Soul God Dominates the Mortal World-Chapter 101: Converting Spy!

Ivana stepped back. With a final pulse of her aura, she sealed a mark on its soul—a freezing sigil that shimmered like a snowflake.

A brand of allegiance.

Then she exited the werewolf’s mind, withdrawing her presence like the retreating tide.

—

Back in the real world, the werewolf lay unconscious, but breathing. The frost dome dissolved into drifting snowflakes. The crowd, still distant, watched in confused awe.

Ivana stepped forward, composed, her silver hair dancing in the light wind.

And the beast at her feet—now her spy.

The war had only just begun... but she had just gained her first infiltrator.

And no one—not even the Progenitor—would see it coming.

***

Meanwhile, in a cavern carved at the peak of the sacred Werewolf Mountain — a place forbidden to all but the Progenitor himself — silence reigned. This was no ordinary cavern. It pulsed faintly with ethereal moonlight, as though the walls themselves breathed in sync with the two moons above. Glowing runes of ancient lupine script shimmered on the black stone, and mist curled gently at the floor like the sighs of long-dead ancestors.

This was the Moonfang Hollow — the holy chamber of communion between the Progenitor and the Goddess of Wolves.

A figure knelt.

The Werewolf Progenitor — massive, ancient, regal — lowered his head, claws pressed against the floor, body humbled. His silver fur, etched with war-scars and pulsing veins of crimson energy, was coated in frost-sheen from the aura in the cave. The arrogance he displayed when addressing the packs, the pride he wore like armor before lesser wolves, had vanished. Here, before Her, he was nothing but a subject.

Before him stood a being of surreal, divine beauty.

The Wolf Goddess.

She was barefoot, floating just above the ground. Her presence alone made the air heavy, saturated with mystic power and deep, carnal awe. Her hourglass figure was perfectly proportioned — wide hips that swayed with hypnotic rhythm, a narrow waist that accentuated the soft swell of her full, shapely bust. Her skin gleamed like silvered moonlight, flawless and untouched. Two wolf ears crowned her head, twitching faintly with each shift in the air.

Her long, flowing hair — pale as fresh snow — cascaded down her back in silken waves, framing a face both fierce and divine. Eyes the color of frozen starlight peered down at the kneeling Progenitor, cold yet burning with ageless wisdom. Every step she took felt like a celestial rhythm given form — fluid, smooth, impossibly elegant. The subtle sway of her hips drew the eyes without intent, the light bounce of her breasts beneath her silvery veil enough to stir the primal instincts of any who dared look.

But no one looked. Not directly.

The Progenitor’s eyes remained closed. Even he, the first werewolf, would never dare gaze upon her fully — such was the law. Such was her divinity. It was said that even the scent of her presence made werewolves stronger, and it wasn’t a myth. The faint aroma that lingered around her — a fragrance like the night forest bathed in dew and moonlight — stirred the Progenitor’s blood, igniting the power buried deep in his bones.

"Is all the preparation ready?" her voice came, soft and cold like snow settling atop a grave.

The Progenitor nodded, his deep voice reverent. "Yes, mighty Goddess of Wolves. The ritual has begun. This world will fall, as others before it have. Our victory will feed the moonlight and strengthen the world we call home."

She was silent for a moment. Her eyes narrowed faintly.

"...If I feel unease," she whispered, "there is a reason. Be vigilant. Do not grow arrogant. This world is touched by a long-faded god. His breath may be gone, but his legacy lingers... and those under his shadow are not without claws."

The Progenitor’s confidence did not waver outwardly, but in his heart... a ripple. Still, he bowed his head again, fists clenched.

"This world is weak. They’ve only just begun to awaken. Their strength is fractured — humans with no unity, no shared instinct. We are one. We are the hunt."

The Goddess said nothing more. fгeewёbnoѵel_cσm

She turned.

As she walked, her figure moved with the grace of a wild predator and the allure of a dream woman. Her hips swayed with lethal elegance, and each gentle sway caused her silver garments to shift, drawing the eye even further to the smooth curves of her thighs and the firm, divine roundness of her rear. Her chest rose and fell with every breath, the soft bounce of her full breasts visible beneath the translucent fabric — not lewd, but sacred in their perfection.

