Free Web NovelChapter 353: Chapter 345: Entirely the Vampire Clan’s Upper Echelons
His silver eyes seemed exceptionally bright in the silent night.
More bizarrely, strange green flames danced within them,
like two inextinguishable spectral fires, flickering with the light of wisdom and savagery.
These green flames, leaping within his silver pupils, added an air of majesty and terror to his presence.
When this largest, most formidable Werewolf finally spoke,
his voice was deep and magnetic, like an ancient call that crossed the barriers of time and space,
striking deep into the heart of every Werewolf.
All the Werewolves, regardless of their size or ferocity, lowered their heads.
In an almost pious posture, they listened intently to their Clan Leader’s every word.
Their eyes were filled with awe and obedience.
At this moment, all their wildness and untamed spirit were subdued by this power that came from deep within their bloodline.
This Clan Leader’s name was Florian.
Florian glanced up at the cold moonlight that was gradually appearing in the sky.
A confident smile emerged on his lupine face as he said, "The outside world claims the Vampire Clan are the kings of the Dark World.
But they forget that we, the Werewolf Clan, are hailed as the Children of Moonlight.
Today, give it everything you’ve got. We must kill every last one of these ugly, insidious bastards."
The other members of the Werewolf Clan let out a series of low growls.
One of the Werewolves added exultantly, "We should have dealt with these treacherous, despicable bats long ago.
They actually think they’re the masters of the Lighthouse Empire. It’s utterly laughable.
Today, we’ll show everyone in the Lighthouse Empire who the true kings are."
Florian, the supreme leader of the Werewolf Clan, gave a slight nod. Striding forward with a steady gait, he then leaped with an otherworldly lightness onto a massive, jutting boulder ahead.
He stood proudly atop the rock, like a solitary and majestic statue,
bathed in the cold moonlight, exuding a chilling, kingly aura.
Then, he tilted his head back toward the bright, clear moon,
and let out a long, deep howl.
This was no ordinary wolf’s cry; it was filled with boundless brutality and an intense will for slaughter,
like a roar that had broken free from the abyss, carrying a terrifying power capable of tearing open the Gate of Hell.
As Florian’s howl echoed long and loud through the air,
all the members of the Werewolf Clan seemed to receive some kind of mystical summons.
They no longer bothered to hide, instead revealing their presence with an almost defiant posture.
The howl was not just a sound, but a tremor of the soul.
It awakened the most primal savagery and fighting spirit deep within the pack, making the entire forest tremble violently.
Florian’s howl,
like that of a demonic wolf returned from Hell, not only tore apart the illusory Gate of Hell,
but also carried with it the vengeful souls of the countless slain.
They awakened within the howl, accompanied by rivers of blood and the skeletal remains of corpses,
surging and flowing together to form a terrifying, heart-stopping image.
This power transcended the boundary between life and death, inspiring both awe and boundless fear.
Immediately after, the combat members of the Werewolf Clan, as if driven by some mysterious force, shot forward at astonishing speed.
Their figures surged under the moonlight like bolts of black lightning,
darting through the woods without making the slightest sound.
Even the wind, stunned by their speed, fell silent.
The scene was both spectacular and bizarre, magnificent to the extreme.
They effortlessly crossed a distance of several thousand meters in the span of a few breaths,
appearing directly before the luxurious manor ahead, which was shrouded in cold moonlight.
The chilly night mist surrounding the manor seemed incredibly fragile in the face of this vicious aura.
Swept away by an invisible gale, it was instantly torn to shreds and vanished without a trace.
The lights within the manor flickered under the moonlight,
forming a stark contrast with the darkness outside, now surrounded by Werewolves. It was as if two completely different worlds
were colliding violently in this moment.
"You reckless fools really couldn’t hold back, could you? Are you that eager to die?"
Beneath a sky as black as ink,
twelve Princes of the Vampire Clan bizarrely emerged from the void.
They appeared without a sound, as ethereal as phantoms.
Each Prince was dressed in an elegant, well-tailored formal suit,
which shimmered faintly under the moonlight,
as if it were fine-spun finery specially prepared for this unseen banquet.
They stood in the night, handsome and noble,
every movement displaying the unique, cold elegance of the Vampire Clan.
It was as if this were not a perilous battlefield,
but a refined aristocratic ball where a silent waltz was being performed.
Their gazes were deep and frigid, showing no trace of panic or hesitation even in the face of the coming storm.
The hallmark of the Vampire Clan was that no matter what danger they faced,
they always maintained their nobility and grace. It was an instinct that flowed through their veins.
Compared to the members of the Werewolf Clan, who were roaring in a beast-like frenzy,
the Vampire Princes were undoubtedly easier on the eyes.
