Boundless Cultivation-Chapter 69 - Look Who Decided To Show Themselves Part - 2

“Now, it’s my turn.”

Lucan lashed out at Alaric, moving much faster than before. Alaric barely managed to block the strike with a layered mana shield. Lucan pressed the assault, slashing relentlessly, forcing Alaric to deflect each blow. But he couldn’t sustain this for long.

At this rate, he would exhaust his mana long before Lucan did.

Making a split-second decision, Alaric weakened his layered mana shield just enough to allow Lucan’s claws to graze his skin rather than tear straight through him.

The searing pain barely registered as he immediately activated [Restorative Flow], slowly knitting the wound even as blood seeped through his clothes.

The impact hurled him to the ground. Now is my chance.

Alaric channeled energy from his solar plexus chakra, boosting his mana manipulation ability. At the same time, he began condensing mana for a fully powered mana blast while simultaneously preparing a mana-scrambling wave.

Lucan, unaware of Alaric’s hidden abilities, assumed he was simply conjuring a mana gauntlet.

Still, Alaric had only a narrow window. If he took too long, Lucan would sense something was off from the sheer volume of mana he was accumulating.

“Impressive,” Lucan let out a low chuckle. “You’re stronger than most human filth your age. But playtime is over.”

In a blur, Lucan closed the distance. His claws darkened, extending a foot longer as a sinister poison-laced aura pulsed from them.

The instant Lucan entered his range, Alaric unleashed the mana scrambling wave, immediately followed by the fully charged mana blast.

“Aargh... take this, you beast!” Alaric roared.

The sudden energy disruption caught the werewolf alpha off guard. His venomous claws lost their eerie black glow, reverting to normal. Before he could react, Alaric’s swirling sphere of mana smashed into Lucan’s torso, flinging him across the battlefield. His body slammed into a stone wall with a resounding crash.

The mana scrambling wave had disrupted his physical enhancement and nullified his defenses.

I did it!

But his triumph was short-lived.

A pained wail pierced the air, yanking his attention toward Rennard—impaled on the claws of the female werewolf.

Alaric’s breath caught as the sergeant crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. The werewolf withdrew her claws, her lips curling into a slow, predatory smile as she stalked toward Alaric.

The crunch of shifting rubble forced his gaze back to Lucan, who emerged from the wreckage, completely healed.

Impossible! How did he heal already?

A faint green glow at the werewolf’s neck confirmed Alaric’s worst suspicion — Lucan had used a similar protective artifact like the one the count had offered them earlier.

To make matters worse, his subordinates were closing in.

By the look of it, the werewolf alpha had no intention of honoring his word.

“Yes, that’s the fear I wanted to see in your eyes,” Lucan sneered. “You’re dead, human. I’ll make you suffer for the humiliation you’ve caused me.”

In the blink of an eye, Lucan vanished. A searing pain ripped through Alaric’s body as claws tore into his flesh, sending him crashing onto the ground. Only then did he realize— Lucan had been toying with him all along.

There was never a real chance for him and Rennard to escape.

No. I cannot give up.

Gritting his teeth, Alaric funneled more energy into his healing ability, forcing himself to rise. I won’t go down without giving it my all.

He fired a barrage of mana bullets at Lucan, but the werewolf evaded them effortlessly. Before Alaric could react, Lucan appeared before him, slashing him once more. Blood splattered across the ground. He could have ended Alaric’s life at any moment — he was simply toying with him.

Alaric’s vision blurred, his mind growing sluggish. The poison from Lucan’s claws was spreading. His limbs felt heavy, his consciousness slipping.

Suddenly, his danger sense flared.

Looks like this is the end for me in this life as well. A half-hearted chuckle escaped his lips.

But just before darkness claimed him, he sensed three more presences entering the fray. Straining to lift his head, he spotted three cloaked figures advancing toward them.

One of them felt oddly familiar.

Alaric smirked. Look who finally decided to show themselves.

His gaze dropped to the runic bracelet gifted by the count — it was cracked.

***

Lucan’s POV

Today, Lucan was elated. He had finally exacted his revenge on that human boy for the humiliation he had endured. When he first returned to headquarters and reported his failure to subdue a mere 12-year-old — a child who had even managed to wound him — his boss had scoffed in disbelief.

But once the truth became undeniable, Lucan had faced severe reprimands. His failure had been a stain on his reputation and a blow to his pride as an alpha werewolf. He couldn’t rest easy until he had settled the score.

