Fangs in the Moonlight
When he left arena then he went back to the mansion. Then he decides to have long hot- herbal bath, the sweat and dust of training stuck to him, and his muscles hurt—not from fatigue, but from the tension he still had after that encounter with Edric.
Then he put on his regular robe, tied his hair loosely behind him, and went towards the dining room. Soft golden lamps shed warm halos on the walls. The scent of fresh bread, roasted meat, and floral incense welcomed him.
There were three familiar faces seated at the table.
Lady Celia, his mother, stately in a pale blue robe, her eyes warm with kindness. Next to her, Lady Sera—his stepmother but more motherly than any title could imply—served tea with elegant fingers. Elara, always lively, waved eagerly the instant she caught sight of him.
"Brother!" Elara trilled with a broad smile. "Look, I saved you a favourite honey bun."
He grinned, mussing her hair, and sat down. "Kind of you, Elara."
Lady Celia shot him an approving look. "You're Training went well Dear?"
"Good enough," he said guardedly, evading any reference to Edric.
Sera pressed a hot cup of tea into his hands, violet eyes warm with quiet concern. "You've always pushed yourself harder than everyone else, Orion. But do take care to rest. Your body is strong, but not invincible."
He smiled weakly, dipping his eyes to the honey bun. "I'll be careful… Mother."
The sweetness dissolved on his tongue—soft, warm, reassuring. Just like the women around this table who had stood by him unconditionally.
After breakfast, he had a few more chitchats, made a vow to Elara that they'd train together afterwards, and softly excused himself. His bedroom, simple yet peaceful, was his haven. Sliding the doors closed behind him, he let out a heavy sigh.
With practiced nonchalance, Orion sat cross-legged on the smooth wooden floor, his hands on his knees, back straight. The quiet clothed him like a second skin. He started to circulate his internal energy, gathering the surrounding mana of the world, purifying and integrating it into his meridians.
His breathing slowed. The world numbed. His mind plunged inward. And he looks for any appropriate physical combat style. Suddenly, visions flashed in his mind. A style. A technique.
And then he closed his eyes and begin re- write thus method in his body and mind. Time flew like minutes. Hours went by. Orion never ceased. He just kept circulating mana, remembering moves, slow-motion shadow-fighting in his mind. He trained until nightfall, his muscles feel tiny, mind concentrated.
By the evening, he did not want to dine in the dining hall. He instructed a servant to serve dinner in his room. He ate in solitude, sitting next to the small table by the balcony. His gaze rose to the sky.
The moon was full and high tonight, shrouded in silver radiance. Its beam poured over the city walls, bathing the landscape in a mystic light. The air was cold, fresh, and clean.
He stood, with the wind ruffling his hair. Then, he thinks to go close forest for training. Because – simply–Training indoors wasn't sufficient for become strong.
He stepped back into and dressed in a black robe, close-fitting and quiet. He bound his hair, stowed his dagger in his boot, hide his silver sword in his clock and pulled his hood close. As darkness fell, Orion moved quietly towards the window.
In one movement, he sprang.
The wind murmured as he descended quietly onto the tiled roof of the estate. He was a ghost, moving—through the estate, by the patrolling guards, and over the side wall.
No one saw.
The streets of Valeric City were still warm, lanterns glowing like sleepy eyes. He passed beneath them unseen, across rooftops and alleys, before he came to the southern wall. A silent leap, a roll, and then— he disappeared into the night.
Before him stretched the thick South Forest.
The South Forest welcomed him with rustling leaves and far-off hooting of mystical owls. The moonlight covered everything in silver-blue. He drew a thin silver knife from under his cloak.
Its surface glimmered in the moonlight.
He glanced up at the sky. "Time to hone what I've learned," he whispered.
But before he stepped further into the woods, a noise stopped him
Three wild animals appeared from the brush—thick-coated, tusked boars, each more than six feet long. Their eyes glowed red.
He did not blink.
They attacked.
He acted.
With the Splashing Sword Art, his sword spun like water, cutting through the air. Every strike was wild—yet accurate. He spun, stepped, slashed—a whirlwind of movement.
Blood spattered.
The first boar fell over with a gurgle. The second attacked but Orion jumped, blade flashing down its back. The third attempted to run away—but his wrist flick released the sword from his hand. It hit the beast's neck, holding it fast to the tree.
Both fell. Breath normally, Orion stowed the blade.
He sensed it. Though this small battle, he was not tired even 1%. His body felt lighter—his energy cleaner.
He is thinking, "I am 4-star beginner, But my underlying power… more like a 6-star. Not terrible."
He smiled weakly, wiping blood off his cheek. "Let's continue."
He stepped further into the woods.
That is when he heard it. Rustle. snap.
