The air on the surface of Silver Peak was significantly thinner and colder than the suffocating dampness of the Under-City.Aroan stepped out of a narrow alleyway flanked by two magnificent mansions in the Merchant District. The secret entrance—an illusory brick wall he had just passed through—seamlessly sealed shut behind him. None of the passing nobles walking the pristine cobblestone streets had the slightest inkling that directly beneath their polished boots, the forces of The Hollowed were currently seizing control of the city's vital arteries.Aroan adjusted the pitch-black half-mask on his face. His tattered cloak had been replaced by a mid-grade wolf-leather duster confiscated from the Silver Rats' headquarters, flawlessly concealing his true identity. To the outside world, he was merely "Vane"—a wandering mercenary exuding a profoundly ordinary Rank D+ mana aura, one who had simply gotten lucky enough to acquire a VIP token.Nyx, the Rank B- Primal Lord, had dissolved into mi

The air within Silver Peak’s Under-City always felt suffocating, perpetually reeking of a foul concoction of damp moss, rust, and profound despair. Tonight, however, that stench was overpowered by the acrid scent of magical torches and burning oil carried by five hundred elite Silver Knights.The military force marched in lockstep down the primary stairwell of Sector 7. The rhythmic clanking of their armor shattered the subterranean silence. Their formation was flawlessly tight; interlocking shields created an impenetrable wall of silver, while long spears protruded forward like the quills of a giant, metallic porcupine.Leading the purge operation at the very front of the vanguard was General Kaelus.Kaelus was no ordinary commander. He was a Rank C+ Storm Wolf shifter and Prince Aroan’s former personal swordmaster. The middle-aged man with silver-streaked hair was notorious for his ruthless, unforgiving nature. He was the very instructor who used to beat Aroan to a bloody pulp durin

The midday sun beat down relentlessly, baking the pristine white sands of the Silver Peak Coliseum. The roars of a hundred thousand spectators echoed like deafening, continuous thunder. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, rusted metal, and bloody anticipation. This was not merely a martial arts tournament; for the Lunaris Pack, it was a sacrificial ritual designed to showcase their absolute supremacy to the world.The preliminary round for the independent bracket had commenced. The rules were brutally simple: a Royal Rumble. Five hundred fighters—consisting of seasoned mercenaries, black-market gladiators, and delegates from minor clans—were thrown into the same massive arena. There were no weapon restrictions. There was no time limit. The fight would only conclude when exactly ten individuals remained standing.Aroan stood near the edge of the arena, his black duster sweeping just above the sand. His half-mask perfectly concealed his expression. He had not drawn the Eclipse

The atmosphere inside the Silver Peak Coliseum had reached a boiling point. One hundred thousand spectators roared, stomped their feet, and chanted the names of their champions. The air was thick, shimmering with residual magic and the palpable anticipation of a bloodbath.Standing in the center of the pristine white sand arena was General Thorne. He was a Five-Star Lunaris Knight, a highly revered Storm Wolf shifter (Rank C+) within the capital. His silver armor gleamed blindingly under the midday sun. In his right hand, he gripped a heavy spear enshrouded in violently swirling wind mana. By his side stood his spirit beast: a Storm Wolf the height of a grown man’s chest, its bluish-grey fur discharging miniature sparks of lightning every time it growled. "The first fighter from the honorable Lunaris faction has entered the arena!" the announcer's voice echoed through the magical amplification crystals. "General Thorne! Hero of the northern borders! And his opponent... the independ

Dawn broke over Silver Peak, bathing the pristine white marble city in a blinding, golden luminescence. Today was no ordinary day. It marked the official commencement of the Lunaris Clan Tournament, running concurrently with the legendary Blood Silver Festival. Tens of thousands of visitors—ranging from allied clan nobles to weapon merchants to commoners—flooded the streets of the capital. The deafening roar of the crowds and the triumphant blast of ceremonial trumpets echoed through the air, celebrating a majesty specifically designed to mask the rotting corruption beneath it.Deep underground, within the freezing darkness of Sector 7, Aroan stood completely still. His worn, black wolf-leather duster brushed against the dusty stone floor. The pitch-black half-mask sat securely on his face, flawlessly concealing the identity of the Exiled Prince.Before him, one hundred warriors of The Hollowed knelt in absolute, terrifying silence. Not a single one of them spoke. Their unwavering lo