The world stood still.
The spring behind the wolf trickled quietly, its gentle sound sharply contrasting the horror that unfolded before it. A light breeze rustled the jade leaves of the trees, but even that seemed afraid to speak too loud. Nature itself hushed in reverence, in terror, in awe.
And there stood the wolf.
Four meters tall, standing erect on his hind legs like some cruel mockery of man. His sleek fur, usually groomed to an impeccable sheen, was now matted with blood — some his own, most not. Veins pulsed along his arms like molten silver, and every inch of him exuded strength that bent the world around him. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow rhythm. His many mouths—too many to count—grinned all at once, some with lips curled in cruel delight, others open just slightly, breathing in the scent of victory.
And his hand…
His monstrous, clawed hand was buried wrist-deep in Elder Sun Jin's chest.
Flesh torn. Bones shattered like porcelain. The old cultivator's ribs had collapsed around the invading arm like a cage crushed by a god's foot. The wolf's hand had wrapped around Sun Jin's still-beating heart — warm, slick, pulsing with the few threads of life that remained.
He didn't squeeze.
No. That would have been mercy.
Instead, he held it.
Felt each throb.
Each pulse.
Each quivering beat, like the trembling of a drum played by a child afraid of waking their sleeping parents. The heart beat not with rhythm, but with desperation.
It was a trophy.
A grotesque, living prize.
Behind them, the four inner disciples of the Nail Strom Sect fell to their knees with a collective, heartbroken cry. Their voices cracked. Their arms stretched forward like children reaching for a departing parent. They wept—unashamed, uncontrollably—as if their very souls had been crushed beneath the wolf's paws.
"E-elder!" one of them shrieked, eyes blurred with tears. "Please—please, don't die! PLEASE!"
Another slammed her fists into the soil. "He was our shield! Please, not like this!"
Their sobs rang out like temple bells in mourning. Loud. Desperate. Powerless.
Even the great Steel Jaw Hippo behind them lowered his head in a rare gesture of submission. His sons and kin followed, their thick legs collapsing beneath them. It wasn't out of weakness. It wasn't even out of shame.
It was fear.
No—respect laced with fear.
The wolf's aura had grown dense, a violent fog that spread across the forest. The skies above churned and darkened. Clouds twisted into ominous swirls, and the air tasted like iron. Even the wind had stopped moving. The trees no longer dared sway.
The wolf looked down at the dying elder.
"Jus-… Jus-… ju-st kill me alre-ady," Sun Jin wheezed.
His lips trembled. His face, once stern and scornful, was now pale and drained. Sweat poured down his temples. Pain carved deep lines into his weathered skin. But worse than the pain was the humiliation. He was a man of power. He had wielded flames that could raze forests, endured decades of war and cultivation. And yet now he was here, hanging on the arm of a wolf like a puppet strung on bone.
"Please…"
But the wolf?
He smiled.
Oh, he smiled.
He didn't pull his hand out.
Instead, he reached into his storage pouch—fashioned mockingly like a tiny human satchel strapped across his waist—and pulled out a crooked berry wine bottle. It was chipped and dusty, the cork half-chewed.
"Drink," he said, casually.
He poured the contents down the elder's throat. Sun Jin choked at first, weak coughs escaping his blood-flecked lips. But the wolf held him in place, tilted his head back, and made sure every last drop was swallowed.
The disciples screamed again. "What are you doing to him?!"
The wolf's mouths laughed in chorus. It was not a sound meant for ears. It was meant for nightmares. Echoing, warped, layered. Some deep, some high, some feminine, others guttural like beasts of the abyss. It was laughter that made one question reality.
He then shoved metal mango slices into Sun Jin's mouth.
"Chew," he whispered.
The old man tried. Teeth cracked. He coughed and gagged, but still tried. The nourishing fruits began to work immediately. His cells responded. His veins flushed open with spiritual vitality. Pain receded just enough to let him feel something worse—hope.
"Now, now," the wolf chuckled. "Didn't you say… you'd entertain me?"
And finally, with the slow, exaggerated elegance of a monster who knew he had won, the wolf pulled his hand from Sun Jin's chest.
Schlrck.
A sound wet enough to make the disciples vomit.
Sun Jin dropped to his knees, clutching the gaping hole in his torso. Blood poured like syrup, but his body now had enough strength to not die immediately.
"Forget the lilies, you trashy human," the wolf said, pouring a bit of wine onto his bloodstained fur. The alcohol washed over his wounds and soaked into his fur, cleansing him. His many mouths twisted to drink the wine as it dripped down, moaning in delight.
"In return," he continued, "I forgive you for stepping into my Verdant Wilds... and I give you a new life, because you kept me entertained."
More laughter. One of his mouths even sang.
