The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1786: The Cowardly Way

To ascend and ignite like a burst of fireworks.

A fierce young werewolf—one who had recently broken away from his ancestral pack to forge his own legacy—flared and faded like a pyrotechnic display. While abandoning the safety of one's family is a grueling ordeal, some individuals yearn for the moment they can finally depart.

Conflict. A trial of might. The purity of the Bloodline.

These elements forged the spirit of a young werewolf, giving rise to an unshakable confidence.

For a werewolf, confidence is a unique beast.

It provides more than just a feeling of dominance; it grants an unnatural, savage power that allows them to remain defiant regardless of the odds, fueled by an insatiable bloodlust.

A searing, hunter’s rage followed in its wake.

Many gifted youths failed to realize that, despite their innate potential, they were still green.

When measured against beings with centuries or even a millennium of experience, raw talent often withered before seasoned wisdom. Mastering one's temper and selecting opponents that provide a true test are the most vital lessons a young werewolf must grasp before striking out alone.

To leave the den is to become a target for others.

Desperate Alphas, Betas, or Omegas would gladly hunt them to bolster or reclaim their own strength.

Following the pattern of those who came before, Laynkard assumed Adhara was no different.

Her words had certainly improved his opinion of her, yet he believed she still suffered from the impulsiveness of youth.

Facing someone like him—a warrior who had walked the earth for thousands of years longer—she should have remained humble, biding her time for a perfect opening. By issuing a frontal challenge, she proved she had surrendered to the reckless fire of her own ego.

Laynkard had been revived only a short while ago.

Through Princess Selene, he had been briefed on the infamous Silverstar Pack.

To be honest, he was well-versed in the history of their Alpha, Rex Silverstar.

He was a young but battle-hardened werewolf who had toppled impossible foes.

Despite his lack of years, his Cultivation and power were beyond dispute.

However, aside from the Alpha, the rest of the pack remained... unproven.

Laynkard was aware he was dueling the Female Alpha; her very presence was a warning—one that left no room for error. She was the successor of the Anti-Werewolf bloodline. Yet, her status was founded on her ancestry rather than her own legendary deeds.

From the start, he was skeptical of her true capabilities.

That skepticism vanished in a heartbeat.

Swoosh—!

With a fluid motion that showed zero hesitation, Adhara slipped beneath Laynkard’s lethal talons and surged past. She delivered a powerful kick to Laynkard’s spine, using the momentum to propel herself toward Olarim, who stood just a few paces behind.

A grin of anticipation spread across Olarim's face.

Like Laynkard, he was a newly awakened ancient, and the thrill of high-stakes combat made his blood sing.

He unleashed a storm of claw strikes at Adhara.

She evaded them with supernatural reflexes and cold precision, analyzing the rhythm of his assault and pinpointing a vulnerability in less than a second. Violet flames erupted from her skin, creating a screen of fire that obscured Olarim’s vision.

He expected her to reposition—perhaps a low sweep to his ankles or a retreat to prepare a heavy strike.

Olarim felt certain he knew her next move.

Every one of his assumptions was incorrect.

Adhara didn't move an inch from her trajectory; she charged straight through the wall of violet fire.

Her fingers were pressed together like a spear.

She lunged at the startled Olarim, striking directly at his Ice and Moon King Mark.

A surge of her volatile Qi flooded the King Mark, wreaking havoc on his internal systems—turning Olarim’s excitement into pure fury instantly. While the King Mark was a symbol of authority, it was also a glaring weak point.

Adhara exploited that flaw with devastating efficiency.

Growl—!

A tortured snarl tore from Olarim’s throat as agony surged through his frame.

His regal Qi began to leak out in an uncontrolled torrent.

Realizing he had gravely misjudged Adhara, he lashed out with a desperate, high-speed swing. He had only just returned to this new age—the last thing he intended was to perish the moment he woke up.

Adhara ducked the blow and vaulted over his head.

She touched down behind Olarim and swung her arm back blindly.

Her glowing silver claws bit into Olarim’s throat, slicing through thick fur and hide with ease. Every fiber of her arm tensed, channeling the necessary force to drive the blow home.

With a sickening sound, like the head of a porcelain doll snapping from its neck, Adhara ripped the snarling head of Olarim of the Night’s Triarchy from his body.

The entire execution took no longer than the time it took Laynkard to turn his head.

Arcs of blood painted the air.

Every spectator, from the rebel ranks to the Great Army, stood paralyzed as Olarim’s decapitated head spun through the air. For a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to stop.

No one could comprehend the speed of the kill.

Even Evelyn and Gistella, who were watching closely, were stunned.

Reality only crashed back when Adhara caught Olarim’s head in her bare hand.

A collective gasp of disbelief rippled through the gathered forces.

The Night’s Triarchy were the elite defenders of the royalty, and Olarim had held his rank for centuries. Many considered his strength equal to a mid-tier Alpha Prime.

When Adhara had agreed to a two-on-one duel, the reaction had been one of outrage.

The enemy had sneered at her arrogance, believing she was simply rushing toward a gruesome end. Meanwhile, the soldiers of the Great Army watched with grim expressions, terrified by the risk she was taking.

To them, it seemed like a reckless gamble.

They would have preferred Mavok or another veteran commander to take the lead.

