The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1898: Knowledge of Millennia

Tonight, the world was a cacophony.

The roars of monstrous beasts, the potent bursts of cultivated power, and the swift passage of energy-laden winds all coalesced into a tumultuous storm.

Under normal circumstances, such overwhelming noise would be unbearable.

Nocturnal beings—Supernaturals gifted with acute hearing—would find themselves inundated, driven to irritation. Yet, for Miriam, this deafening din was a strange sort of solace, effectively drowning out the sounds of Princess Selene's impending demise. All she had to do was close her eyes.

Her hands tightened their grip on the princess's fur, anticipating the syrupy ooze of the Honey Moon.

But Princess Selene's form did not dissolve as expected.

Miriam summoned the courage to open her eyes and discovered the princess was still alive. The energy radiating from her body was not the typical moonlight or regal Qi, but something else entirely. 'Runic energy...?' she pondered, her head tilted in bewilderment. She hadn't conjured any runes; from where did this power originate?

As her body shifted to the side, she discerned a figure standing at the precipice of the chasm.

Another werewolf.

Regardless of the alteration in appearance, despite the ravages of age, she recognized this werewolf.

"It truly is Arnulf..."

She caught the whisper of a name escaping Princess Selene's lips, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Upon awakening to this new era, it was virtually impossible not to have heard of the Silverstar Pack and every individual within its ranks. One particular member who commanded her attention above all others was Flunra. A werewolf once known far and wide as Arnulf the Special.

Miriam was acquainted with Flunra.

And she was aware of his unwavering devotion to the royal werewolves.

During the initial crisis when Prince Alaric yielded to the Clarentium Empire, opting to subsume the entire kingdom into its dominion, Princess Selene was incensed. Miriam, however, felt no such outrage. Her sole aspiration was to converse with Flunra.

To ascertain his motivations for aligning himself with the Royal Black Prince.

Flunra was her senior.

In bygone days, when she was but a child under the tutelage of the clan's Shaman, she had the privilege of proximity to the royal werewolves—the Princes and Princesses alike. Being privy to that inner circle, it was inevitable that she would come to know of Flunra.

He was a guardian sought after by the royals when their survival hung precariously in the balance.

Flunra possessed no overwhelming might. He did not hail from a lineage of esteemed clans. Nor did he bear the King Mark.

Notwithstanding these factors, he commanded considerable renown and respect.

He invariably emerged unscathed, irrespective of the perils faced.

His capacity for survival was beyond question, having been deployed to locations deemed impossible to endure. The front lines, blighted zones, deep within enemy territories—everywhere. And it was this very aspect that inspired Miriam's admiration.

He was the embodiment of someone she had always aspired to become.

It was due to him that Miriam resolved to serve as a personal Shaman to the royal werewolves.

She had no need for a position of authority. No desire for ostentatious titles.

Much like Flunra, her aim was to be of service.

And that very werewolf now stood a mere ten paces away, having intervened to save Princess Selene.

Not a single royal werewolf had ever perished under his protection.

It appeared that statement was far from an exaggeration.

Flunra braced himself against the encroaching tide of crimson—an overwhelming surge of fur and fang bearing down upon him with relentless ferocity. These creatures were unfamiliar to him; they did not belong to this world. He cast a glance down into the chasm, witnessing the crimson wolves hurling themselves into its depths with abandon.

'The Honey Moon's influence at work. Ingenious,' he mused. 'But utterly insufficient. Not against adversaries of this caliber.'

Even from this distance, he had already gained a considerable understanding of the unfolding situation.

He could discern the conversation between Princess Selene and Miriam, thus grasping the core of their predicament.

'Every one of them resides at the precipice of the ninth-rank realm—and showing signs of ascending into the pseudo-tenth rank.' His gaze swept to his flanks, observing that some crimson wolves had indeed breached their defenses. 'Engaging them with sheer power is an impossibility. Frankly, we are fortunate.'