For months, he had stalked the boy from the shadows, biding his time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Yet, each time, something had thwarted his plans. The child was always protected. But today, fate had smiled upon him.

The boy had ventured into the Sanctum of Radiance.

Lucan chuckled darkly. Of all the places in the city, the brat couldn’t have chosen a better location for their plan to unfold.

Without hesitation, he had summoned his beastmasters, orchestrating an attack to flood the streets with monsters, diverting the city guards.

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If the boy disappeared amid the chaos, no one would connect the dots until it was far too late.

Sure, the child had a bodyguard, but he was nothing compared to that old man who usually shadowed him during training. Besides, Marrisa was nearly his equal in strength — more than capable of handling a mere escort.

Still, the boy had proven to be a crafty little thing. That last attack had caught Lucan off guard, breaching his defenses and landing a humiliating hit.

How the hell did that kid get so strong?

Once again, the boy had embarrassed him in front of his subordinates.

I hope Marrisa didn’t see that.

Of course, he wasn’t fooling himself. His fiancée was a formidable werewolf in her own right. There was no way she hadn’t sensed his moment of weakness, even while engaged in her own battle.

Luckily, Lucan had worn a physical recovery artifact that instantly mended his wounds. Not that he had needed it to deal with the boy — but it had been worth it just to see the flicker of confusion and horror in the brat’s eyes.

Besides, if he had taken too long to recover, the boy might have slipped away.

Everything had gone according to plan. Marrisa had bested the guard, and Lucan had put the child in his place.

But then, the arrival of three unknown figures soured his mood.

They couldn’t afford witnesses. But something about this new group unsettled him — especially the one in the center.

They were cloaked, their faces and features obscured, yet Lucan’s superior werewolf senses registered their overwhelming presence.

His instincts flared.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled, mana surging into his obsidian-black claws. His golden eyes gleamed with menace.

“You’ve made a mistake interfering in our fight.”

None of the figures dignified his question with a response. However, the one in the middle — likely the leader — inclined his head slightly, and the two figures at his sides dispersed, moving swiftly to confront Lucan’s subordinates.

One engaged three werewolves at once, while the other clashed with Marrissa. Meanwhile, the leader strode toward Lucan with an unsettling calm, sending a chill slithering down his spine.

Lucan sprang forward, slashing at the leader with his claws. The figure effortlessly sidestepped the attack and flicked his hand. In an instant, glowing purple chains materialized from thin air, coiling around Lucan’s limbs and yanking him into place.

A searing pain shot through his flesh as the bindings constricted, tightening as he continued to struggle. Worse still, they siphoned the strength from his body, draining his power with terrifying efficiency.

Shit! What are these chains made of? How is this possible?

The agonized cries of his subordinates wrenched his attention away. They thrashed inside inky-black nets, their movements frantic but futile.

Marrissa let out a strangled wail as the third figure twisted her own hair around her wrists, binding them behind her back.

Glowing inscriptions flared across the strands, altering them in ways Lucan couldn’t comprehend. This wasn’t just any magic — it was something far beyond his understanding.

A cold dread crept up his spine. There was only one kind of power that matched this level of mastery.

Goosebumps prickled his skin.

The leader leaned in, and for the first time, Lucan saw her face.

A woman. Thick black hair framed flawless skin, save for the faint age lines around her piercing eyes. Her lips, full and crimson, curled into an amused smile. Her complexion was pale, almost ethereal.

But it was her eyes that truly unsettled him.

One pupil was a stark, unnatural white. The other, a piercing sky blue.

They bore into him, peeling back his defenses, stripping him bare.

By the heavens… a witch.

“What’s wrong, beast?” Her voice was silky, laced with mockery. “Not enjoying yourself anymore?”

Lucan’s throat went dry. He fought to keep his voice steady. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “We haven’t wronged you.”

He couldn’t fathom why witches — outlaws in the Empire — would risk exposing themselves. And even if they had, why meddle in this fight? All this… just to save a brat? No matter how he turned it over in his mind, it made no sense.

“Haven’t wronged us?” She chuckled, a soft, melodic sound that sent a fresh wave of unease through him. Then, her face darkened.

“Anyone affiliated with The Radiant Flame is our enemy.”

Lucan’s breath hitched.

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Shit.

His mind reeled. How does she know? He smothered the thought before it could fully form.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He forced a confused expression, doing his best to feign ignorance.

