NOVEL'S EXTRA: I Will Die at the Peak-Chapter 70: Ravien vs Welto [ part 1]

Dozens of lights in the sky flickered out one by one as they reached the black void.

Ravien walked toward the wolves with measured steps. The pack was on high alert, ready to strike. But only one stepped forward from the group: Welto.

"I’ll go alone for now," he said in a firm voice. "Charging in without knowing his strength would be a mistake. Stand back."

No one objected. They pulled away.

And so, Ravien and Welto stood face to face.

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(POV: Ravien)

"They’re far more cautious than I expected—moving with thought, not instinct. When one stepped forward, the others gave him room.

That means he’s likely the strongest. Physically, I can’t overpower any of them, that’s for sure. But that’s exactly why... this might be the perfect moment to find a way to make up for that weakness."

---

Ravien studied the wolf before him carefully. His eyes were steady, but his mind was constantly calculating.

"Muscles tensed. He’s about to attack. He’ll strike with his right claw, swinging down from the shoulder. Target: my head."

Before the thought had fully formed, Welto moved.

His claw came down in a wide arc from above.

Ravien’s reflexes weren’t fast enough to match the speed, but he had predicted the direction. Without thinking, he dropped low. The claw sliced through the air just above his head, leaving behind only a sharp whoosh.

At the same time, a simple bone dagger appeared in Ravien’s right hand. From his crouched position, he lunged forward, slashing at Welto’s front leg.

But Welto had noticed the motion. He quickly pulled his leg back and countered with a sudden kick.

Ravien twisted his body to the left and slipped away, repositioning himself immediately. Seizing the brief opening, he darted in low toward Welto’s knee and attempted to drive the dagger into his calf.

The blade pierced through the thick fur and reached the skin—but didn’t sink any deeper. The surface tensed but didn’t break. Ravien narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Tsk. His skin’s tougher than I thought."

Without wasting a moment, he flipped backward. Pressing his palms against the ground, he pushed himself away, skidding through the dirt before stopping a few meters back.

Welto didn’t move. He tilted his head slightly, glancing at the spot where the attack had come from. Only a superficial scratch remained on his skin. Then he turned back to Ravien.

"So this is the leader of the group that killed Alpha? This weak?"

Welto took a few steps forward, his gaze locked on Ravien. As he prepared to attack, his voice rose:

"Are you pretending to be weak? Are you underestimating me?"

Ravien tilted his head slightly, his face holding a blank, indifferent look.

"What kind of speech is that?" he muttered to himself.

"But... I really don’t feel like caring."

Welto suddenly lunged forward. His speed surpassed anything he’d shown so far. As his feet tore into the earth, he spread both claws wide, crossing them into an X shape as he aimed directly for Ravien’s torso.

Ravien tried to follow the motion with his eyes, but he couldn’t read the move.

"...Ah. I can’t dodge this."

In a single instant, the claws ripped through Ravien’s body from top to bottom. Fabric shredded. Skin tore. Internal organs, ribs, muscle—everything was carved apart. Blood gushed. His body flew backward.

Dust and blood filled the air as silence fell while Ravien crashed to the ground.

Welto stood frozen. He looked like he was about to take another step but stopped. He glanced down at the hot blood on his claws, at the drops still hanging in the air. His eyes narrowed. His breathing grew faster.

"...That’s it?" he muttered.

"Alpha... was under the command of someone this pathetic—"

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The blood spilling from Ravien’s body, the torn flesh and internal organs... all began to disappear. First the fluids on the ground vanished, then the muscle, the skin, the bone. Even the blood on Welto’s claws abruptly disappeared.

And Ravien stood up.

In the exact same position.

His posture was upright. His breathing steady. Not a single wound marked his body. Only his shirt had been torn. The fabric fluttered lightly in the breeze.

His face remained completely expressionless.

No pain. No rage. No shock.

As if nothing had happened at all.

Ravien was already on his feet. He didn’t even bother brushing off the dust, his eyes fixed on Welto as his thoughts churned.

"Should I use my Fate Skill? No... This isn’t a moment to just get through. This isn’t just a fight to stay alive—this is the moment I have to find a way to compensate for my weakness."

Before he could finish the thought, Welto suddenly appeared right in front of him.

"So you can regenerate," he growled, eyes burning. "Then I’ll tear you apart so thoroughly, there’ll be no coming back."

