"Why didn't you kill them?"
Dante asked in a cold voice.
"Because we heard the sound of bells on the road."
The squad leader's voice trembled slightly.
"It was exactly as they described, and then... we discovered this corpse."
He didn't dare say more, but the meaning was already clear.
Dante didn't speak, walking straight to the corpse and squatting down.
The face of this werewolf corpse was frozen in extreme terror, as if he had seen something unspeakably horrific before death.
Dante reached out and felt the wounds on the corpse.
"It's covered in bite marks."
More importantly, his fingertips felt an extremely cold, obscure residual energy.
"Is this a wizard's curse?"
Dante was secretly shocked.
"No... it's more vicious than a wizard's black magic, it's pure evil."
"A goatman?"
Dante stood up, his gaze turning solemn.
He looked at the prisoners kneeling on the ground and said in a heavy voice,
"Tell me everything about your encounter with that creature, from beginning to end, without missing a single detail."
The prisoners felt as if they had been granted a grand pardon and immediately scrambled to tell their story.
"My Lord, it was an upright goat, grayish-white all over, with red eyes."
"Bells ring before it appears. Once we hear the sound, we can't see anything, only blurry shadows."
"It specifically eats wolves, and it seems to enjoy our fear before death."
Listening to these descriptions, Dante's brow furrowed tighter and tighter.
"The sound of bells... visual deprivation... mental interference..."
"This isn't some mutated beast; this is clearly a high-level evil creature I've never seen before."
"Report!!"
"My Lord! Something is wrong!"
A werewolf guard stumbled into the crowd, his face full of terror.
"In the west of the city... another brother's corpse was found in an alley. The state of his death is simply too gruesome to behold. My Lord, please come and see."
Dante's face turned ashen as he waved his hand.
"Let's go!"
The group rushed to the west of the city.
Deep in a dark and damp alley, dozens of werewolves had already gathered.
Usually fierce and malicious, they were now like frightened quails, shrinking their necks with shifting gazes, not daring to approach the corpse at all.
Dante pushed through the crowd and stepped forward.
Although the werewolf on the ground wasn't completely cold yet, his chest and abdomen had been hollowed out, and his neck bitten through. Those characteristic tearing wounds confirmed the existence of that satyr once again.
"Bastard."
Dante slammed a fist into the nearby wall, and the hard stone bricks instantly shattered.
"What on earth is this thing? To dare hunt my people so wantonly right under my nose."
He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding werewolves.
"Did anyone see its strength clearly?"
The werewolves shook their heads one after another, all as silent as cicadas in winter.
"We don't know, my lord... no one saw how it attacked, or even when he died."
"Useless."
Dante took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.
He carefully sensed the residual aura on the corpse.
"A peak Tier 3 werewolf, and yet there isn't even a trace of resistance. He was killed in a single blow..."
Dante made a calculation in his mind.
"This monster's strength is at least Tier 4 or higher, and it has extremely strong stealth and control abilities."
In that case, no matter how much ordinary werewolves patrolled, they would just be delivering themselves as food.
"Pass down my order."
Dante's voice was cold and majestic, echoing throughout the alley.
"From this moment on, all werewolves below Tier 4 are to return home. Without my order, no one is allowed to leave. Those who disobey will be executed."
"All Tier 4 werewolves are to immediately form elite patrol squads of five and conduct continuous 24-hour patrols in the city."
"The city is no longer peaceful... until that satyr is dragged out and torn into ten thousand pieces, the entire city will be under martial law."
"Yes, my lord!"
As the order was issued, the low-tier werewolves who were still wandering the streets felt as if they had been pardoned. They scattered like birds and beasts, scrambling into their homes and locking their doors and windows tight.
In the past, these predators who fed on humans and viewed all things as grass had long since lost their overbearing arrogance, replaced by deep fear.
The City Lord's Mansion.
Dante moved quickly.
In less than half an hour, over a thousand Tier 4 werewolves, clad in silver-white armor and taller and more robust than ordinary werewolves, had finished assembling.
They were the elite of the werewolf race, capable of exerting terrifying combat power under the moonlight.
"Set out. Even if you have to dig three feet into the ground, find it."
"Awoo!"
Over a thousand werewolves let out a heaven-shaking long howl, then turned into streaks of silver-white light, dispersing to every corner of the city.
Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the city.
"Hu..."
The satyr stood quietly in the shadows, its crimson vertical pupils narrowed slightly, enjoying the intoxicating scent in the air.
In the eyes of the werewolves, the city had only become a bit oppressive.
But in the eyes of the satyr, a thick black-purple mist permeated the sky above the entire city.
That was pure, ultimate fear.
Countless black wisps of aura, as if summoned, emerged from the cracks of thousands of doors and continuously flowed into the satyr's body.
