Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

“That’s Ralph, after all.”

Kevin repeated that sentence over and over again: he had lived in Cassandra for twenty years and had known Lyle for four.

Over four years, Ralph Bouler, the sinister sheriff, became Kevin's greatest nightmare.

"That's Ralph!"

Chapter 491 The Werewolf's Grin

Kevin's all-powerful sheriff, Mr. Ralph Buller, knelt before the angel Galaron.

With his knees sunk deep into the mud, Ralf braced himself with his hands, struggling against the immense pressure descending upon him—the oppressive weight of an angel. The power of a superior being prevented the wolf from raising his head; he could only grit his teeth and bear it, but the cracking in his spine was a constant reminder of how fragile his body truly was.

“I will crush every bone in your body, wise sir, starting with your proud knees.”

"Heh heh... heh heh..." Ralph's body trembled as he forced out a shout that was a mixture of pain and sarcasm, his mockery overflowing.

Galarón stood high above, looking at the man kneeling before him. His spine was beginning to bend, and the joints of his arms were twisted abnormally, but the man's laughter was still as unpleasant as ever.

With both arms severed, the arrogant Witcher had become a defeated man in the face of his own power. Somehow, Galaron felt the process lacked an artistic embellishment. Crushing an ant was nothing more than the obvious, but crushing a resolute soul would produce an unimaginable, depraved pleasure. Galaron wanted to hear his screams, his wails, to see him groveling and weeping in agony.

So he relieved some of the pressure.

The wolf can talk now.

“Your intelligence is beyond imagination. As the only one who has thwarted my plans, I will bestow upon you grace. Kneel down, Ralph, and become my follower. I will grant you power and strength that you could never obtain in your entire life.”

"Kneeling before angels, isn't that what humans should do?"

Ralf raised his head and looked at the blood-red figure floating in the air. The huge blood feathers filled his entire field of vision, gravity interfered with his body, and his eyes were bloodshot, severely affecting his vision.

But no matter what, the coldness in Ralph's eyes was like solid ice that had never melted for a thousand years, a chilling cold that could freeze blood.

A mouthful of blood mixed with ice crystals was spat out, like spitting out a thick phlegm, and Ralf's voice rose again.

"Power and authority... to be honest, I've struggled with that too."

Violet and Sylvie stood behind Ralf, the authority of the angels giving Ralf special treatment.

The wolf's eyes were sinister, reflecting a dark green light like damp moss on a tombstone.

“My superior once told me that I was quite suitable to guard a prison.”

"Although I chose to become a sheriff because the atmosphere in prison is not suitable for educating kids."

"But I am quite familiar with prisons, just as a hunter is familiar with his bow and arrow."

Ralph fell to the ground, his right hand finally giving way to his body, and he rolled to his side, lying on the ground.

“There’s a saying in Cassandra that I’m sure Your Excellency has never heard of.”

"In prison, the key is power. Don't anger the person who holds the key."

Light burst forth from Ralph's chest, but it wasn't his chest that shone; it was the things he pulled out with his right hand.

A holy bell, a scepter, a Bible, a cross pendant, and a cursed angel's sword.

“Degonris is a prison, and whoever holds the key wields power. And now, those prisoners who usurped the throne have been executed by me…”

Ralph twisted his limbs, using his sword as a crutch to resist the pressure, and stood up.

"The mysterious power buried beneath this land—I am your current master!"

"I control the key! I control Degonris! This is my home turf!!!"

The ground beneath Ralph's feet shattered, and a chilling frost blew out from the depths of the fissures, turning the summer night of Drogonris back into a cruel winter.

Galarón roared, and Ralf, who had stood up, showed him the utmost contempt.

"Tear them apart, my servants!"

The townspeople of Dagonlis abandoned their disguises, howling and crawling on all fours as they burst through the door; it turned out they had long since become vampires.

"Kneel down, prisoner."

The cold declaration was like a divine oracle; the earth shattered, and chains spewed forth from the ground, binding the raging vampires. The closest vampire came within a meter of Sylvie, but its outstretched claws were bound by the chains. The extreme cold and sharp ice spikes sawed off the arm as the chains moved, and it fell to the ground, shattering into ice fragments.

The cold wind dissipated, and a cloud of white mist engulfed the bodies of Ralf and his two companions.

"I hereby declare this to be the world of dreams."

The surrounding environment began to distort, and a human face with blood dripping from its mouth appeared to smile high in the sky; it was so eerie and so pale.

Everything around them sank into the ground, and in the blink of an eye, Degonris turned into a white ice field.

In the thick fog, only a barely discernible outline could be seen.

Accompanied by a piercing, eerie laugh, the outline on the white mist twisted and swelled, transforming from a normal human figure into the silhouette of a gigantic monster.

A sharp claw tore the white mist apart.

A massive, wild body, four meters tall, with golden vertical pupils on its wolf-like jaws revealing both human cunning and beastly cruelty. Its black trench coat was torn to shreds, barely visible fragments on its fur. The black hair was as dark and gloomy as a night without light, and from the tips of the hairs emanated black energy like ink. Every movement stirred the surrounding frost, and the towering werewolf roared to the sky.

The right claw was sharp as a knife, and the left arm was wrapped with black chains. The ends of those chains shattered the ground like giant ice anchors. Only when the werewolf exerted force were those solid ice blocks dragged out from the ground. Frozen inside the ice were vampires whose lives had stopped at the moment of their lunge.

"Death penalty." The werewolf crushed the ice block and the prisoners inside, looking at the angels floating in the air.

"You're in jail, prisoner."

The wolf clenched its fists, and raging chains burst forth from the ground, expressing their discontent towards the angels in the sky regarding their master.