He dropped down immediately, scuttling behind a bush.
Under the moonlight, pack of magical beasts stood—Frostmane Wolves. Their coats glowed with icy-blue streaks that shone slightly under the moon. Their eyes were keen, intelligent, and calculating.
There were eight.
Orion's breath calmed down.
"Frostmanes – magical wolves that have frost breath and shadow movements. They are at least low- tier to mid- tier novice and their leader. probably more peak level novice."
I kept them in hand, then he pulled the leaves back and watched. Their leader stood on a boulder—bigger, more majestic, almost twice as big as the others, it had a silver mane crackling with leftover mana. There was a scar across its snout, and its breath sent mist into the air.
Excellent. He entered the clearing. Leaves cracked under his boots.
All eight wolves turned their attention to him.
They encircled him fast, snarling. When he showed.
"One-on-eight, eh?" Orion cracked his neck. "Fine by me, come to me and be my training partner."
The wolves howl senses his taunt they charged as one.
He greeted the first with a sidestep and palm strike, employing Yellow Palm Technique—a martial art that directed compressed mana into the palms, unleashing explosive force. Mana condensed into his palm, detonating against the wolf's ribcage.
BOOM!
The creature was flung through a tree, bark and bone splintering.
The second materialized behind it—Orion went low, Gale Footwork, a light-step maneuver that added agility and momentum, and shot around it in a blur, spinning its neck around with a merciless twist.
A wolf clipped down at his shoulder—he leveled his arm, mana bracing it like steel, and leveled an elbow right into its jaw.
Crack!
Frost breath burst from the side—he leaped, the blast encasing the grass beneath in ice. In mid-air, he flipped and kicked another wolf's head.
He twirled. Slash. Parried.
Five wolves were left. They circled once more, cautious now.
"Good," he grumbled. "Think before you leap."
Two rushed forward, attempting to flank.
Orion dropped into a crouching stance and used Splashing Sword Art.
The blade whirred.
He whirled, the sword shining in zig-zag paths, unpredictable. Blood sprayed everywhere. One wolf lost a leg. Another fell, throat ripped.
Only three were left, snarling.
The Alpha hadn't moved yet. It observed quietly.
Orion was still panting lightly, chest heaving. Mana still raged within.
He prepared himself.
The wolves charged—but this time, he didn't draw his blade. He stuck it into the ground beside him.
"I'll do this with my body."
He cracked his knuckles. "Come on then."
One lunged—he caught it in mid-air, spun, and planted it in the ground. Another attacked his leg—he raised his knee and crushed its snout.
When he is busy in combat, he did not see, not too far from him, beneath a dark oak, stood a figure in a hood. Still. Observing.
There was only one thing that stood out.
Glowing purple eyes.
They glimmered like amethyst fire in the darkness—cold, measuring… and curious.
A soft, contemplative female voice echoed among the trees.
"Not bad. For a 4-star novice, your skill is keen. Refined by instinct, but rough around the edges. You may just make it in this world after all."
The third attempted to bite his side—Orion turned, clapped his fists together, and smushed the wolf's head between them.
Only the Alpha was left now.
It advanced, eyes burning brighter.
Then—it let out a howl.
The air shook.
Orion's eyes widened.
Mana pressure… this isn't a novice-level beast…
"Shit," he muttered to himself. "An Apprentice -level Frostmane?"
The creature's aura knocked him like a wave—dense, icy, and biting. His breath instantly fogged.
The Alpha rushed.
Quickly.
Orion barely managed in time, activating Gale Footwork to slide out of the way—but not in time enough. Claws scrapped his arm.
Slash!
Blood spattered off his left arm, coloring the ground.
He retreated, clutching the injury. His breathing accelerated. That speed… racial bonus activated. Frostmane Alpha abilities: Frostcloak and Berserk Pounce.
The wolf did not wait—it charged once more.
This time, Orion clenched his teeth and met it with both hands aflame gold from the Yellow Palm Technique. He targeted the snout—delivering a straight jab into the oncoming attack.
BOOM!
Both warriors catapulted backward—Orion skidding across the grass, falling tough.
The Alpha growled, ice bleeding from its jaws.
As it readied itself to charge once more, something occurred.
Thud!
One of the wolves behind Orion detonated backward, slamming into trees. Its body landed on the ground with a nauseating crack.
Orion spun around, shocked.
A figure loomed behind him, shrouded in shadows—tall, dressed in black.
There was only one feature visible. Glowing purple eyes.
They glowed in the dark, staring at him.
".Not bad," the stranger whispered.
Orion's heart raced as he gazed at the person who sent Apprentice level magical beast in flying air. "Who are you…?" he spoke in a calm tone.