It could feel the power within its body rising at an alarming speed.
"Not bad, this speed of improvement..."
The satyr stuck out its tongue and licked its lips, revealing a satisfied, hideous grin.
"Perhaps before long, I will be able to truly break through to Tier 4."
"Just this one city and its tens of thousands of werewolves can provide such delicious nourishment. If I spread this fear to the whole world..."
However, it was in no hurry to go out.
This was a game that had only just begun.
"There will surely be some terrified fellows who want to flee the city. When that time comes, fear will spread like a plague."
The satyr grinned, its body slowly merging into the darkness behind it.
Late at night, on the empty main street.
Tonight was exceptionally quiet.
What should have been the main stage for a werewolf carnival was now deserted, with only a deathly silence.
The satyr took silent steps, strolling leisurely on the main road as if inspecting its own territory.
Suddenly, a series of rhythmic and powerful footsteps came from ahead.
The satyr paused, its figure instantly dissipating into the air like an ink wash painting.
Just seconds later, a Tier 4 werewolf patrol squad, dressed in silver-white leather armor and radiating a powerful aura, appeared where it had just been standing.
These five werewolves were all over two and a half meters tall, with knotted muscles and white fur that shone brightly under the moonlight, their gazes sharp.
"Hey, what tier of strength do you guys think that satyr everyone's talking about actually is?"
A werewolf walking in the middle spoke up with some disdain, breaking the silence.
"Hmph, what strength could it possibly have?"
Another werewolf scoffed.
"It's just relying on some strange methods to kill those trash blood wolves who are only at the third rank. If it really ran into us fourth-rank werewolves, I'd twist off its horns and use them as wine cups."
"Hahahaha! You're right, it's just lucky we didn't run into it earlier, otherwise we would have taken it down instantly."
The werewolves walked along, mocking without restraint, trying to dispel the faint unease in their hearts this way.
They strode forward confidently, continuing down the street.
However, they didn't notice.
A young werewolf, walking at the very end of the group, suddenly stopped.
His pupils sharply contracted, and his eyes were filled with extreme shock and fear.
"Mm... mm-mm."
He opened his mouth wide, wanting to call out to his teammates ahead, but found that no matter how hard he tried, not a single sound could escape his throat.
It was as if an invisible hand was firmly gripping his throat.
Immediately after, his vision began to darken rapidly.
Before him was absolute nothingness; he desperately blinked, but saw nothing.
"Ding."
An extremely faint bell sound rang in his ears alone.
"It's... it's the satyr! It's nearby!"
The young werewolf roared frantically internally, wanting to rush forward and grab the corner of his teammates' clothes for help.
But... he couldn't move.
His body seemed to no longer belong to him; he couldn't even move a single finger.
In despair, he could only feel the laughing voices of his teammates ahead growing further and further away.
"If you ask me, that satyr is just a coward, only daring to hide in the sewers..."
The four werewolves ahead were completely unaware, still walking and boasting about their bravery.
They turned a street corner and disappeared into the darkness.
On the spot, only the young werewolf remained frozen like a statue, his eyes gradually losing focus, finally closing.
Another street.
The four werewolves had just turned out of the alley when they ran into another five-person patrol team.
"Yo, isn't this Third Brother? On patrol?"
The leading werewolf from the other side greeted with a smile.
"Yeah, it's too boring, haven't seen a single ghost."
The leading werewolf from this side replied with a smile.
The leader from the other side glanced behind them, suddenly paused, and asked with some confusion.
"Huh? Brother, didn't the higher-ups stipulate five people per group? Why does your team only have four on patrol?"
"Four?"
The four werewolves here were startled by the question and subconsciously looked back.
"How is that possible, Fifth is just behind..."
Before he finished speaking, the four's faces instantly turned pale.
"Gulp..."
Seeing the four werewolves' pale faces, the leader of the five-person team instantly realized something.
Without needing to say more, a spine-chilling cold instantly enveloped all nine werewolves present.
"Just now... where did you come from?"
The leader asked in a low voice, his hand tightly gripping the battle saber at his waist.
The four werewolves' gazes simultaneously fixed on the deep alley behind them.
"Go."
The leader gritted his teeth and exchanged glances with the other eight.
Nine fourth-rank werewolves, a force not to be underestimated anywhere. They carefully spread out into a battle formation, slowly approaching the alley.
"Awoo!"
Suddenly, the leading werewolf who had lost his teammate let out a mournful howl towards the sky.
The howl pierced the night sky, echoing through half the district.
Since that satyr had already started hunting fourth-rank werewolves, it meant its strength was definitely not weak.
Trying to fight alone at this point was suicide; calling for backup was the way to go.
With this long howl, responses quickly came from afar, one after another.