Thanks to the intoxicating aroma emanating from the chasm, none of the crimson wolves had attacked them directly.

They were too ensnared by the fragrant lure. Too captivated by Princess Selene's potent aura.

However, this enchantment would not persist indefinitely.

Swoosh—!

Flunra raised an arm, deflecting the sudden gust of wind.

His brows knitted as the wind swept past him, carrying with it a debilitating essence of frenzied delirium.

This malevolent force weakened the Inner Fang, enabling the Blood Moon's insidious influence to tighten its grip around the fragile minds of every werewolf within its reach. Flunra felt its icy talons scrabbling at his sanity, injecting a potent bloodlust into his very being, yet he held firm.

He withstood the tempest of rage, his mind remaining impeccably lucid.

As the most senior werewolf present, it would be deeply humiliating to succumb to a loss of self-control.

'I detect the approach of werewolves—from behind. A significant number. Those who managed to break through will cease to be my primary concern.' Flunra severed his own hand without a flicker of hesitation, allowing the dark blood to pool at his feet. 'What truly necessitates my attention is the collective mass of the horde. And I have conceived a strategy.'

"Arnulf!" Miriam called out from behind, now supporting Princess Selene. "Let's set the princess aside for now and deal with the horde later! They still have a long way to go, so you don't have to face them alone!"

"Brat," Flunra glanced over his shoulder. "Secure her first, then come back to help if you still want to."

"You're being reckless! You'll truly die if you're alone!"

"Die...?"

His lips twisted into a sneer.

"Me? Die? How is that possible? All those from my generation are gone, yet I remain. You should worry about yourself. I hope I won't be speaking to your corpse after this. Many like you have appeared before."

"But still..." Miriam was stunned.

She looked at the terrifying horde, an enemy that even she doubted the Royal Black Prince could handle easily, and then back to Flunra. "Their individual strengths are immense! It's like fighting a horde of Alpha Primes!"

Flunra let out a chuckle.

Despite her being a Shaman, it appeared she was underestimating the Alpha Primes too greatly.

"It's true that each possesses incredible power," Flunra's hand regenerated, stanching the bleeding. He knelt down, using his own blood mixed with moonlight energy to paint the ground, drawing the first stroke of an intricate formation. Approximately thirty complex, ancient runes materialized.

Each rune pulsed with a soft, pale light.

As if they possessed a life of their own.

"However, they lack intelligence. That much is apparent," he stated, standing up again after completing the formation. "The ones following behind couldn't even stop themselves, unable to realize the enticing fragrance was a lure leading them into a trap."

"Alpha Primes can think. They are far more dangerous."

He gestured with his bloodied hand towards the formation, activating the entire array.

Within the main formation, four smaller circles were visible.

Miriam couldn't identify the type of formation, but she surmised the four smaller circles served as connectors.

Casting a glance aside, Flunra reached out and drew a corpse of a crimson wolf towards him using energy. Without hesitation, he began to consume it, tearing flesh from bone with his sharp fangs. The pallor on his face quickly vanished.

Once more, he appeared revitalized.

Even after constructing such a complex formation that should have depleted his energy reserves, he seemed fine.

It appeared his act of devouring granted him amplified energy.

"Move along now," Flunra lowered his stance and placed a rune onto his foot. "I will handle this."

Miriam jolted out of her stupor.

She realized she had been misguided in speaking to the wrong person about safety and mortality.

If Flunra believed the situation couldn't kill him, then it most likely wouldn't.

In the very instant Miriam ascended, carrying the injured Princess Selene to safety, Flunra initiated his action. He shot forward like a released bolt. His form sliced through the air, and the scent emanating from him struck the first crimson wolf like a spark igniting dry tinder.

Its trance was shattered, and its eyes snapped open.

Sensing the approaching prey, it lunged.

It attacked.

However, Flunra's body dissolved seamlessly as he entered the twilight dimension.

