lands cleanly, and Colin's entrance is especially effective.
Fear swept through the valley like a freezing gale.
Before the Frostclaw Bear—towering like a living mountain—every plan, every ounce of courage, seemed pitiful and absurd. The werewolves' howls died in their throats. The deer-men fell silent. Even the fearless boar-men froze upon the ridge.
The world shrank.
All that remained was the beast's heavy breathing—and the twisted despair on the faces of the fox-people lying helpless before it.
The bear had chosen its prey.
The weakest.
The fox-people closest to it.
Its blood-red eyes burned with cruel intent as its massive body lowered, muscles coiling. In the next instant, it would charge—a chariot of death with nothing to stop it.
Then—
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
From the highest cliff above, a silver figure leapt.
Gasps rippled across the valley.
Colin.
He didn't take the path.
He didn't climb down.
He plunged.
From tens of meters high, he dropped straight into the void.
His body stretched like a hunting hawk. His toes brushed against jagged outcroppings, bleeding off force—only to accelerate again. His claws scraped across the granite face, sparks bursting outward as he carved his descent into the cliff itself.
Then—
BOOM!
He struck the ground.
His knees bent, channeling the impact downward as the earth cracked beneath him, fractures spreading like a spiderweb.
Even the Frostclaw Bear hesitated.
Colin rose slowly.
His armor rustled. His bearskin cloak billowed behind him—one lighter patch standing out unmistakably.
His gaze locked onto the beast.
Cold. Steady.
"You."
His voice was quiet—but it carried like steel.
"Your opponent is me."
Then he roared.
Like thunder splitting the sky.
"Goff! Anna! Haske!!!"
"YES, CHIEF!" Haske snapped upright, as if dragged from a nightmare.
"Stick to the plan!" Colin barked without turning. "Keep killing deer! Anyone who stops before I kill this thing can leave Blackwood Fortress when we get back!"
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Only iron command.
That single order shattered the paralysis gripping the battlefield.
Their leader stood between them and death.
What right did they have to hesitate?
"YES!!"
Haske slammed his chestplate and turned, his voice feral:
"You heard him! The chief's buying us time! Show your claws—KILL!"
"KILL!"
The werewolves surged forward once more, frenzy replacing fear, tearing back into the scattered deer herd.
On the ridge, the deer-man tracker Aran inhaled sharply, then raised his spear.
"Javelins! Support the main force! Don't let them scatter!"
Spears rained down.
Precise. Deadly.
The deer herd descended into deeper chaos.
The battle moved again.
Forced back into rhythm.
Because one man demanded it.
Meanwhile—
The Frostclaw Bear turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
It abandoned the fox-people entirely.
Its gaze fixed on Colin.
Its nostrils flared.
Then—
It froze.
A scent.
Familiar.
Buried deep in instinct.
Its eyes shifted—locking onto the pale patch of bearskin across Colin's chest.
Recognition struck.
Not prey.
Not threat.
Something worse.
"ROOOO—WOOO—!!!"
The roar that followed was different.
Not rage.
Not dominance.
Grief.
Raw.
Shattered.
And beneath it—
Hatred.
The valley temperature seemed to plummet.
Even Colin felt it.
This was no longer a beast defending territory.
This was something broken.
Something vengeful.
And all of that hatred—
Was aimed at him.
The bear rose to full height, blotting out the sky.
Its fists slammed against its chest with a thunderous boom—
Then its claw came down.
Fast.
Brutal.
Final.
Colin's pupils shrank.
He moved.
A blur.
The claw smashed into the ground behind him.
BOOM!
A crater exploded outward, rocks scattering like shrapnel.
Colin didn't retreat.
He lunged forward.
His blade flashed—
CLANG!
The impact rang like iron striking iron.
The sword bit—
Barely.
A shallow mark across hide like armor.
The recoil tore his grip open, blood spraying from his palm.
Too tough.
The bear roared, spinning with terrifying speed.
Another claw swept toward him.
The wind alone crushed his breath.
Colin leapt back—ten meters in a heartbeat.
No hesitation.
No pride.
This thing—
Could not be fought head-on.
Then—
His eyes flashed.
Good.
He turned and ran.
Not in panic.
But with purpose.
Dragging the beast with him.
Leading it away—
Toward the open riverbank.
Behind him—
The bear followed.
Mad with grief.
Blind with rage.
Two battlefields split the valley.
At one end—
A deadly dance between man and monster. Every step a gamble. Every mistake fatal.
At the other—
Slaughter.
Efficient.
Relentless.
Freed from the bear's shadow, the hunting force unleashed everything.
Werewolves tore through the herd.
Deer-men struck from range with lethal precision.
Fox-people controlled the flanks.
Boar-men charged like battering rams, crushing anything in their path.
It didn't last long.
It didn't need to.
By the time the surviving deer fled—
The valley entrance had become a graveyard.
Bodies piled high.
Blood ran like streams.
Haske leaned on his spear, gasping.
Victory stood before him—
But his eyes searched elsewhere.
"Chief…"
Then—
A roar.
From the riverbank.
Not rage.
Pain.
Final.
Silence followed.
Everyone ran.
And stopped.
The Frostclaw Bear lay dead.
A mountain brought low.
Its body was torn with wounds—but one stood above the rest.
A shattered command sword driven through its jaws—
Down its throat—
And into the earth.
Beside it—
Colin knelt.
Blood soaked him.
His armor hung in tatters.
His left arm—
Torn open to the bone.
But he was laughing.
A survivor's laugh.
A victor's laugh.
[Slay Frostclaw Bear, gain 50 kill points]
"Chief!"
Haske rushed forward.
Colin waved him off, pushing himself upright with his blade.
He looked at them all—
Shock.
Awe.
Reverence.
Then he spoke.
Hoarse.
But unbreakable.
"We…"
A breath.
A grin.
"Won."