The chains constricted mercilessly, sending fresh jolts of agony searing through his body.

The witch watched his torment with undisguised pleasure. “Save your lies,” she murmured, tilting her head as if observing a particularly interesting specimen. “We’ve been tracking groups like yours for a long time.”

Her gaze sharpened. Then, she smiled—a slow, wicked thing.

“If it makes you feel better,” she added, “the Sanctum won’t fare much better than you after a few hours.”

Lucan let out a bitter laugh, though pain laced the sound.

“Hah… you’re delusional,” he spat. “If you think you can take on the Sanctum, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“Oh… am I?” The witch whispered an incantation, her fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air.

A sudden vibration coursed through Lucan’s body, followed by a searing pain that ignited at his fingertips and crept slowly up his arm.

His flesh, blood, and bone withered away, crumbling into dust before his very eyes. Even through the excruciating torment, Lucan discerned the energy signature coiling around him as potent as the one used by his boss.

A dao energy… and a fully developed one at that.

At that moment, he understood — he wasn’t going to survive. The witch wouldn’t have divulged so much information otherwise.

Before the corrosive dao energy disintegrated his body, he cast one final glance at his subordinates and Marrissa.

At least… they didn’t hear anything. They never saw their faces.

There was still a chance — however slim — that they might be spared.

Hopefully.

As the last vestiges of his consciousness unraveled, he caught sight of the witch gazing at the boy with an inscrutable expression. Uncertainty flickered across her features, as though she wrestled with a decision.

Lucan’s lips curled into a faint, rasping laugh. “So… you… knew… the kid after all. I’ll…”

The witch’s eyes snapped to him.

A split second later, his face detonated into a spray of gore.

***

The muffled shouts of people and the rhythmic stomp of boots pulled Alaric from unconsciousness. Someone shook him urgently.

“Young master, are you alright?” Rennard’s voice was taut with concern.

Alaric stirred and instinctively activated [Restorative Flow]. But to his astonishment, there wasn’t a trace of poison left in his system. His body felt completely renewed — aside from the lingering exhaustion of battle.

Even his wounds had vanished.

Rennard, too, looked entirely unscathed. The deep gashes across his abdomen and stomach had disappeared without a trace.

“Yes… I’m fine,” he said, eyes scanning the scene.

City guards flooded the alley, shackling the remaining werewolf subordinates and the female warrior who had fought Rennard. Yet there was no sign of Lucan.

Did he manage to escape?

Alaric had no idea what transpired after he blacked out, but something gnawed at him. One of the cloaked figures who had intervened felt eerily familiar—similar to the spy he had sensed in the marketplace… and again during his training with Edgar.

In fact, he was almost certain of it. But why had they saved him?

A sudden realization cut through the haze of his mind. His gaze dropped to the cracked runic bracelet on his wrist.

Were they… witches? It was a possibility. But he couldn’t be sure.

If they were, then he owed them his life.

More than that, it seemed they had healed both him and Rennard. Without an antidote, the poison alone would have killed him. His healing skills weren’t yet strong enough to counteract poison of that potency.

Regret settled in his chest. He had missed everything after losing consciousness—missed the chance to understand why they had intervened… missed the chance to thank them.

Hmmm… what is that?

A splatter of blood and torn flesh caught his attention. It marked the exact spot where he had last seen Lucan.

Is that all that remains of the werewolf alpha?

His father and Edgar had always warned him that witches were powerful and very difficult to deal with. Still, witnessing their raw power firsthand left him unsettled. Now, he fully understood why the count and Edgar were so concerned for his safety.

After a brief exchange with the sergeant, he learned that Rennard had also been unconscious and had missed the battle between the werewolves and the enigmatic trio.

The city guards soon approached, questioning them as per protocol. However, the moment Alaric and Rennard revealed their identities, the guards promptly released them.

One of the officers managed to secure a coach for their journey home. Alaric exhaled deeply and climbed inside, Rennard following close behind.

He needed silence.

He needed to process everything that had transpired.

As the carriage lurched on its way toward their destination, a shadow flickered on a nearby rooftop. For the briefest moment, Alaric spotted a lone figure watching him from above.

Their gazes met and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. It was a quiet, unspoken thanks.

The figure vanished. It was understandable. The witches had no reason to communicate with him in public and expose themselves further. Not when they could reach him in private, now that they knew his identity.

Perhaps… I’ll see them again soon.