Wonderful Insane World-Chapter 110: Untamed Will

The ground changed beneath their feet.

Less soft. Rockier. Leaves became scarce, replaced by dry earth littered with dark shards. The wind, too, had vanished—or maybe it had simply curled up on the ground, like everything else.

A faint rustle barely whispered through the air. Élisa was the first to react, pressing herself against a bent trunk.

A shadow suddenly passed—not in front of them, but overhead.

They were already surrounded.

Maggie didn’t look up. She simply laid two fingers on the handle of her axe. Down below, Dylan slowly knelt, palms flat against the stone, breath held. He couldn’t see anything, but his body already knew.

They were being watched from all sides, like the enemy was waiting for them to make one wrong move before pouncing. Or maybe the pack was still hesitating—knowing that once they sprung the trap, there’d be no turning back.

And then, a sharp bark rang out. Short. Deep.

The pack wasn’t waiting anymore. These weren’t beasts that played games—they didn’t have the intelligent patience to perfectly close the trap around the human trio.

They attacked all at once. Three creatures, each as tall as two Dylans stacked together, bared fangs, eyes milky white, fur bristling like an army of spears. The first leapt straight at Élisa without warning.

She dodged with a sharp pivot, drove her blade into its abdomen, and pulled it free in the same motion. A spurt of hot blood—black, like some tenebrous fluid—splattered her obscenely.

The beast rolled across the ground, its flank torn open, but the blade hadn’t gone deep enough. It was already growling, ready to pounce again.

Maggie didn’t shout. Her axe came down like a verdict. The wolf’s skull exploded under the impact, rattling with a short rasp. She pivoted instantly, parrying the leap of a second predator. Her arms bent under the hit, her body tensed, anchored like a fortress.

Dylan didn’t wait.

He lunged left, slipped beneath a branch, skidded against a mossy rock, and struck. His blade didn’t slash—it slammed into the elbow, breaking the joint of a front paw. The creature howled, toppled sideways, and Dylan followed, knees on its ribs, machete plunging again into flesh.

Everything was reflexes. Breath. Steel. No words. No wasted movement. It lasted only seconds—he pierced the beast with a wet, slicing sound.

Another wolf crashed into Maggie, knocking her backwards.

But not alone...

She dragged the beast with her, rolled in the dust, and mid-spin, drove her axe into its throat. Hot blood splashed her face, heavy and thick—but she didn’t care.

Élisa had already vanished into the bamboo, two shadows chasing her.

"Two more!" Dylan shouted, but it wasn’t really necessary. She’d already clocked it. She weaved between the trunks like a wave, one of the beasts on her heels, the other cutting in from the side.

She spun, stepped back, stabbed one of her daggers into a tree, used it as a foothold—and jumped.

Her knee struck the muzzle of the beast to the right. She landed in a crouch, and her blade drove straight into the mouth of the other, who’d gotten too close.

The first collapsed instantly. The second staggered back, limping.

A brief silence fell—but it was the stillness right after impact.

Dylan’s breath thudded in his chest. The stigma on his back pulsed faintly.

And they all knew—without turning around.

It was over.

For this pack, at least.

They didn’t stop to talk.

Not even to check for injuries.

The beasts were dead. The gems were quickly harvested. For now, they had to keep moving. Like a rule etched into their bones: as long as the sun hadn’t risen, as long as shadows still reigned... they were at the top of the chain. After that, the rules would change.

Élisa wiped her blade on a corpse’s shoulder, sprang back up in a fluid motion. She hadn’t spoken since the clash. No need. She just flicked her gaze from Dylan to Maggie, and launched toward the southeast—where the air was denser, where the mist clung to the trees like fabric.

Dylan followed without hesitation, machete still in hand, fingers sticky. He felt the burn in his thighs, the dried blood on his cheek—but it didn’t matter. Not yet. Maggie took the rear, still solid, still upright, her stride unfaltering despite the blood stuck to her skin.

They didn’t take long to resume their march. This time faster. And a bit more tense.

They were climbing a gentle slope, flanked by flat rocks coated in moss. As they moved forward, the sky began to lighten. Slowly. Insidiously. As if the night refused to let go, but knew its time was almost up.

The daylight wasn’t clear. Not yellow. Not even blue. Just a pale, dirty grey clinging to the treetops, not yet daring to descend. But it was there. A sign.

They didn’t have much time left.

A beast howled in the distance. A rough, drawn-out cry. A wail that stretched through the bamboo like a warning.

They followed a stream half-hidden beneath the foliage, then crossed over thick roots as wide as arms. The forest sounds were coming back—but too faint. As if held back. The birds still weren’t singing.

And Dylan—without knowing why—felt the stigma on his back pulse softly against his skin. Like a signal. Or a reminder. Though he couldn’t know what it meant.

Élisa stopped at the top of a small rise, crouched low, and pointed toward a cluster of black stones below.

There, nestled in the hollow, they saw two beasts... no, three. Calm. Half-asleep.

But a fourth... was already watching them.

Its gaze wasn’t that of an alert animal.

It was something else.

There was no panic. No tension in its posture. It didn’t growl. Didn’t rise. Didn’t freeze, either.

It just stared.

Like someone watching passersby on a street they know by heart.

With that calm, all three of them could tell—they were facing a creature not disturbed by their presence. Just confident it could defend its territory.

Dylan felt his heartbeat slow—not out of calm, but like his body was trying to save every beat.

He murmured:

"This one’s not gonna be easy."