One wrong step and Bloodwing was captured by the chains.

The Blood Angel Galaron has set foot on the earth.

Galaron knelt on one knee, his expression contorted, and immediately flapped his wings, shattering the chains and soaring back into the sky.

His body trembled, and the Blood Angel let out a hysterical roar.

"No one can stand in front of me! No one can look down on me!"

The werewolf bared two rows of gleaming white teeth, and the contempt in his eyes nearly drove Galaron mad.

"So this is your first lesson in my prison, prisoner."

"Learn to kneel down."

Roar! The angel could no longer bear such humiliation. He pounced down, his blood turning into a sharp sword in his hand, and aimed straight for the beast's heart.

The wolf grinned maliciously and pounced on the angel without fear, its waving chains shattering the earth and displaying its master's authority.

"Boow your head to your warden, angel!!!"

Even if you are just a lump of blood right now.

Chapter 492 The Bound

The sword pierced flesh, and blood sprayed onto the icy plain, staining the moonlight crimson amidst the pale landscape.

Galaron, with his superb martial prowess honed over years of battle, dodged all of the werewolf Ralf's attacks. His claws and fangs, along with the swarming chains that resembled a pack of serpents, could only leave a layer of frost on his body.

In their first duel, Ralf was utterly defeated. Galarón's Blood Sword sliced ​​almost along his spine through his back, the crack only stopping when the slanted blade struck the tough bone.

Even with the aid of mysterious power, Ralf was still at a disadvantage in the first exchange.

"Hehe...hehehe...hahahaha..." The black energy stitched up the huge wound on his back, and the werewolf's throat continued to emit eerie laughter. Even though he was the one who was injured, the expression under Ralf's fur made him look like a victor.

Madman. Galarón was not satisfied with this confrontation, even though he had the upper hand. Relf was like an enraged beast that did not know how to run away. Wounds that would cause a heart attack in an ordinary person were endured by his willpower, and he even let out a mocking laugh.

This is troublesome. Galarón knows better than anyone what power lies hidden beneath the land of Drogonris. It's a powerful force that even he, a former angel, would fear. Ralf has only just mastered it, and yet this power has already made a wolf dare to howl at an angel. And going forward, the crazed Ralf will only grow stronger with the support of this power, until the wolf's fangs tear the angel apart.

Galaron appeared to have the upper hand in the battle, but he knew that the power beneath the earth was constantly awakening, and that the balance of power would be tipped. Galaron would never allow that moment to arrive.

Swords and claws, chains and wings, frost and blood, the powers of werewolves and angels clashed in the distorted moonlight, the roars of angels and the maniacal laughter of werewolves twisting into a night of terror.

With another flap of the angel's wings, Galarón severed Ralf's left arm and blasted the wolf into the ever-present white mist. It was a barrier Ralf had created, protecting Sylvie and Violet.

Galaron hovered beyond the white mist, his longsword pointing forward, his angelic blood wings unfurling to block out the moon's light. This time, Galaron was determined to silence the wolves completely.

The rampaging beast burst out of the thick fog. Ralf landed on all fours, each strike of his claws shattering the frozen ground. His left arm had already been repaired; the werewolf body had given this man an astonishing regenerative ability.

Right now, the Blood Curse erupted on the sprinting werewolf's left arm. When he severed Ralf's left arm last time, Galaron had attached his own blood to his arm. All of this was for this moment, to break Ralf's left arm. Losing a support while sprinting, it was inevitable that he would fall to the side.

Werewolves' weaknesses are their heart and head. Like wolves, a werewolf's back and head are much tougher than its waist and abdomen.

Galaron orchestrated this rollover to deliver a fatal blow to Ralf's weakness, shattering his heart.

He anticipated Ralf's cunning and shrewdness, and only activated the blood trap he had set before Ralf's claws were already upon him. This process needed to be extremely swift, so swift that Ralf couldn't react, so swift that he couldn't dodge, so swift that even Galarón himself couldn't reverse it.

Galarón extended his longsword, and Ralf's body rolled to the side, the light-colored fur on his chest instantly coming into view. His heart almost struck the tip of the sword on its own.

These are all within its own calculations, while others are outside of its calculations.

For example, Violet, who nestled her body in Ralf's arms and grabbed his fur to fix herself to Ralf's chest with a smile, and the alchemical musket in the female sheriff's hand, when the muzzle was less than twenty centimeters away from Galaron's body, a black bullet, like a light shuttle, rushed towards Galaron's body.

"Bang!" The werewolf Ralf and Violet both revealed the same sinister smile and uttered the same onomatopoeic word.

The Philosopher's Stone, the final bullet.

The frost had already frozen all of Galaron's blood during the battle, leaving him no time to react and only able to watch as the black bullets devoured his body.

Click, click.

Cracks spread from the bullet hole in Galarón's chest to his entire body, and the blood-red ice sculpture shattered in the pale world.

No!!! No!!!!!!!!!

Galarón didn't even leave behind a complete last sentence.

As Ralf lunged forward, a sharp blade pierced his heart, and his massive body, carrying Violet, crashed to the ground.

With a snap, Violet rubbed her buttocks and stood up strangely.

The ice plains and the pale moon have vanished, and Degonris remains as it was, constantly crumbling and falling.

There was no fur or fleshy pads beneath her; everything felt like an illusion. Only the pain in her buttocks told the female sheriff that she had woken up from the dream.

The sinister wolf stood not far away, wearing a blood-stained overcoat. Ralph bent down to put his hat back on and walked toward Sylvie, who was slumped on the ground with a blank look in his eyes.

"Mr. Ralph...you...killed the angel?"