh heh… Not… bad," one Werewolf grinned, his stinking mouth revealing satisfaction at the scene.
The people merely glanced at the Werewolves and Ymir, then numbly queued for their turn to work.
"Human… servants… to be able to serve… the great Wolf God… is your… honor… and your reward… for working hard…" they said, placing Ymir inside the Human Pen, then retreating far back, wearing eerie smiles.
The people inside just stared blankly.
With a pop, their chests suddenly burst open, and hearts floated up.
As if an invisible Werewolf had ripped open their chests and plucked out their hearts.
The heartless bodies slumped to the ground. The man and woman who had been working fell together, blood from their chest wounds mingling, as though they embraced each other in solace.
The hearts hovered above Ymir’s body, spinning, and red blood was drawn from them, continuously pouring into the two horns atop Ymir’s head, staining them crimson.
Then the power converted by the horns was channeled throughout Ymir’s body, repairing his wounds.
By the time more than ten hearts had been completely drained, Ymir's eyes suddenly snapped open, pupils dilated then abruptly contracted, finally regaining focus.
He pushed himself up with his hands, bones creaking and stretching. Though his skin still burned and his fur had not returned, at least Ymir could now move.
He looked toward the two Werewolves kneeling outside the Human Pen and walked over.
Their tails wagged as if congratulating their master.
Ymir’s lips twitched—whether it was a smile or due to pain was unclear.
Then he struck, tearing open their skulls and scrambling their brains.
The Werewolves, like the human servants, had now offered themselves to the great Wolf God.
Ymir’s gaze shifted, glancing at the other Human Pens before finally walking away.
Not long after Ymir left, two abnormally fat humans approached. They wore slaughter aprons reeking of blood, their skin deathly pale, surrounded by flesh-eating flies. Their arms had been severed—iron hooks replaced their left hands, and jagged slaughter knives were fixed to their right.
They entered the Human Pen, dragging a body with their left hook to the Pen’s material processing workshop. Soon after, they had processed the “materials” and pushed a food cart to distribute rations. At each Pen, they used their left hook to toss in several large chunks of food.
The humans inside watched blankly. Only when the cart left did they suddenly pounce like beasts, devouring the food while growling with crack crack sounds that mimicked Werewolf howls to guard their food.
Although feeding three Pens consumed one “material,” it didn’t matter—just now, the bodies from that one Pen were enough to feed this entire cluster.
Suddenly, childish howls echoed in the distance.
The two fat cart-pushers raised their heads, revealing strange smiles.
Another newborn Werewolf had been born. This was already the second one today. These young wolves would grow up in this cluster of Human Pens and soon become mature Werewolves, then dedicate their lives to the Wolf King Ymir, becoming his children.
And such clusters of Human Pens—nearly a hundred of them—existed across the land near the Northwind Mountains.
Almost every day, more than a hundred Werewolves were born.
Considering the Werewolves' weak natural reproductive abilities, such places where Werewolves could be born through unnatural means were undoubtedly their Paradise.
However, these “mothers” were ultimately consumables, so the Werewolves had to find new sources of mothers before the current Paradise was depleted.