His claws sharpened, his fangs lengthened. His pupils narrowed to slits.

Before Ravien could even react, the first strike landed.

The claws sank into his torso, slicing him in half with a single blow. The next claw severed his head. Another tore off his arm. Muscles, bones, tendons—all shredded one by one.

His body collapsed to the ground in pieces. Flesh mixed with flesh. In mere seconds, his entire body had been turned into a pulp.

Welto stepped back. His breathing settled. His claws were still raised—but not a single drop of blood remained on them. With cold composure, he looked down at the mess.

"...So, you’re dead," he muttered.

His focus shifted.

He turned toward Juuhra and Asogi, eyes locked on them as he began to walk.

"You’re next."

But the moment he took a step, a strange, wet sound rose from behind:

"Squish... squish... squish..."

He stopped. Tilted his head slightly.

A few others in the pack turned to look as well, trying to figure out what was happening.

Ravien’s mangled body... was changing.

But it wasn’t rebirth. It wasn’t regeneration. It was reversal—a perfect reversion to its original state.

Flesh chunks, muscle fibers, shattered bones—they all twisted and floated back into place, fitting together like a seamless puzzle.

And the strangest part:

Through all of it, Ravien remained in the same position.

He had never collapsed. Never knelt.

It was as if only his image had been torn apart—but his essence, his presence, had never moved.

The sight left Welto, and the rest of the wolves, momentarily speechless.

Widened eyes.

Tense breath caught between bared teeth.

Fur bristling, trembling...

Ravien still had his eyes closed.

Just seconds after his mutilated body had fully reformed, Ravien suddenly burst into laughter.

His voice echoed through the forest—cold, cryptic, and disturbingly joyful.

Then he raised his hand and bent his wrist slightly. With his fingers, he made an unfamiliar gesture—one that held no sacred or mundane meaning. It felt purely instinctual, a subconscious impulse brought to life.

"Ahahahaha! Why didn’t I think of this sooner?" he exclaimed, a mocking surprise in his tone.

"Really... thank you. Thank you for the enlightenment, werewolves."

As his eyes drifted, his inner voice rose once more:

"I’m... a fool. How could I forget the parasite I created before? I can use it... like armor. Made of flesh."

With that thought, Ravien narrowed his eyes, focusing deep into his own hair.

There, hidden among the strands, was a tiny, inactive remnant—so small it was barely noticeable. Even when his body had been torn apart, it had stayed in place, protected.

He whispered to it:

"Take it. Half of my capacity is yours. In return... show me what you can do."

The moment the words left his lips, the black darkness of the forest rippled.

An aura spread through the surroundings—not as violent as before, but thicker, denser, more stable. The earth darkened, the air thickened.

And then...

A sticky, deep crimson fluid began to ooze from Ravien’s hair.

Its consistency was like sludge, but its movements were unnervingly alive. The substance slowly spread across his neck and shoulders.

Welto instinctively took a step back. His eyes were locked on Ravien. He couldn’t fully grasp what he was seeing—and he was struggling to suppress the primal warning rising within him.

The silence in the pack grew heavier.

Some of the younger, weaker wolves in the back began to subtly retreat. One of them let out a brief growl from his throat—then immediately went quiet.

But at that moment, there was one more person no one had been paying attention to: Asogi.

Suddenly, he smiled.

His eyes locked onto Ravien, and softly, as if guided by some inner impulse, he muttered:

"Go on, Father..."

Then his back tensed slightly, and dozens of arms slithered out of him.

They slowly opened and began to clap—rhythmically, deliberately.

For him, this was a gesture of genuine support.

A memory surfaced in his mind—a fragment from a man he had devoured.

A memory of a man clapping in a crowd, watching someone on stage. Asogi didn’t fully understand what the gesture meant... but he had felt it.

And now, he was doing the same.

Eyes opened across parts of his body. Mouths mumbled things with no words.

Juuhra?

He had already turned his back, walking toward the forest’s entrance.

Without turning around, and as if speaking only to himself, he muttered:

"Ugh, so boring. I don’t want to watch this. I’m leaving. Might take a nap somewhere ahead."

He didn’t slow his pace.

He didn’t look back or wait for anything else.

As he stepped between the thick branches, his shadow slowly vanished.