Fangs in the Moonlight
When he left arena then he returned to the mansion. Then he decides to take long hot- herbal bath, the sweat and dust of training clung to him, and his muscles ached—not from exhaustion, but from the tension he still carried after that encounter with Edric.
Afterward, he dressed in his usual robe, tied his hair loosely behind him, and headed toward the dining room. Warm golden lamps cast soft halos on the walls. The aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and floral incense greeted him.
Inside, three familiar figures sat at the table.
Lady Celia, his mother, regal in a pale blue robe, her eyes soft with warmth. Beside her, Lady Sera—his stepmother but more maternal than any title could convey—poured tea with graceful fingers. Elara, ever vibrant, waved eagerly the moment she saw him.
"Brother!" Elara chirped with a wide grin. "Look, I saved you a favourite honey bun."
He smiled warmly, ruffling her hair as he took a seat. "That's kind of you, Elara."
Lady Celia gave him an approving glance. "You're Training went well Dear?"
"Good enough," he replied vaguely, avoiding the mention of Edric.
Sera handed him a steaming cup of tea, her violet eyes filled with gentle concern. "You've always pushed yourself harder than most, Orion. But do remember to rest. Your body is strong, but not invincible."
He smiled faintly, lowering his gaze to the honey bun. "I'll be careful… Mother."
The sweetness melted on his tongue—soft, warm, comforting. Just like the women at this table who had stood by him without question.
After breakfast, he exchanged a few more chitchats, promised Elara they'd training together later, and quietly excused himself. His room, modest yet serene, was his sanctuary. Sliding the doors shut, he let out a deep breath.
With practiced ease, Orion sat cross-legged on the polished wooden floor, hands resting on his knees, spine straight. The stillness settled around him like a second skin. He began circulating his internal energy, drawing in the ambient mana of the world, refining and absorbing it into his meridians.
His breathing slowed. The world dulled. His mind dove inward. And he searches for any suitable physical fighting style. Suddenly, images flickered in his mind. A style. A technique.
Then he closed his eyes and start re- write thus technique in his mind and body. Hours passed like minutes. Orion didn't stop. He continued circulating mana, recalling moves, shadow-fighting in slow motion in his mind. He trained until evening, his muscles feel little, mind focused.
By evening, he chose not to eat in the dining hall. Instead, he called a servant to bring dinner to his room. Alone, he ate quietly, sitting beside the small table by the balcony. His eyes lifted toward the sky.
The moon was high and full tonight, cloaked in silver brilliance. Its light spilled over the city walls, casting a mystic glow across the landscape. The air carried a chill, crisp and clean.
He stood, letting the wind brush through his hair. Then, he thinks to go near forest for training. Because – simply –Training indoors wasn't enough for become strong.
He stepped back inside and changed into a black robe, fitted and silent. He tied his hair, placed a dagger in his boot, hide his silver sword in his clock and pulled his hood low. As shadows deepened, Orion slipped silently toward the window.
With a single motion, he leapt.
The wind whispered as he landed softly on the tiled roof of the estate. He moved like a ghost—through the estate, past the patrolling guards, and over the side wall.
No one noticed.
The streets of Valeric City were still alive, lanterns flickering like tired eyes. He moved under them unseen, through alleys and rooftops, before reaching the southern wall. A quiet leap, a roll, and then— he vanished into the night.
Before him lay the dense South Forest.
The South Forest greeted him with rustling leaves and distant hoots of magical owls. Moonlight painted everything silver-blue. He pulled a slender silver blade from beneath his cloak.
Its surface shimmered under the moonlight.
He looked to the sky. "Time to refine what I've learned," he whispered.
But just as he moved deeper into the woods, a sound froze him
From the brush emerged three wild beasts—thick-furred, tusked boars, each one over six feet long. Their eyes burned red.
He didn't flinch.
They charged.
He moved.
With the Splashing Sword Art, his blade twirled like water, slicing through the air. Each stroke was erratic—yet precise. He spun, stepped, slashed—a blur of motion.
Blood sprayed.
The first boar collapsed with a gurgle. The second lunged but Orion leapt, blade slicing down its spine. The third tried to flee—but a flick of his wrist sent the sword spinning. It struck the beast's neck, pinning it to the tree.
All three dropped. Breathing calmly, Orion sheathed the blade.
He felt it. Despite this small fight, he wasn't tired even 1%. His body felt lighter—his energy cleaner.
He thinks, "I am 4-star novice, But my base strength… closer to a 6-star. Not bad."
He smiled faintly, wiping blood from his cheek. "Let's keep going."
He moved deeper into the forest.
That's when he heard it. Rustle... snap.