Countless werewolves patrolling nearby felt the summons and were rushing towards them at full speed.
With the confidence of incoming support, the nine werewolves became a little bolder.
They stepped into the alley, one by one.
Soon, by the faint moonlight, they saw their missing companion.
He stood silently in the center of the alley, his back to everyone, motionless, like a statue.
"Fifth?"
The leading werewolf called out tentatively.
No response.
The nine exchanged glances, hesitated for a moment, then braced themselves and surrounded him.
The leading werewolf reached out and lightly touched Little Fifth's shoulder.
Thud.
Fifth's body fell straight down like a stiff plank of wood.
"What?!"
The werewolves were greatly alarmed and were about to squat down to check the situation.
Boom!
Just then, an extremely dense black mist suddenly erupted from the corpse.
Instantly engulfing the entire alley.
"No, it's a trap!"
"Run!"
The leading werewolf roared in terror, turning to rush out of the alley entrance.
However, it was too late.
The surrounding space seemed to be forcibly twisted by some power; the familiar brick walls and alley entrance instantly vanished.
In their place was a gloomy, terrifying black forest shrouded in mist.
[Welcome to my dread domain, Forest of Fear]
A terrifying voice, as if coming from all directions and yet directly echoing in their minds, rang out with a playful laugh.
[Nine players, welcome to the satyr's game]
[Now, let the game begin]
The nine werewolves stood back-to-back in a circle, looking around in horror.
What kind of place is this? A dread domain? What is a dread domain?
The voice continued to announce the cruel rules.
[The rules are as follows:]
[1. Among you, three werewolves have been possessed and disguised by the satyr]
[2. Please find these three imposters and kill them]
[3. In each round of the game, you need to go to four designated locations to hunt for food]
[4. werewolves who fail to obtain food will starve to death directly]
[5. Identity cards are being distributed... distribution successful, the satyr has infiltrated three werewolves]
[6. Verification rule: After killing a werewolf, dissect its body. If a Goat-Man Token is found, it is a satyr]
[7. Victory conditions: For the satyr, kill all ordinary werewolves. For the werewolves, kill all satyrs]
[Now... proceed to the hunting grounds]
The voice abruptly stopped.
A deathly silence.
"This... what kind of perverse game is this?"
Werewolf number One, who had first raised the alarm, looked extremely grim.
He scanned his surroundings, his gaze sweeping over every familiar face, trying to find even a hint of a flaw.
"Speak up, which of you has become a satyr?"
One roared, pointing his battle saber at everyone.
"Come out now, and maybe you'll get a quick death, otherwise you'll harm everyone."
No one spoke.
Everyone either lowered their heads or looked at their companions with wary, suspicious eyes.
No one was a fool.
In a game of life and death like this, admitting to being an imposter was equivalent to a direct death sentence.
Werewolves were inherently a selfish and greedy race; even comrades would not hesitate to stab each other in the back to survive.
"Damn it."
Looking at the silent crowd, number One spat fiercely.
He knew that the satyr's objective had been achieved.
This dread domain didn't need that monster to act personally; this simple rule alone was enough to make this group of comrades, who had lived together day and night, kill each other.
Beside him, a slightly younger Number Two asked in a trembling voice.
"Are we really going to kill each other?"
"What else can we do?"
A flash of ruthlessness crossed Number One's eyes.
"If some people are afraid of death and unwilling to sacrifice for their brothers, then we can only play by the rules."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calmly analyze the situation.
"There are currently four feeding locations on the map."
"The amount of food at each location is 2, 2, 2, and 3, respectively."
"In other words, there are 9 portions of food in total, which is just enough for the 9 of us to share."
Number One narrowed his eyes.
"Listen up, everyone. To prevent a satyr sneak attack, we must move together. No one is allowed to be alone."
"Anyone who dares to leave the group without permission will be treated as a satyr and killed without mercy."
"Agreed."
"No objections."
The group nodded one after another.
At a time like this, sticking together was indeed the only choice.
No one wanted to die, and the three satyrs hiding in the shadows didn't want to expose their identities and be focused down just yet.
"Let's go."
Led by Number One, the nine-man squad maintained high alertness as they headed toward the first feeding location.
Passing through the mist-shrouded woods, they soon arrived at a relatively open plain.
There was nothing else here except for three plump white pigs frolicking and running on the grass.
"This is the food?"
The werewolves's eyes lit up.
A sense of hunger from the depths of their souls instantly surged into their hearts, as if they hadn't eaten for days.
"Three in total..."
Before werewolf Number One could even distribute them, driven by instinct, several figures had already rushed out.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
werewolf Number One himself, werewolf No. 3, and werewolf Number Five, relying on their superior reaction speeds, each tackled a pig.