He stretched his back like a human waking from a nap. Each joint cracked with the sound of snapping bones—but none were broken. He was healing fast.
Sun Jin coughed, blood and mango pulp leaking from his lips.
"Aren't you… a little too arrogant," he muttered, "for a beast who almost killed his own self just now?"
The wolf's shoulder-mouth turned to him with a smirk.
"Almost dead, yet you've still got the gall to be sarcastic with your savior? Should I salute your stubbornness… or just kill you?"
The wolf's main mouth grunted and sucked down the rest of the wine bottle, tossing it over his shoulder. It shattered on a rock. A few insects nearby scurried away as if sensing the madness lingering in the air.
"No need to do anything," Sun Jin murmured. "I should leave… get treatment. Or I'll bleed out anyway."
"Hmph." The wolf turned his back, walking toward a nearby spring that shimmered with spiritual energy.
"Vanish already. You're so weak, it hurts my many eyes to even look at you."
As he stepped into the water, his muscles relaxed. His blood washed away. Wounds closed. Fur shimmered anew.
Behind him, Sun Jin tried to speak—but couldn't. His lungs rasped. His body, despite its minor recovery, refused to respond.
The wolf's back mouth opened suddenly, glaring at the scene with a bright golden pupil. His voice boomed.
"Insects! Take your insect-elder and CRAWL out of my forest!"
The disciples scrambled to obey, lifting Sun Jin with trembling arms and staggering toward the forest edge. Not a word was spoken between them. Not until they were far.
They didn't dare look back.
Whether their elder lived or died now depended not on healing pills, not on sect elders, not on fate.
It depended on his will.
And as they vanished into the underbrush, the wolf stood under the spring like a bathing god, his many mouths humming a haunting tune.
The sky above finally broke.
Rain began to fall.
And the Lily Pond?
It bloomed in eerie silence, as if mocking those who had dared come for its treasures.
Only three lilies remained.
None of them would return to the human world.
Not this year.
The warm morning light lazily draped itself across the clearing, gilding the lush canopy overhead in gold. Birds chirped and insects hummed like background music in a tale of madness, but within this secret, overgrown glade, peace reigned supreme—at least for now.
Steam rose off the surface of a glowing, cerulean spring nestled in a hollow between moss-covered boulders. The air smelled faintly of lavender, crushed herbs, and divine medicine. An odd trio floated in that spring, soaking in the powerful medicinal essence of one of the Verdant Wilds' rarest healing resources.
At the center of this healing heaven was the wolf.
Or rather, the creature formerly known simply as wolf.
He lay sprawled in a pose of such sublime arrogance that even human kings might reconsider their postures. One of his many mouths snored faintly. On his snout rested a sleek pair of round sunglasses—stolen from a certain loud-mouthed human who once declared himself protagonist of the heavens and earth. The wolf found them in the ruined remains of Lao Ping's traveling pouch, then looked in a puddle and deemed, without hesitation, "These were meant for me."
The sunglasses fit oddly on his angular face, but somehow added a roguish charm, amplifying the aura of smug relaxation he now exuded.
A tattered white cloth floated over his crotch. No one knew why he wore it. Modesty wasn't a common trait among beasts, but ever since the day the hippo's youngest daughter had seen him without cover and asked "Is it poisonous?" with innocent awe, he hadn't removed it.
He had been recovering here for over a month. The wounds he suffered in his battle with the beast-flame-possessed grasshopper had carved him up inside like a mangled battlefield. His exterior had healed quickly—flesh could always be mended with time or food—but the internal damage? The cracks in his meridians? The broken qi channels and scorched spirit threads?
Only the miraculous spring, fed by veins of heavenly stone and ancient spirit herbs, could've done the job.
"That fat hippo's got a stash worth droolin' over," muttered Elder Boar, half-lidded eyes gleaming. He leaned back against a rock at the edge of the spring, his trotters lazily stirring the water. His voice oozed unhidden greed.
The younger boar didn't reply, too focused on crunching through a metal mango. The fruit sparked faintly with golden light, each bite echoing like steel cracking. He followed it with a long slurp of watermelon juice served in a hollowed gourd cup. He looked like a noble on vacation, belly round, eyes half-closed, and not a single concern in the world.
Neither of them were wounded.
They weren't here to heal.
They just liked the feel of the spring.
Steel Jaw Hippo wanted to cry.
He stood nearby, concealed behind a bamboo grove, chewing on his hoof nervously. His massive frame trembled. Tears welled up in his eyes, only held back by years of stoic training.
Watching the wolf soak in his spring? That was acceptable. The wolf had saved him. And… well, he couldn't really say no to the terrifying beast who once ate a lightning-filled beetle alive.
But the boars?