It wasn't that they doubted her, but the fallout of her potential death would be ruinous.

Now, however, Adhara’s reasoning was clear to all.

She had allowed the two-on-one because the numbers were irrelevant.

As she had just demonstrated, the duel was back to a one-on-one within seconds after she dismantled Olarim. A legendary and battle-worn warrior had been extinguished before the audience could even take a second breath.

Blood poured like a crimson stream as Adhara hoisted the severed head high.

Her gaze swept over the opposing legions before settling on Princess Selene on the balcony.

This was the opening casualty of the final war.

Adhara had made her point by executing one of their champions.

"She finished him in an instant..." Gistella whispered, her voice trembling with shock. "Just how powerful has she become?"

Having faith in Adhara was one thing—but seeing her dominate the battlefield as if it were child's play was quite another. Gistella had been prepared to intervene if things went south, but it turned out the enemy was the one in need of a miracle.

"Significantly stronger, it appears," Evelyn noted, her eyes focusing on Adhara’s fur.

The fur around Adhara's neck now shimmered with a violet hue, mirroring the shade of her hellish flames.

She was employing a technique or spell that vastly enhanced her physical power and perception.

Evelyn wasn't sure of its origin, but it had to be a recent acquisition.

Likely gained during her clash with Sven, the bastard son of the Origin.

'It seems I underestimated you as well, Adhara,' Evelyn mused privately, realizing she could rely on her friend far more than she had imagined. She then looked toward Princess Selene, whose composure had shattered.

Even from a distance, Evelyn could tell the Princess was reeling.

One of her most loyal protectors had been slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

It was a disastrous start for the royalty.

'Adhara has completely unsettled her,' Evelyn thought with grim satisfaction.

Yet, a flicker of worry remained. She feared this humiliation might drive Princess Selene to a desperate, irrational act—one that could jeopardize everyone, not just the Great Army.

A cornered predator is always the most lethal.

"HAHAHK!" Laynkard’s eyes blazed with a manic joy, finally recognizing that Adhara wasn't just a fleeting spark. She was the real thing, and he was eager to test her limits. "You are truly special! I thank the full moon for this challenge!"

Just as Laynkard prepared to lunge at Adhara.

Ready to restart the duel that promised to revitalize his ancient blood.

A piercing, authoritative snarl cut through the atmosphere.

"Kill them all!!"

The order was as sharp as a blade’s edge.

It rang out over the frozen front lines, where every eye had been glued to the center of the field—to Adhara and Laynkard. Both warriors froze at the command.

A heavy, suffocating silence followed, more oppressive than any roar.

It was the silence of a world on the brink of collapse.

Every head turned in unison—human and supernatural alike—toward the source of the voice.

Princess Selene stood at the balcony's edge, her arm still extended from a frantic gesture, her face a mask of incandescent rage. Despite the pact to settle this through a duel, she had chosen to end it through slaughter.

Her decree had broken the truce.

For a heartbeat, the entire war hung in a precarious balance.

Evelyn, the Alpha Primes, and the generals all processed the betrayal of the plan.

In the following second, the grim reality set in.

Princess Selene had abandoned her honor.

ROAR—!

From the opposition, the lead Alpha Prime shattered the silence with a bone-shaking howl. He threw his head back and let out a sound that wasn't just anger—it was a tectonic signal that broke the dam.

Since the Princess had spoken, the war was back on.

The rebel forces charged, making the earth tremble beneath their weight.

From the Great Army’s side, Mavok’s thunderous response came just a moment later.

It was the call that snapped everyone back to reality, a sign that there was no turning back.

What followed was absolute, terrifying, and chaotic destruction.

The two armies slammed into each other like opposing tides.

They collided not with tactics, but with a volcanic release of hatred. The air was filled with the deafening sound of steel hitting claw, shields meeting fangs, and the screams of soldiers fighting for their vision of the future.

The dry ground turned slick and dark with blood in an instant.

Shamans from both factions hovered above, casting powerful buffs into the thick of the fight.

War Spells rippled through the ranks, pushing every warrior beyond their natural capacity and escalating the carnage. The light itself seemed to splinter into a kaleidoscope of colors against the gray backdrop of the canyon.

Boom—!

Splash!

At the front lines, werewolves and orcs clashed in a mess of muscle and broken bone.

Dwarven steel rang out against toughened hides, while Tigermen moved like blurs, using their lethal martial arts. Above the fray, a deadly rain of elven arrows fell in rhythmic volleys, finding every gap in the chaos to claim more lives.

On the high ridge of the Great Army, an elven commander dropped his hand.

Another elf, positioned at the stone perimeter, caught the signal.

He knelt and nodded to four figures who had been standing perfectly still.

Together, they pressed their hands onto a massive runic circle.

The formation flared to life.

An emerald radiance, vibrant as an ancient forest, raced along the canyon’s edge. The air vibrated with pent-up energy. From concealed batteries along the cliffs, massive bolts—each the size of a man’s leg—were launched into the sky.

They ascended, glowing with green light, paused at their peak, and then flipped.

Like guided meteors, they dove toward the earth.

Their paths adjusted automatically, homing in on the center of the rebellion’s advance.

Evelyn watched the scene with fury. "Princess Selene, you spineless coward!"