He crouched instantly, sliding behind a bush.
In the moonlit glade, pack of magical beasts stood—Frostmane Wolves. Their fur shimmered with icy-blue streaks, glowing slightly under the moon. Their eyes were sharp, intelligent, and calculating.
There were eight of them.
Orion's breath steadied.
"Frostmanes – magical wolves with frost breath and shadow movement. They are at least low- tier to mid- tier novice and their leader... probably more peak level novice."
I handle them with ease, then he drew back the leaves and observed. Their leader sat atop a rock—larger, more regal, nearly double the size of the others, it bore a silver mane crackling with residual mana. A scar ran across its snout, and its breath exhaled mist.
Perfect. He stepped into the clearing. Leaves crunched beneath his boots.
All eight wolves snapped their gaze to him.
They circled him quickly, growling. When he appeared.
"One-on-eight, huh?" Orion cracked his neck. "Fine by me, come to me and become my training partner."
The wolves howl understands his provocation they lunged as one.
He met the first with a sidestep and palm strike, using Yellow Palm Technique—a martial art that channelled compressed mana into the palms, delivering explosive force. Mana condensed into his palm, exploding against the wolf's ribcage.
BOOM!
The beast was launched into a tree, bark and bone shattering.
The second came from behind—Orion dropped low, Gale Footwork, a light-step technique that enhanced agility and momentum, and zipped around it in a blur, twisting its neck with a brutal spin.
Another wolf bit down toward his shoulder—he raised his arm, mana reinforcing it like steel, and countered with an elbow straight to its jaw.
Crack!
Frost breath blasted from the side—he jumped, the blast freezing the grass below. Mid-air, he flipped and landed a kick to another wolf's skull.
He spun. Slashed. Dodged.
Five wolves remained. They circled again, wary now.
"Good," he muttered. "Think before you leap."
Two darted forwards, trying to flank.
Orion dropped into a low stance and activated Splashing Sword Art.
The blade became a blur.
He spun, the sword flashing in zig-zag arcs, unpredictable. Blood sprayed. One wolf lost a leg. Another collapsed, throat torn.
Only three remained, snarling.
The Alpha had not moved yet. It watched silently.
Orion panted lightly, chest heaving. Mana still surged within.
He readied himself.
The wolves charged—but this time, he didn't draw his blade. He dug it into the ground beside him.
"I'll do this with my body."
He cracked his knuckles. "Come on then."
One leapt—he caught it mid-air, twisted, and drove it into the earth. Another lunged for his leg—he lifted his knee and shattered its snout.
When he busies in fighting, he didn't notice, not far away from him, under a dark oak, stood a cloaked figure. Unmoving. Watching.
Only one thing stood out.
Glowing purple eyes.
They shimmered like amethyst flames in the shadows—cold, assessing… and interested.
A female voice—soft and thoughtful—echoed within the trees.
"Not bad... For a 4-star novice, your technique is sharp. Unpolished, but refined by instinct. You might just survive this world after all."
The third tried biting his side—Orion spun, slammed both fists together, and crushed the wolf's head between them.
Only the Alpha remained now.
It stepped forward, eyes glowing brighter.
Then—it howled.
The air trembled.
Orion's eyes widened.
Mana pressure… this isn't a novice-level beast…
"Shit," he cursed under his breath. "An Apprentice -level Frostmane?"
The beast's aura hit him like a wave—thick, cold, and biting. His breath fogged instantly.
The Alpha charged.
Fast.
Orion barely reacted in time, using Gale Footwork to slide to the side—but not fast enough. Claws raked his arm.
Slash!
Blood sprayed from his left arm, staining the ground.
He stumbled back, clutching the wound. His breath quickened. That speed… its racial boost activated. Frostmane Alpha traits: Frostcloak and Berserk Pounce.
The wolf didn't wait—it pounced again.
This time, Orion gritted his teeth and met it with both hands glowing gold from the Yellow Palm Technique. He aimed for the snout—striking directly into the incoming attack.
BOOM!
Both combatants flew backward—Orion rolled across the grass, landing hard.
The Alpha snarled, frost bleeding from its mouth.
As it prepared to charge again, something happened.
Thud!
One of the wolves behind Orion exploded backward, crashing into trees. Its body flopped onto the dirt with a sickening crack.
Orion turned, stunned.
A figure stood behind him, hidden in shadows—tall, cloaked in black.
Only one feature was visible. Glowing purple eyes.
They shimmered in the darkness, fixated on him.
"…Not bad," the stranger murmured.
Orion's heart pounded as he stared at the figure who sent Apprentice level magical beast in flying air. "Who are you…?" he asked with calm voice.