They were freeloaders. Gangsters in pig skin. Delinquents with tusks. They weren't stronger than the hippo, but they were cunning—and worse, they had raised the wolf. The Steel Jaw family had no choice but to treat them with respect. Unfortunately.
Still, his heart bled as he watched his decade-long investment—the rare medicine spring he'd painstakingly crafted using secret alchemical stone, crushed phoenix feathers, and fermented dragon bladderwort—get guzzled away by a trio of hooligans.
One slurped it.
One lounged in it.
One chugged metal mangos while soaking in it like a goddamn emperor.
Steel Jaw turned his face to the heavens and screamed silently.
Eventually, he waddled up to the wolf—timidly, as if approaching a cranky divine beast—and cleared his throat.
"Erm… excuse me, mighty one," he said in the most respectful tone his bulk could manage. "You have… saved this one's life and blessed our spring with your majestic presence. But… this humble one has a question."
Wolf raised one brow above the sunglasses.
"I wish to inscribe your great name into the annals of my family's ancestral ledger," said Steel Jaw. "So that all future descendants will know who it was that spared my life and… also drank 78% of our medicinal spring."
The wolf paused.
Several seconds passed.
"Name?" he said, ears flicking. "I… don't have one."
Steel Jaw blinked.
"You… don't?"
The wolf turned his head slowly toward the boars lounging nearby.
Both paused mid-snack.
"Look," said Elder Boar, blinking with a blank stare. "We were too lazy to name ourselves. You think we'd name him?"
Younger Boar nodded. "Honestly, we just called him 'Oi,' 'Mutt,' and 'That Guy.'"
Silence fell over the spring.
It wasn't just silence—it was the rare, crystalline, soul-shaking silence that descends when sheer absurdity seizes the world by the throat.
A passing dragonfly froze midair. A bird fell out of the sky. Somewhere, a philosopher wept.
The wolf turned back, sunglasses slipping slightly down his snout.
Steel Jaw blinked again.
"…They never named you?"
Wolf nodded.
Steel Jaw blinked a third time, which was the maximum number of blinks any respectable hippo could manage in one conversation.
"Oi is a good name," said Elder Boar casually, sipping his watermelon juice again.
"Nah, 'Wolfy,'" said the younger. "Simple. Kinda suits him, y'know?"
Steel Jaw's family stood to the side in horror. His wife had gone pale. His children watched the boars like they were some kind of natural disaster in pig form.
The wolf? He sank into the spring and questioned every life decision he had ever made.
Was this fate? Was he really just a mutt raised by two absurd oinks who couldn't even give him a damn name?
Then, like a divine interruption to a sacred moment, a tiny voice shouted from the edge of the spring.
"WAIT!"
All heads turned.
It was Steel Jaw's youngest daughter. A tiny pink bundle of joy, not yet weaned off her milk, but already wise in her own right. She waddled over with bright eyes and a chest full of courage.
She admired the wolf.
In fact, she had a crush on the wolf.
A one-year-old hippo having a crush on a three-year-old multi-mouthed wolf was already madness—but this was the Verdant Wilds. Madness was daily bread.
With a determined grunt, she sprinted and leapt—soared through the air—and landed square on the wolf's belly with a squeal of triumph.
Everyone screamed.
Steel Jaw's wife fainted. His eldest daughter gasped. The entire forest held its breath.
But the wolf didn't flinch.
He raised one brow again. Then smiled.
"Sir! How about… Gluttonfang!" the baby hippo shouted proudly.
Silence. Again.
Then the wolf chuckled. He reached out, picked her up by the tail, and dangled her playfully above him.
He looked at her face.
Small. Round. Soft. Sincere.
"Gluttonfang, huh?" he said. "Good name."
He raised his head.
"From now on, I am Gluttonfang."
The boars groaned.
Elder Boar slapped the water with a groan. "Gluttonfang? What is this, a beast novel? That's so long. My jaw hurts saying it."
"Wolfy was better," the younger muttered. "More vibes."
Then they saw it.
The paw.
Glowing faintly with electric qi.
Both froze.
The last time Gluttonfang raised that paw, it was at the waterfall. The two of them had been electrocuted so badly, they couldn't walk straight for days. Elder had pooped smoke for a week.
Silence returned once more, now enforced by the divine authority of glowing qi.
They both nodded wisely.
"Gluttonfang is perfect. Strong. Noble. Short."
"Yes, yes," the younger added. "Actually very short. One syllable if you say it fast enough."
Gluttonfang smiled.
Steel Jaw bowed. His family bowed. The trees bowed. Even the boars almost bowed.
Thus, the name Gluttonfang was born—written into the annals of the Verdant Wilds. A name that would echo in legends, whispered by beasts and mocked by boars.