Cursed System-Chapter 126: Wolf in sheep clothing

RAGNA POV...

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While the chain was still writhing and tightening around the neck of the first death wolf like a living serpent refusing to let go, I didn't even pause to admire my handiwork—my arm moved on instinct alone, and the tip of my sword shot forward like a released arrow, cold and merciless, piercing straight through the left eye of a second death wolf.

The resistance was almost nonexistent; the sharp edge bored through soft flesh and brittle bone alike, bursting out through the back of its skull in a violent spray of blood and shattered fragments that splattered across the sand like grotesque crimson rain.

The death wolf howled—an ugly, broken sound filled with pain and disbelief—as its body convulsed for a few brief, pitiful seconds, before its strength finally gave out and it collapsed heavily onto the ground, twitching once more before falling completely still.

As though enraged by the death of its kin, or perhaps driven mad by instinct alone, another death wolf forced its way through the defensive line, tearing past the formation and landing directly inside the area guarded by my alliance.

The instant my perception screamed a warning and my mental fortitude calculated its movement, my body reacted faster than conscious thought ever could.

My right hand snapped to my waist, fingers closing around the familiar grip of my dagger, and with every ounce of strength I could muster—muscles screaming, veins burning—I hurled it forward.

Air elemental Mana surged violently around the blade, wrapping it in invisible force, and the dagger carved a brilliant arc through the air, so fast that for a brief moment it seemed to vanish entirely, only to reappear an instant later as it drilled straight toward the charging death wolf.

The moment steel met flesh, a shrill, agonized whimper tore through the battlefield.

The death wolf staggered violently, raising a bleeding foreleg as it reeled backward, its balance completely shattered.

I watched closely, calm and calculating, as realization dawned—I had missed its vital point on purpose.

The foreleg was already ruined, torn apart in the process of absorbing my attack, and though the beast still lived, its movements were clumsy, panicked, and desperate.

Behind me, the demon children stationed at my rearguard stood frozen in shock, eyes wide, mouths agape.

If their thoughts could be heard, I was certain they all shared a single desire—to tear that death wolf apart in a thousand brutal ways.

Like starving birds descending on a single piece of fruit, they exploded into motion, sprinting forward without hesitation, each one desperate to be the first, driven by rage, fear, and long-suppressed frustration.

They swarmed the wounded beast like enraged hornets, leaving it no chance to escape.

The closest attacker—a freckled boy I had encountered earlier—roared curses as he slammed his fists into the death wolf's body, each blow disrupting what little resistance it could still muster.

The clash was vicious but short-lived.

Barely a few minutes passed before the struggle ended.

"Damn ba*tard!"

The freckled boy spat the words as he pulled out a small black dagger and stabbed it down again and again into the dying wolf, each strike fueled by pent-up terror and fury.

When it was finally over, he slid the dagger back into his pouch and stared down at the corpse, his breathing heavy, his eyes burning with a sense of hard-earned satisfaction.

They didn't linger long.

The battlefield was cleared quickly, efficiently, and without ceremony.

Once they were done, they approached me—but I didn't notice the admiration, curiosity, and reverence burning in their gazes.

Their mouths moved, sounds spilling out that vaguely resembled words, yet none of it reached me.

I had already turned away, my thoughts drifting elsewhere as I moved to rejoin the black steel Knights.

As I walked, I compared the feeling of throwing a dagger from afar versus wielding one in close combat.

It seems I'm far more suited to flinging a blade than dancing up close with my enemy, I mused silently. It's safer, cleaner… and far more efficient.

Still, I hadn't fully decided.

It may take time, I thought, fingers tightening around my last dagger, but my prey will eventually receive my full and undivided attention.

As if responding to my intent, the bronze surface of the dagger slowly shifted, glowing faintly as it deepened into a fiery red.

Thanks to my early preparations and constant vigilance, the losses on our side were minimal.

Aside from the dangerous zone around the black steel Knight wielding the whip and maintaining the sacred formation, the area remained relatively safe.

"Huff—"

I glanced over to see Marcus gasping for breath, clutching a sword that glowed fiery red, its color mirroring his flaming hair and flushed face.

He held it desperately as he blocked a leaping vicious wolf, his movements sluggish with exhaustion.

Suddenly, his vision blurred as golden dust filled the air.

A violent force grazed past his shoulder, nearly knocking him off balance and almost wrenching the sword from his grip.

I can't die here!

Not after everything I've endured!

I refuse to become food for some stupid wolf in the middle of a godforsaken desert!

Driven by sheer desperation, Marcus narrowly escaped.

Two of his comrades were already dead, and of the survivors, most had fled without looking back.

He poured every remaining shred of Mana into his legs, survival instincts taking over as his body and mind worked in desperate unison, screaming at him to run.

Just as he was bracing himself for death, his dimming eyes caught sight of me—of the dagger I had thrown, of the death wolf falling.

Hope ignited.

That's right… that little imp—no, Ragna—still has strength!

He's strong… impressive!

He can save me… or at least serve as a shield while I escape!

Without hesitation, he forced his battered body forward, staggering toward me.

"Hey! Ragna—please help me!"

I turned slowly, gripping my dagger tighter as the muffled cry reached my ears.

Well, well, well…

Look who decided to come running.

My gaze locked onto him.

Bloodshot eyes. Torn clothes. Claw marks crisscrossing his body.

Pitiful.

My prey… at last.

A shame, I thought coldly. You've chosen the wrong person.

A slow smile crept across my face, devoid of warmth or mercy, my crimson eyes sinking deeper into shadow.

With the black steel Knights watching closely, I wouldn't dare openly kill a vicious wolf…

But saving a comrade?

No one would suspect a thing.

I buried my cruel amusement beneath a carefully crafted expression of innocence and stepped forward, moving just enough to seem helpful.

The wolf in sheep's clothing had begun its performance.