A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Faust, the most enigmatic legendary adventurer since the Western Lands became a sanctuary for those seeking perilous quests.

Slaying dragons, confronting dukes, and single-handedly battling multiple fifth-stage extraordinary beings amidst the ruins of the Celestial Dynasty… His exploits are innumerable, yet none can truly fathom the essence of this man.

Unlike the Duke of Azuregold’s insatiable thirst for wealth, or the Duke of Bloodust’s penchant for cruel pleasures; devoid of the Duke of Firmament’s unwavering faith, and bereft of the Duke of Wyvern’s hunger for authority and power.

He traverses the Western Lands as though a mere passerby, casually etching legends in his wake. Throughout Faust’s journey, he has shown no desire for riches, influence, or might – indeed, for any worldly possessions. This renders him the most extraordinary, the most incomprehensible of adventurers.

Much like now, when none can comprehend why such a formidable being would deign to partake in childish games within Dispute Fortress.

The raven-haired youth who had just delivered a devastating blow now stood suspended in the heavens, his sword tip lowered. The blade, capable of effortlessly rending even the indomitable flesh of dragons, emanated an obsidian radiance that threatened to devour the sun itself.

Beneath this lethal edge, a colossal fissure bisected Dispute Fortress — this singular strike serving as his response to Fenrir’s ecstatic howl.

Fight to death? You dare presume yourself worthy?

As the skyward surge of energy gradually dissipated, crimson-black currents spread in all directions across the arena, now reduced to utter ruin. The undying wolf pack reassembled once more.

The pack’s surviving master gazed upward at the legendary figure in the sky, more resplendent than the sun itself. Her cheeks flushed with uncontrollable excitement and wild joy, masking her pallid complexion.

The sleeve of her left arm had vanished — or more precisely, the entire left arm had disappeared. The pale, exposed limb now visible was newly regenerated, its predecessor having been obliterated by the recent strike.

Had her reaction been a fraction slower, Faust’s attack would have cleaved her in twain.

Even so, despite Miss Wolf’s reaction speed and velocity — capable of overwhelming the Duke of Azuregold’s shadow — she had not entirely evaded the blow, sacrificing her left arm in the process.

Yet this price meant little to Seraphina. Lacerations, impalements, dismemberment… Such injuries had long been commonplace for her. Though she had scarcely encountered opponents capable of wounding her in recent times, Seraphina never allowed her body to remain in a perpetual state of ease during her self-imposed training regimens.

— “With such spiritual essence, it would be a waste not to have any injuries.”

Miss Wolf’s reasoning is characteristically straightforward.

The wolf, gradually shedding her juvenile form, caressed her newly regenerated left arm, her eyes igniting with an intense, scorching flame.

Ansel was… serious.

He was truly serious! He no longer viewed me as a child, as an immature, foolish girl!

The indifferent gaze from above did not cause Seraphina the slightest distress. Even in the face of that merciless strike, which could have annihilated her in an instant, what she harbored was still an unprecedented, surging passion.

Roar!

The crimson-black demon wolf howled ferociously as it lunged skyward, its form enveloped in endless streams of scarlet and ebony. Its elongated tail flame, extravagantly resembling a blazing streak rising from the earth, bore testament to its inconceivable velocity!

Mirroring Faust’s merciless strike that had nearly claimed Seraphina’s life, the wolf now surged forth with unbridled bloodlust and savage intent, aiming directly for Faust’s heart. In this violent charge, the girl’s burning, fervent love was laid bare without reservation—

Ansel! I shall attempt to kill you now!

Had this unrestrained speed been employed against the Duke of Azuregold’s shadow earlier, it would have likely annihilated him in a single instant. Only Seraphina’s cautious approach to conceal her identity had afforded the overly calculating Duke even the opportunity to perform.

But now, caution was neither necessary nor desired. To hold back against Ansel for such trivial concerns… that would be an insult to him!

The wolf’s claws coalesced roiling crimson-black breath, devouring and disrupting all surrounding ethereal waves. Any mage below the fifth stage, caught in this utterly shredded space, could only await their demise.

Should this strike rend flesh, allowing the dark energy to penetrate, the wolf pack would feast ravenously, leaving even warriors below the fifth stage with no recourse but death.

To touch Ansel’s body, to tear his skin, to fill his blood and flesh with my essence… To devour him, bit by bit, entirely!

If it hurts too much, I’ll let you bite me back tonight, Ansel. For now, just let me have one bite, just one little bite!

Driven by this fervent, manic desire, the demon wolf’s form swelled further. Its lethal claws were mere inches from Faust’s chest, yet unsatisfied, the beast simultaneously opened its blood-red maw, its even fangs poised to clamp down on his skull.

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But how could Faust possibly be that false illusion, incapable of reacting even after Seraphina’s explicit warning?

The instant the demon wolf’s form surged skyward, reaching him, his forefinger had already risen. By the time this grotesque beast swung its claws and opened its bloody maw, that finger had already gently tapped the hilt of his blade.

And thus, the tempest was summoned.

This was not the simple slicing that had carved Inothea into a thousand pieces. Countless blades erupted from the obsidian chain-blade, dancing in a frenzied whirl at speeds imperceptible even to the most elite warriors. They tore countless black streaks of light around Faust, each blade whipping up violently intense currents.

As dozens, even hundreds of blades revolved and sliced at high speed around Faust, it formed a visible, circular shockwave with Faust at its epicenter, constantly expanding outward, raising a tide of all-consuming fury!

Everything, absolutely everything, was reduced to nothingness beneath this all-severing storm. The wolf pack, capable of devouring ethereal waves, hadn’t even the chance to open their maws before becoming mere sacrificial lambs. The demon wolf, daring to rebel against him, along with its endless crimson-black aura… was shredded into oblivion!

Yet this destructive slicing did not cease there. The annihilating tempest advanced mercilessly, grinding the remnants of the arena on the ground to dust. Miraculously, however, not a single spectator who hadn’t managed to flee from the ruins was harmed.

This seemingly indiscriminate ultimate destruction, yet under absolute control even in its minutest corners, what an astonishingly delicate technique!

The storm of blades bore down upon Seraphina, its velocity seemingly contemptuous, taunting her.

Dare you face me? Or will you flee like a beaten cur with your tail between your legs?

Death or life, the choice is yours.

Seraphina knew full well that if engulfed by this tempest, she would be annihilated in less than a second, leaving not even a pool of blood to mark her passing.

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