The Man Whose Beloved Girlfriend Was Stolen Destroys Everything ~After Being Forced to Witness the NTR Scene, What Awaited Him Was a Dungeon.

Episode 6: The White Werewolf II.

“Hot…”

Whether from the adrenaline pumping my blood faster or pure excitement, my body felt unbearably overheated. I peeled off the frayed, tattered hoodie I’d been wearing underneath and tied it around my waist instead.

I managed to still the trembling in my legs, but this left arm—with its extra unnatural joint—was beyond saving. I took one deep breath, then another, trying to dull the searing pain. The opponent, however, was no human. The werewolf showed no such courtesy; it charged forward the instant I paused.

By the second exchange, my eyes had begun to adjust to its blistering speed. I barely dodged the boulder-like fist hurtling toward me and countered with an upward strike aimed at the middle of its forearm.

“Hard…!!”

The impact felt like punching solid steel. Pain shot through my knuckles. I quickly retreated and glanced at my right fist—the third joint was already flushed red. Its muscle and bone density were monstrous; ordinary attacks wouldn’t even scratch it.

I tried to think of a strategy, but the werewolf gave me no breathing room. Perhaps annoyed that I’d evaded its third strike, it unleashed a straight punch—faster than before.

I raised my already rag-like left arm as a shield. A sickening crunch rang out—not just a fracture, but something far worse. My left arm crumpled completely, bending in ways no limb should. No time to mourn it now. If anything, maybe it could at least serve as a sacrifice to protect my right arm.

The second blow of the combo came rushing in. I tried to lift the ruined left arm again to block—

“Geh—”

A frog-like croak escaped me as a hook from the right caught me square. My body launched skyward.

A feint. I never saw it coming. Somewhere deep down, I’d underestimated it—thinking it was “just” a monster.

“…At least I’m still safe for now.”

By some miracle of reflexes, I’d twisted my torso at the last second, shielding my right arm. That arm was my only real means of attack; losing it would be game over. Kicks were technically an option… but I had zero confidence in them, so I refused to count them.

I twisted again mid-air to right myself and landed lightly. Before leveling up, I’d have face-planted. Now, the sheer violence of my boosted stats made the impossible trivial.

“Fuu…! This is just attrition…!!”

No matter how many of its attacks I endured, none of it mattered unless I could bring it down. I already knew that… but after it effortlessly evaded my full-powered strike from behind, after witnessing a body tougher than the dungeon stone itself—honestly, I couldn’t imagine any attack getting through.

“Fucking unfair piece of—huh…?”

Just as the curse left my lips, I noticed something strange about the werewolf. It kept glancing back and forth—between the spot where I’d been blown away moments ago… and where I stood now.

〈………?〉

Following its line of sight, I saw it: the hoodie I’d tied around my waist had apparently fallen off during the impact and now lay discarded on the ground. But why was it looking between me and the hoodie…?

「……?”

A faint beastly musk suddenly tickled my nose. It had to be coming from the Night Wolf Black Fur I was still draped in. Had my sweat soaked into it and intensified the scent—wait. Scent?

“…No way.”

In that instant, a single hypothesis crystallized in my mind.

I took a few deliberate steps. The werewolf reacted immediately, lunging toward me. Using my ruined left arm as bait once more, I slipped beneath its towering legs, retrieved the fallen hoodie, and retreated.

Then I tossed the hoodie to a random spot on the stage and froze—completely still, no movement at all.

Sure enough, the werewolf began flicking its gaze between the hoodie and my current position again.

Hypothesis confirmed.

It wasn’t tracking me primarily with its eyes. Its ears clearly worked—it reacted to sound—but its main sense seemed to be smell. That was why it was confused: two sources now carried the exact same beastly odor. The sweat-soaked hoodie reeking of Night Wolf musk… and me, the one actually wearing the fur that carried the same scent.

An unexpected windfall… but now what? This trait could be exploited. The question was how to turn it into a kill. Fortunately, its confusion bought me precious seconds.

Yet no matter how much time passed, no brilliant plan emerged. Without somehow overcoming that freakishly dense, rock-hard body, none of this mattered.

(How the hell is a monster tougher than the dungeon floor…!!)

I mentally spat the words at it—

“…!?!!?”

—when suddenly, my teeth began chattering uncontrollably. Ga-chatter-chatter-chatter.

The abrupt physical anomaly left me stunned for only a heartbeat before the werewolf—alerted by the sound—lunged again. My eyes had fully adapted by now; I evaded without even bothering to block with my ruined arm.

I hurriedly snatched the hoodie back up, threw it over my shoulders in case the scent was already fading, and dashed across the stage. All the while, my teeth refused to stop rattling. Even when I clamped my jaw shut, some inhuman force pried it open again.

“What the actual hell is happening to me!!”

Frustration boiled over at the ruined opportunity. I frantically rifled through every scrap of memory in my brain. Nothing like this had ever happened outside of freezing winter days. This had to be the dungeon’s influence.

This? No. That? No. I combed through my dull, uneventful life for any hint, any clue—until the thought process was violently interrupted.

I’d been so focused inward that I’d backed myself into a corner.

The towering werewolf glared down at me with eyes like absolute-zero sapphire, cold and merciless. It raised a log-thick arm.

First strike—a punch heavier than anything before.

Second—an even heavier blow.

Third. Fourth. Fifth. The barrage grew faster, stronger, relentless—

“Guh… ga…!!”

—A storm of pure, unadulterated violence rained down like bullets. I dodged. Parried. Blocked with what remained of my left arm. Even on the brink of death, I refused to let my mind go blank. I desperately searched for that one thread—the single path to victory—and finally—

“—Ah.”

—The moment my left arm tore free at the shoulder and fell to the ground in a spray of blood, it clicked.

So-called skills were abilities granted only rarely—and sometimes, the way to use them was never explained in words. Sometimes they appeared as knowledge in the mind. Sometimes… they manifested through the body itself.

This time, it was the latter.

And all this time… I’d been resisting it.

(…Then—!)

I let my jaw go completely slack. Teeth still chattering wildly, I seized the tiniest gap in the barrage. Fresh blood sprayed from the stump of my left arm as I kicked off the ground, soaring lightly toward the upper reaches of the barrier.

In mid-air, I hurled the hoodie straight over the werewolf’s face—buying myself a few precious seconds.

As planned, it mistook the scent-cloaked cloth for me and tore it away in an instant, shredding it to ribbons.

〈guaaaaaAAA!!〉

But the deception lasted only a moment.

Realizing something was wrong, the werewolf hurled the ruined fabric aside and snapped its gaze upward—locking onto me. Veins bulged on its forehead. Its sapphire eyes flushed crimson with rage. With a powerful leap, it launched itself skyward, fist cocked and aimed directly at me.

I watched it all unfold… and surrendered my body to whatever was happening.

My mouth moved on its own, forming just two syllables—

“—【Devour】—”

The instant the word left my lips, a sharp snap echoed through the air—like something vital had been severed.

—and in the next breath,

The werewolf’s upper body vanished.

What remained was only the lower half—guts spilling grotesquely from the ragged wound—standing alone on the blood-soaked stage.