Throne of the Wolf

Six Harmonies Splitting Strike

Alchemical artifacts in this world are high-end items, crafted by powerful alchemists through ancient methods using precious materials to create a variety of objects that can enhance attributes like strength, endurance, vitality, and spirit. The alchemical ring held by Sun Bernard is a prized item that boosts strength. He had acquired this ring three days prior and finally understood its purpose; its reverse side bears the name and creator’s signature, marked in the universally recognized language of Polyester Prophecy.

"Ring of the Spider’s Bone Shard!" Dals, a werewolf, born with a disadvantage in strength, found this ring to be a perfect counterbalance, amplifying his powers tremendously.

Swish!

At that moment, Sun Bernard’s brow furrowed as he took a slight sidestep, narrowly evading a group of dark werewolves that surrounded him.

"Fool, hand over the ring!" These werewolves were muscular and brutish, their savage expressions locked onto Sun Bernard, clearly willing to make him taste their fists if he didn’t comply.

“The fool has done well, sporting a spear even. Now, hand over everything you’ve got, or I won’t hesitate to teach you a lesson.”

“Hand it over quickly; our captain’s waiting.”

…

The dark werewolves closed in, their tones insolent, as if Sun Bernard were beneath them—a mere slave to chastise.

Behind them, a tall werewolf draped in a crimson cape and light armor trained relentlessly on the field, oblivious to their actions. Each of his punches struck with explosive force, sending waves through the air—he was already delving into the realm of battle energy.

Sun Bernard’s eyes swept over the wolves, whose sneers faltered, as if a monstrous beast had fixed them with its gaze.

“D*mn, I was actually startled by this fool.”

"Seems the fool’s grown a backbone after his time on the battlefield. Maybe it’s time to break him down.”

In the camp, Sun Bernard was known as “the fool,” a constant target of mockery, with this group of dark werewolves being his most relentless tormentors. Spotting his alchemical ring and black spear, they naturally saw an opportunity to take them by force.

With their perception of him as an easy target, they fully expected Sun Bernard to hand over the items without resistance—never realizing he was no longer the man they once knew.

His cold gaze swept over the pack before landing on the tall, caped werewolf—their leader, Layton, who, as Sun Bernard remembered, was the head of this ruthless pack and the commander of the Wild Kill Squad. With Layton’s backing, they dared to rampage through the camp unchecked.

Boom! Boom!

Layton continued his relentless training in a devastating display of the Desert Fury Fist. His power surged, each strike creating bursts of shockwaves. By camp standards, Layton was a formidable Iron-ranked battle-energy warrior, a rank just below Bronze, Silver, and Gold.

Battle energy is akin to inner power in national martial arts—a primal force born from physical prowess. While it is more volatile, once manifested, it marks a departure from the ordinary, endowing the wielder with deadly force. Even steel shields crumble under its blow; one can only imagine the gruesome fate awaiting flesh.

On the battlefield, Sun Bernard had witnessed the horrifying might of battle energy firsthand, as even the indomitable minotaur warriors were obliterated upon mere contact with its shockwaves.

In his former life, Sun Bernard was a master of inner strength, wielding a powerful energy cyclone. But his current form lacked the same level of power, relegated to a lower stage. His muscles, tendons, and bones were uncoordinated, though battle experience had strengthened him enough to endure some of his former might.

His current strength paralleled that of a mighty minotaur warrior—though still no match for a battle-energy warrior. Yet, as a martial arts grandmaster, his prowess could not be judged by ordinary standards; the saying, “A tiger trapped on a plain is still not to be underestimated by dogs,” seemed fitting.

In the camp, an Iron-ranked warrior like Layton held the rank of captain, a high position among the werewolves, who organized themselves as tribes rather than nations. A captain commanded a squad of hundreds, and there were fewer than fifty such squads on the Skars Canyon battlefield; the rest were mere fodder. Layton’s strength further allowed his squad to act with arrogance and impunity.

“Fool, hand over everything you have, and if you kneel and beg, we may spare your life. Otherwise, we’ll be sure to make you suffer,” one of the werewolves sneered, his companions egging him on with jeers and curses.

Sun Bernard’s gaze drifted to the towering Layton. The lackeys didn’t concern him; he knew they wouldn’t dare act without orders from this Iron warrior.

As expected, Layton soon approached, and the other werewolves dispersed, leaving him towering over Sun Bernard. He spoke with disdain, “Now, give me the alchemical ring, or you may challenge me—if you win, I’ll take nothing from you.”

“Very well!”

A stunned silence followed, as none anticipated such a response from Sun Bernard. To many, it seemed the fool had lost his senses, provoking a powerful Iron-ranked warrior was surely a death wish, and the camp’s onlookers shook their heads at his audacity.

Sun Bernard, however, had his reasons. His reputation here was dismal, seen only as a fool who suffered constant humiliation. If he didn’t change his position now, he’d face endless trouble in the future. This was the ideal moment to turn the tables and establish his authority by confronting Layton.

An alchemical ring was valuable enough to incite envy in many.

…

Layton’s brow rose, his face cold and indifferent. “I wasn’t aware someone of your caliber existed in the cannon fodder ranks. Since you’re so eager to die, I’ll oblige. I’ll take that ring from your corpse. But to give you a fair chance, go ahead and make the first move.”

With Layton’s offer, Sun Bernard didn’t hesitate.

Without a word, he stepped forward, his feet gliding six meters ahead in a move like a swimming dragon, performing a powerful backhand maneuver. He raised his arm, bending his elbow and wrist, shifting his shoulder to unleash a fierce, sweeping strike.

A reverse backhand s***h.

The White Ape’s Form, the twenty-four styles.

Liuhe, through the back fist.