He permeated the horde like a phantom weaving through the living world, passing countless bodies without drawing any notice. Not a single crimson wolf turned. None altered their stride. They charged onward, irresistibly drawn by the fragrance—a scent they couldn't ignore, a spell they couldn't break.

Flunra had no idea of their origin.

However, with the Blood Moon feeling more potent tonight, it was likely connected to its source.

Millions of beings couldn't materialize from thin air.

These creatures hailed from the Blood Moon—and their crossing into the Mortal Realm came at a cost. They were compelled to alter their forms to fit a world that rejected their true appearances—diminished and weaker now. Most importantly, they were bound.

The laws of this realm now governed them, whether they accepted it or not.

It would be difficult for them to detect the twilight dimension when they hadn't even properly adapted.

Everything proceeded smoothly.

Or at least, Flunra remained undetected until he encountered a more powerful crimson wolf.

A larger crimson wolf detected Flunra and attacked him regardless.

More wolves converged, breaking free from the fragrant trance. Two detached from the left flank, and another pair from the right. Four hunters now, separating from the main group to pursue the anomaly that dared to infiltrate their ranks with ill intentions.

But the horde itself was an endless ocean of bodies. Churning and relentless.

To cut through to its center was a monumental task.

Particularly for those like them, who lacked the ability to phase through flesh and fur like a phantom.

Unable to traverse through living beings.

One of them tried to grab Flunra, but only managed to brush past him. Before long, he found himself near the rear of the enemy horde. He cut his hand once more, allowing his blood to spill and soak into the ground as if he were tending to a garden.

Then, he shifted towards the left flank. After that, he moved to the right.

Flunra repeated this exact process before rejoining the intricate array.

"Just like that." He placed his finger on the heart of the formation. Luminous tendrils erupted from its uppermost edge, cascading down into the excavation like serpentine beams of light. They dove directly towards the golden viscous liquid pooling at the very bottom, belonging to Princess Selene.

Flunra’s lips curved slightly, "Let the pandemonium commence."

Sniff...

A subtle alteration occurred in the atmosphere.

An aroma drifted into Miriam’s nostrils, causing her to knit her brows. It was a unique fragrance, one she couldn't immediately place. No, she *did* recognize it. However, the scent was so novel that it took her a few moments to make the connection. It was Flunra’s scent.

His distinctive smell saturated the entire vicinity, supplanting the sweet, fragrant aroma emanating from the golden goo.

She glanced downwards and witnessed utter disarray.

Crimson wolves were engaged in internecine combat, tearing and mauling each other as if they had encountered their most hated foes. The situation only intensified as the horde, specifically those nearest the trench, abruptly halted their advance and commenced attacking their brethren.

Miriam could scarcely credit her eyes.

Fatalities surged dramatically on the horde’s side as they brutally slaughtered one another.

And upon returning her gaze to the formation, she observed a solitary figure.

Flunra stood at the formation’s nucleus, a sinister grin playing on his lips as he beheld millennia of accumulated wisdom transform into a magnificent pandemonium. His jaws gaped in silent, unbridled mirth. His eyes reflected the gruesome carnage as the lifeblood of countless crimson wolves erupted skyward in geysers.

A spectral, crimson tableau painted against the encroaching darkness.

Miriam finally comprehended the sequence of events.

Utilizing the golden goo as a medium, Flunra’s sanguineous scent, amplified by the 'Honey Moon's' influence, propagated like a virulent pestilence upon the wind. It latched onto the crimson wolves, adhering to their very essence, perpetuating a deception amongst each of them.

It deluded them into perceiving their fellows as Flunra.

In that very instant, Miriam grasped a profound realization.

She understood that the individual within the trench was no longer the 'Special' Arnulf. This entity was something far superior.

The legendary Arnulf of antiquity could never have disrupted an army numbering in the millions in such a manner. Yet, this contemporary iteration, Flunra, possessed this capability. Ancient runes and the innate nature of a royal werewolf were seamlessly integrated in his being, as if destined to be one from the start.

Miriam had never borne witness to anything comparable.

And she was utterly terrified.