She moved like a celestial seductress, as if carved by moonlight itself — the dream of every alpha, the untouchable apex of feminine grace and divine authority.

The Progenitor’s eyes remained sealed tight. It was law — not by fear, but by reverence. The scent of her alone, drifting past him like a winter breeze, sent strength pulsing through his blood and bones.

It was said she lived within the red and silver moons of this world, and no werewolf — not even the Progenitor — dared set foot upon them. To do so was death. Or worse.

At the mouth of the cave, the light of the twin moons bathed her figure.

With her long, silken hair trailing behind her, she ascended—rising slowly from the ground, gravity bowing to her divinity. Her eyes gleamed as she soared toward the sky, higher and higher until she was a silhouette against the red moon.

And then, with a pulse of divine aura, she vanished—returning to her celestial throne.

The mountain trembled gently.

And far below, every werewolf in the world shivered in unison.

The Goddess had spoken.

And war was coming.

****

Meanwhile, back within the frozen chamber of frost and silence, Ivana stood before the chained and bloodied Werewolf, her form still glowing with residual frost energy, her fans folded in her hands. The sigils around them pulsed faintly, enclosing the space with privacy, ensuring no curious eyes could witness what was about to unfold.

The Werewolf, still gasping weakly from the battle, knelt, its body torn and battered, yet its spirit simmering with a strange calm.

Then, as though summoned by a whisper in her mind, Deus’ voice echoed clearly in Ivana’s soul:

"You will not kill it. This one is of use."

Ivana narrowed her eyes.

"What do you wish, my Lord?"

[Have it return to its master with a message. A lie wrapped in truth. Tell it to report that Earth will be vulnerable in two days. A global tournament will be held—the perfect time to strike. But in truth... we will be waiting.]

Ivana nodded slightly, then turned to the Werewolf. Its yellow eyes, no longer clouded with bloodlust, slowly lifted to her.

"Listen," she began, her tone cold but precise. "You will return to your Progenitor. You will tell him Earth is preparing for a world tournament in two days. During that time, most of our elite will be scattered. The world will be distracted, the dome defenses relaxed. That is when you should strike."

The Werewolf blinked, hesitating, clearly struggling with its instinct. Ivana leaned forward.

"I will let you live. I will even heal your wounds. And you will carry the sigil of Deus himself—proof that your life was spared because you were chosen. You will not be harmed unless you break your word."

She extended her hand, and the sigil appeared—a glowing emblem of complex runes and divine essence. The Werewolf stared, trembling.

Ivana chanted softly, her hand touching the Werewolf’s forehead. A warm, soothing light enveloped the beast as her ice magic transformed into healing waves. Bones knit. Flesh sealed. Vitality returned.

"Go," she whispered. "You have your mission."

With one final look, the Werewolf nodded, then disappeared through the opened portal back to its world.

---

Back in the Werewolf World—

Thunder echoed across the dark skies of the Werewolf Realm.

Massive roars of countless beasts rumbled through the sacred cliffs, as all the packs had once again assembled upon the great plateau before the summit—a second grand meeting.

The Progenitor stood tall upon the Moonfang Throne, his figure silhouetted against the blood-red sky, fur bristling, his eyes shining with the power of ancient ancestry. But this time, his demeanor was different—sharpened by suspicion.

The moment the spy-Werewolf stepped through the portal, silence fell like death.

All gazes turned to her.

The Progenitor’s voice boomed. "You return... unscathed. And alone."

The spy bowed low, her head never rising.

"Yes, My Lord. I was spared."

"Spared? By a human?" he growled. "No. You’re compromised. You reek of their sorcery."

She looked up, her eyes fierce.

"And yet I return with their secrets. I bring you what no other scout could. I fought and survived! Is this how you repay loyalty? With doubt?"

A murmur rippled through the watching wolves.

"You were meant to kill or die," the Progenitor snapped.

****

A/N:

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