Crunch!
The three of them bit through the pigs' necks without hesitation and began devouring them in large gulps.
Mmm...
As the pork entered their stomachs, the panic of imminent starvation instantly dissipated, replaced by a full sense of satiety and power.
"Full already?"
Number One wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, looking at the remains on the ground with some surprise.
Meanwhile, the remaining six werewolves were staring at the three of them with extremely complex expressions, filled with a hint of jealousy and greed.
"Damn it."
Number Four swallowed hard.
"So these pigs belong to whoever grabs them? They can't be shared?"
The atmosphere instantly became subtle.
There were only three pigs in this round, and they were already finished.
There were three locations left, but only six portions of food remained.
In other words, if someone couldn't grab any later, they would truly die.
"What are you looking at?"
Sensing the hostile gazes around him, Number One immediately growled alertly.
"This round's gone is gone. There are three more places, and I won't compete with you for those."
"Let's go. If you don't want to die, hurry to the next location."
Although they were dissatisfied, everyone knew that infighting would bring no benefits right now.
The team set out again, but this time, the originally tight formation had quietly undergone a slight change.
The distance between each other widened, and the defensiveness in their eyes grew heavier.
And in the shadows of the team, three pairs of eyes were watching this scene playfully, quietly waiting for chaos to arrive.
The team advanced quickly.
At the second location, two pigs were snatched by Number Four and Number Six.
At the third location, two pigs were shared by Number Five and Number Seven.
By now, seven out of the nine people had finished eating, leaving only werewolf Number Eight and werewolf Number Nine still hungry.
According to the map, the last location had two pigs, enough for the two of them to fill their stomachs.
However, just as they stepped out of the third location.
[Round One Ends]
[Those who failed to obtain food: Number Eight, Number Nine]
[Execution Commencing]
That cold voice rang out without any warning.
"No! Why?!"
Number Eight's eyes widened suddenly as he roared in terror.
"We were just about to go eat! The time isn't up yet!"
"Boss, save me!"
"I'm not a satyr! I'm really not!"
Number Nine knelt on the ground in despair, his hands clutching his throat tightly as if an invisible pair of large hands were tightening there.
"Urgh... Argh..."
The faces of the two instantly turned purple-red, their eyeballs bulging.
Under the horrified gazes of the group, their life force rapidly drained away, as if their souls had been snatched in an instant, and they fell straight down.
Dead.
Just like that, they died without rhyme or reason.
Number One's face was grim. He stepped forward quickly and sliced open their chests without hesitation.
Nothing.
"Damn it..."
Number One stood up, watching the two corpses slowly dissipate in the black mist, his voice low and raspy.
"Our situation is bad. Two ordinary werewolves are dead. Now among the remaining seven, there are four werewolves and three satyrs."
The situation had instantly reversed.
Before everyone could digest this fear, that demonic voice rang out again.
[Round Two Begins]
[Time limit for this round: 10 minutes]
[Enjoy your meal, everyone]
"Ten minutes?!"
Number One suddenly looked up at the sky, his pupils shaking violently.
He had previously calculated in secret that in this eerie forest, running from one location to another took at least 6 minutes even at full speed.
If everyone still moved together like before, they wouldn't have enough time to visit all the locations.
"Those damn satyrs, what a disgusting tactic."
Number One cursed inwardly. This was clearly an open scheme, forcing everyone to split up and creating opportunities for the lurking satyrs to strike.
But there was no time to hesitate now.
"Listen up."
Number One quickly gave orders in an unquestionable tone.
"We have to split up. Me, Number Two, and Number Three will go to the location with three pigs. Number Four and Number Five will go as a group to the middle. Number Six and Number Seven will go as a group to the left."
"Hurry, there's no time."
Although everyone had doubts, time was pressing, so they could only grit their teeth and agree.
The team instantly split into three, sprinting in different directions.
In the dense forest leading to the three-pig location.
Number One, Number Two, and Number Three were sprinting at full speed.
Suddenly, werewolf Number One, who was running at the very front, paused his steps, a bizarre sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.
Swish!
He and werewolf Number Two, who followed closely behind, stopped in perfect synchronization. They turned around, blocking werewolf No. 3's path from both front and back.
"Boss... you guys?"
No. 3 froze for a moment. Looking at the grim faces of the two in front of him, his mind instantly connected the dots.
A chill rose within him.
"Awoo!"
Without any nonsense, he tilted his head back and let out a shrill wolf howl.
The sound pierced through the dense forest, carrying into the distance.
The middle route.
Number Four and Number Five, who were rushing along, couldn't help but pause when they heard this scream.
Number Four looked back in that direction, his expression grave.
"That's Number Three's voice. Something happened over there."
"It seems the satyr is in that group."