Volume Five — Arc One: Nameless Ascension
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It was a beautiful day.
The sky was clear blue, and the air carried a refreshing chill.
The planet Sylvanor was well known throughout the worlds, inhabited by a unique race unlike any other.
Its people possessed bodies strikingly similar to humans. They stood on two legs, had two arms, and wore heavy garments.
Most of the time, long gray cloaks woven from white feathers draped across their backs.
Everything about them appeared ordinary—
except for their heads.
Wolf heads that completely shattered the illusion of humanity.
Some possessed gray fur.
Others black.
And some were pure white.
They were proud warriors, a race specializing in heavy weapons and savage battles that demanded overwhelming endurance.
And today—
their morale seemed higher than ever.
An enormous number of werewolves had gathered tonight before a colossal castle unlike anything ordinary eyes could behold.
Its walls were forged from black stone, while its towering fortifications were made of metal bearing the same dark hue.
The werewolves stood patiently before the castle gates, waiting in disciplined silence.
Each of them hoped their name would be called.
Hoped to be chosen.
The guards protecting the castle were completely different from them.
They resembled humans far more closely, their expressions stern and unyielding—
especially their captain, who appeared permanently enraged.
"What a terrifying warrior..."
"I cannot measure his level no matter how hard I try."
The voice belonged to a gray-furred werewolf standing over two meters tall.
A savage-looking beast with a massive sword resting upon his back while his armored arms remained folded across his chest.
A scar ran across his right eye, giving him the appearance of a seasoned veteran hardened by countless wars.
His gaze never left the captain of the guards.
There was interest within those eyes.
The kind born from warriors who longed to test themselves against the strong.
"Stop staring at him like that."
"Or he might actually attack you."
Another werewolf approached, pulling the gray wolf’s attention away from the guards.
The gray-furred warrior turned around and found another werewolf standing behind him.
This one was slightly shorter and less muscular, his fur completely black.
"Yura... so you came after all."
The gray wolf spoke calmly.
The one called Yura bared his fangs in a grin.
"It’s been a while, Silverfang."
Yura greeted him before turning toward the castle, excitement clear in his eyes.
"There was no way I’d miss this."
"Even if reaching this place required days of nonstop running."
Silverfang’s smile widened slightly upon hearing that.
"You sound awfully confident. Do you really think they’ll choose you?"
"And why wouldn’t they?"
"I’m one of the strongest Night Wolves!"
Yura shouted proudly while unsheathing a long blade resembling a katana—
except far larger.
A gigantic katana, one could say.
"Look at you boasting already."
"I bet you’ll die the moment they pick you."
"I heard the chosen ones are sent to the cruelest battlefields imaginable... and only a handful ever return."
Yura shook his head at those words.
"I wouldn’t mind dying for him."
"We owe him far too much."
"At least that part is true." Silverfang answered quietly, his gaze returning toward the imposing dark castle.
Around them, countless werewolves had gathered.
Some cheered enthusiastically.
Others howled loudly in perfect coordination with one another.
They genuinely looked happy.
"If he hadn’t saved us..."
"Our brothers would’ve never been able to smile or laugh like this again."
"We truly owe him."
Silverfang’s eyes carried a distant look as he stared at the dark castle ahead.
"But I honestly wonder, Yura..."
"Is it really right to throw away this life we barely reclaimed... just to serve him?"
"To die for him?"
Silverfang’s gaze carried a complicated mixture of gratitude, doubt, and uncertainty.
He knew many would be selected today.
And most of them would almost certainly die on the battlefield.
"We’re repaying a debt, Silverfang."
"We aren’t the type to deny kindness."
"We were born for battle."
"And we can never run from the battlefield—you know that better than anyone."
Yura spoke firmly, fully prepared to fight and die without hesitation.
Silverfang let out a troubled sigh.
"At the very least... I hope he spares those incapable of fighting."
"I hope he only takes the strongest among us."
That was Silverfang’s wish.
A hope that his people would at least be granted that much mercy.
Yura sighed as well, clearly doubtful.
"Our race was born to fight."
"If I were in his place, I’d take every single one of us."
"We’re all capable warriors."
"But let’s hope, Silver..."
"Let’s hope he’s merciful."
The moment the black-furred werewolf finished speaking ...
a massive horn suddenly echoed from the castle itself.
Its thunderous sound silenced the entire gathering instantly, announcing the arrival of the moment everyone had been waiting for.
The perpetually angry man stepped onto the platform.
Then he declared in a deep voice that struck like an earthquake, forcing everyone present to listen.
"Those whose names are called, step forward."
"Lord Nameless has arrived."
"And the baptism shall now begin."
The instant that announcement was made, many of the werewolves stiffened.
Some looked excited.
Others anxious.
Others outright afraid.
Conflicting emotions spread through the crowd.
Some saw him as a savior.
Others saw merely another king hungry for their strength.
But a debt remained a debt.
And debts had to be repaid.
Soon, the furious man announced the first name on the list.
"The Gray Wolf... Silverfang!!"
The moment his name echoed across the gathering, most of the werewolves turned toward him immediately.
Everyone knew Silverfang.
He was their war general.
Silverfang himself looked slightly surprised before letting out an awkward laugh.
"Seriously...?"
"I’m first?"
"That’s only natural." Yura said with a grin.
"You’re the strongest among us."
"Or did you forget?"
Silverfang sighed before stepping forward in response to the summons.
His people ...
his entire race ...
looked upon him with admiration and respect.
And they opened a path for him, allowing him to walk all the way toward the gates of the dark castle.
Silver stepped out from the crowd, emerging before the guards and the furious-looking man who stared down at him from above.
Then the werewolf threw aside his cloak and declared at the top of his lungs, fully prepared to walk this path to the very end—
"My name is Silverfang, leader of the Gray Wolves!"
"I abandon my authority, my status... and even my name!"
Silver spoke firmly before hesitating for a brief moment.
It was a decision he had spent countless days contemplating.
"From this moment onward, my loyalty belongs to the Nameless One... and my allegiance shall belong to the great Shadow Sect!!"
Silver drew the massive sword resting upon his back before thrusting it deep into the ground and kneeling on one knee in respect.
The furious guard nodded in satisfaction.
Then the gates slowly opened before the gray werewolf.
"Proceed."
Angry spoke coldly, welcoming the first among the new recruits.
And so, Silver entered.
The werewolf stepped forward heavily and crossed through the gate—
only for a horrifying wave of auras to crash into him instantly, freezing him in place.
His body trembled violently.
And the shock reflected perfectly within his eyes after realizing something terrifying.
The furious guard whose strength had amazed him...
was neither the second strongest nor the third.
He was not even among the ten strongest beings within this cursed place Silver had just entered.