The Wolf God's Trial
The forest dripped with unnatural silence after the battle.
Dead wolves lay scattered like broken toys, their once-mighty forms now still and silent. Blood stained the mossy ground, and the air hung heavy with the copper tang of spilled ichor and the faint rot of flesh that had not yet begun to stink.
Tarte stood in the middle of it all, her Holy Sword still dripping, her halo flickering like a dying star. The Sanctuary had held, but the price was written in the lives of the wolves the party had sworn to protect.
“…We’re done here,” she said, voice tight with battle-hunger and something sharper, something that tasted like regret.
Behind her, Muraebae said nothing. He never did. He simply cleaned his blade with the calm efficiency of a man who had already decided the world was too stupid to save.
Geomseong—Seo Dojun—clutched his longsword like it had personally offended him. His voice cracked as he tried to sound like the righteous warrior the world expected.
“This… this is why we cannot keep fighting as one. The wolves offered to guide us. They sacrificed. And we—”
He never finished. Because Tarte’s eyes were wide, and for the first time in their endless stream of chaos, she looked at him the way a priest looks at a sinner who has finally confessed.
Blood Wind Sword Saint
Geomseong’s voice rose into that familiar theatrical roar, the one he had practiced in the mirror for years.
“Foolish children of my clan! Why do you shed tears when such glory awaits?! Cease your wailing, curse you!!”
The chat exploded.
But beneath the laughter, something colder settled in the chat.
Geomseong’s ears burned. He had always believed the world would see him as the chivalrous knight the chat demanded. Yet here it was—tears.
He blinked hard, trying to will them away.
Dust. That’s all it was. Battle dust, thick and choking, whipped into his eyes by the wind of a thousand claw slashes. One second he was swinging, the next his vision blurred and the tears came whether he wanted them or not.
“I… I only felt a speck of dust enter my eye,” he choked out, voice trembling.
The broadcast cut to live footage of the Pixelpia stock exchange in real time. The ticker flashed like a heartbeat.
—54.7% in thirty seconds.
Chat lost its collective mind.
Geomseong stared at the screen, tears still clinging to his lashes. The same man who had once frozen in terror during a boss fight was now crying on live television because of dust.
He had always prided himself on the chivalric code the world demanded. Yet here it was—humanity’s favorite soap opera playing out in real time.
◈ Public opinion shifts +67%
◈ Support for Geomseong surges (for now)
The chat was merciless.
But the real damage was done. The stock had already crashed hard. The only thing that could save it now was a miracle.
And then—
The Wolf God’s Final Test
📍 Location: Deep Wolf Domain, Floor 1
🎁 Reward: Wolf God’s Blessing (Unique)
Tarte’s voice cut through the static. “We’re moving. The wolves are waiting. Follow me.”
She stepped forward, halo blazing, Holy Sword raised. Behind her, Muraebae melted into the shadows like he had never existed. Geomseong followed, still wiping his eyes, still trying to look like the hero the chat wanted to see.
The forest swallowed them whole.
They emerged into a clearing so vast it felt like another world. A waterfall thundered down a cliff face the size of a skyscraper. Mist rose like smoke. And in the center of that mist stood a figure that made even Tarte’s priestly instincts tremble.
A colossal wolf. Larger than any house, eyes glowing like dying embers, body rippling with power older than language itself.
The Wolf God had spoken without words. The environment itself had told Tarte everything she needed to know: the trial was coming. And it was not gentle.
Tarte raised her chin, voice steady with the pious fire she had perfected on stream.
“We have come to purify the corrupted stag god. Your blessing is required.”
The Wolf God answered with a sound that vibrated through her bones—half howl, half command.
And then the world changed.
Her body rippled. Fur sprouted. Bones cracked and reformed. Four legs replaced two. A low, involuntary growl escaped her throat.
But the real horror was still coming.
Three wolves stepped out of the treeline—adult males, massive, scarred, eyes burning with territorial fury.
One of them snarled, lips peeled back to reveal fangs the length of Tarte’s sword.
“This is our family’s territory! Leave, wanderer!”
The subtitle appeared in glowing white, courtesy of the Demon who had a sense of humor even in hell.
[This is our family’s territory! Leave, wanderer!]
Tarte’s mind raced. Run? Is this the trial? No—wait, this isn’t—
Another wolf stepped forward, voice rough but suddenly almost gentle.
“Wait. This one is female.”
The chat lost its mind.
The Wolf God’s ears twitched. A low chuckle rumbled through the trees like distant thunder.
“If you have no mate, why not take my father as husband?”
The chat detonated.
Tarte’s face burned hotter than her halo.
What the hell is this guy saying?
She had spent years roleplaying as a pious saintess on stream. She had turned down Anton’s awkward confessions with divine grace. She had even once punched a goblin in the face while yelling “Hah!” in perfect English.
And now this—literally being propositioned by an animal god with the body of a wolf?
She growled again, low and frustrated.
“I don’t know what you think you’re saying, but I’m not—”
The Wolf God interrupted with another growl that carried the weight of centuries.
“Prove it. Show me you can survive in our world. Or prove you deserve the blessing.”
The subtitles appeared one last time.
[Prove it. Show me you can survive in our world. Or prove you deserve the blessing.]
Tarte looked at the three wolves. She looked at the waterfall. She looked at the sky that had just turned the color of old blood.
Then she did the only thing a battle-hungry priestess could do.
She smiled.
“Fine. Let’s see who survives first.”
The forest answered with a howl that shook the trees, and the true trial of the Wolf God began.