In the basement, the white wolf stood over the man's remains with a look of glee. Only a skeleton covered in skin was left of the man. The sight was momentarily pleasing until it reminded the wolf of its mother's and sister's deaths. Anger took over, and the wolf attacked the skeletal remains with all its might, pulverizing them into dust that filled the basement.
The wolf was shocked by its power. It hadn't expected to become so strong so soon. As it realized its new strength, a wave of sadness welled up in its heart. The wolf quickly suppressed the feeling and prepared to leave. It picked up the man's clothes and hid them at the bottom of a dirty box in the corner.
The only thing left was a pool of blood on the floor. The wolf had used its mouth to carry the clothes, but didn't want to clean the floor with its tongue. For a few seconds, it looked at the blood with conflict in its eyes before surrendering to the circumstances. It licked the blood off the floor, and in a single minute, the floor was cleaner than it had ever been.
As the wolf walked toward the door, it suddenly fell to the ground from a sharp pain in its head. It clutched its head with its feet, and its howls were filled with agony. It felt as though fiery drums were being beaten inside its skull. Blood flowed from its ears and nostrils, and its eyes bulged as if they were about to pop out. For two hours, the wolf lay in the basement howling in a pain that would send a grown man to an early grave. It was on the brink of passing out, but had a feeling that if it lost consciousness, it would never wake up again. This forced the wolf to maintain its awareness using a strong will forged by thoughts of vengeance. For the entire two hours in the basement, it stayed conscious and endured the pain.
When the pain finally ended, the wolf lay on the ground, breathing heavily. It rested for about thirty minutes before getting up and leaving the basement. Darkness had already replaced the light, and the mansion seemed empty. The wolf made some preparations before running out of the mansion and into the city streets. The city seemed like a ghost town, as if the commoners had been warned that the night would not be peaceful.
In the empty streets, the wolf ran toward the royal palace at the center of the city. As it ran, its speed kept increasing, and whenever the wolf felt it had reached its limit, it exceeded it and went even faster. In the end, the wolf became a white blur on the streets. Wherever it passed, the strong winds generated by its high velocity shattered the glass in stores and even destroyed some buildings made with weak materials, blowing them away and filling the air with dust and shattered timber.
In a few seconds, the wolf reached the palace walls. The white walls were tall and looked thick enough to stop most cultivators, unless they could fly. In all its years in human society, it had never seen a cultivator who could fly, only heard about them in stories. The wolf looked at the wall and knew it couldn't get through by brute force. It ran five hundred feet away from the wall in the direction it had come from. Then, it sprinted back toward the wall at an extremely high speed. As it reached the wall, the wolf had turned into a single white line that moved up the wall in less than a second and disappeared beyond it.