"There are more?"
Lycaon scanned his surroundings. At least twenty of them surrounded him, enclosing him in a silent ring. Without exception, they all floated midair—masked faces draped in white veils, resembling statues carved from pale stone. Only when their mouths opened did the [Core], the mark of an Ethereal, reveal itself.
But Lycaon was no novice. The moment he saw the rows of "statues" lined neatly along both sides of the hall, he already knew what they truly were.
Ethereal—monsters.
Yet Lycaon made no sound. Instead, he stepped forward at an unhurried pace, moving straight into the center of the disguised monsters. With every step he took, the icy-blue glow beneath his feet deepened.
Suddenly—
Lycaon stomped his foot down. A freezing aura, cold beyond imagination, burst outward like a spreading plague.
Only then did the monsters realize what kind of opponent they had provoked.
But regret came too late. The frigid chill surged outward before they could even move, and within seconds, every one of them was frozen into solid ice sculptures.
"Hmph."
Lycaon let out a cold snort and stomped again.
This time, the freezing energy wasn't as gentle as before. It surged violently, unstable and savage.
Boom!
The icy-blue light surged forward, and in an instant, every frozen statue exploded. The Ethereal within had no time to resist—the violent energy shattered their limbs and scattered the remains across the floor.
Moments later, Ether Substance floated upward, reflecting faintly on Lycaon's form as he stood in the center of the hall, glancing at his pocket watch.
Then, sensing something, he snapped the watch shut, turning his head slightly as his brows furrowed. "Still more?"
As he spoke, the floor beneath him rippled—more than twenty wraithlike Ethereal emerged from below, surrounding him with predatory eyes.
"Meeting an adversary on a narrow path... So that's what it means?"
Lycaon seemed to recall something. He lowered his gaze toward the battered doll hanging from his waist.
He had found it while searching for his companions. At first, he had thought that picking up one of these dolls might work the same way it had for Corin—that it would forcibly draw him into another room.
That way, he might have been able to reunite with her.
But when he actually picked it up, he noticed the words engraved on its damaged surface were slightly different from what he remembered.
[Two little dolls... one favors combat...]
[Clever but misguided... meeting a worthy foe...]
"How fitting for the current situation. Since you're so capable, why not step out and talk? A few weak Ethereal like these—no matter how many—won't be enough to trouble me."
Even surrounded by over twenty hostile figures, Lycaon showed no fear. Instead, he tightened his gauntlet-clad fists, calling out to the hidden enemy behind the curtain of ether.
After all, the Ether concentration here was far too high to be caused by these low-level creatures alone.
But as Lycaon glanced around, the wraithlike Ethereal merely circled him warily, unwilling to make the first move.
Time slipped by quietly in the shadow of their movements—one second, two seconds...
Finally, Lycaon lost patience. He exhaled softly, raised his fist, and casually tossed aside the scarred doll hanging at his waist. At the same time, the metallic prosthetic on his lower body flared with blinding light.
"Since you insist on hiding in the dark... I'll just have to drag you out myself!"
The moment his final word fell, Lycaon shot forward like a cannonball.
The wraiths saw only a burst of icy mist erupting where he had stood—and then a massive fist appeared before their eyes.
Crack—Bang!
Just one punch.
The skull mask on one monster's head shattered instantly, its body flung backward. Before it could even react, a metallic foot filled its entire vision. Wrapped in icy-blue mist, it slammed down mercilessly.
The [Core] couldn't withstand the strike—crushed in an instant.
Pfft.
Ether Substance dispersed into the air.
Two strikes, one kill. Lycaon turned slightly, his sharp eyes sweeping the rest.
The remaining twenty or so Ethereal lunged forward at once, their arms like blades, launching a desperate assault.
They had seen one of their kind obliterated in two moves and knew they couldn't hesitate. Their only chance was to attack fast and hard—to seize control before they were crushed.
But would that really help them?
Lycaon's gaze sharpened. A surge of violent energy erupted from him as he twisted his body and lashed his leg backward.
A cloud of ice mist exploded outward, blinding every Ethereal in its path. Their target vanished instantly.
Half of them froze in place, unwilling to move blindly.
The rest charged forward through the fog, stabbing at the spot where Lycaon had been standing.
But their attacks met only empty air.
The hollow feeling in their strikes made them falter. A gust of pressure and freezing cold from above made their hearts sink.
They tried frantically to dissolve their forms, diving toward the floor in a desperate attempt to escape before the attack struck.
But the crushing weight that slammed down on their backs told them it was already too late.
"Hmph."
Another cold snort.
Lycaon landed with one foot on the cluster of wraiths. From the point of contact, dozens of jagged ice spikes erupted upward, piercing straight through their chests.
Within moments, they were all dead—frozen solid under the unrelenting cold.
The remaining half, however, didn't know it yet. The thick frost obscured everything, leaving them blind to their comrades' fates.
They would soon find out.
Boom!
Lycaon burst through the icy mist, his massive frame shattering the still air.
The spirits' [Cores] flickered in shock. None of them had expected him to move so quickly. One thought crossed their minds—
Could it be that their comrades hadn't even been a match for this Thiren?
It was true. The instant Lycaon's massive fist struck, they realized how foolish they had been—lured here by that scarred doll like moths to a flame.
They were nothing more than pebbles on the roadside, their greatest act in life being to stir a ripple on the path of a passing titan.
Boom!
Lycaon's fist came crashing down, wreathed in a frigid aura. The chilling pressure followed, unrelenting.
It was like a wall—inescapable. No matter how they fled, they couldn't escape the avalanche bearing down upon them.
Thud!
The last of the Ethereal were obliterated. But there was no triumph in Lycaon's eyes. Instead, a faint warning stirred within him. He raised his arm, guarding his neck.
Clang!
A bone-white scythe sliced suddenly from behind, caught firmly against the brass knuckles on Lycaon's hand.
He tilted his head slightly, voice low and cold. "So, you really are the kind of coward who strikes from the shadows."
But the attacker said nothing. The scythe retracted—and then slashed out again in a horizontal arc.
Lycaon spun sharply to block, then stepped back several paces, stabilizing himself.
He looked up, narrowing his eyes. "I didn't expect you to look like this. Truly... a remarkable kind of ugliness."