The pungent scent of blood lingered in the freezing wind, mixing with the crisp aroma of cedar needles into something cold… and unsettling.
The battlefield was in ruins.
Corpses lay scattered across the snow. Crimson stains spread wide, turning pure white into a dark, jarring red.
The survivors collapsed where they stood—sitting, lying, gasping for breath. Their faces were hollow, caught between exhaustion and disbelief.
They had lived.
But just barely.
Colin leaned heavily against Haske's broad shoulder.
As the tension drained from his body, pain surged in like a tidal wave.
His back burned where the wolf's claws had torn into him. The bite on his arm throbbed deep into the bone.
"Chief…"
Goff stepped forward and handed him a potion.
Colin nodded, uncorked it, and drank it in one motion.
A faint green glow spread across his body.
His breathing steadied—but his eyes never left the direction the wolves had fled.
The snow told a story.
Large, chaotic footprints led deep into the mountains.
Some were stained with fresh blood.
Dark.
Wet.
Unfrozen.
"They haven't gone far," Colin said quietly.
His eyes narrowed.
Then his tone changed—firm, decisive.
"The fox-people and the heavily wounded stay behind. Clean the battlefield. Prepare food. Set up camp."
A pause.
"Everyone else—move with me."
"Move… where?"
A deer-man staggered forward, leaning on a broken spear. His arm hung limp, wrapped in blood-soaked hide.
His voice trembled.
"My lord… where can we even go? We're at our limit…"
Murmurs followed.
Exhaustion.
Fear.
Reluctance.
Colin didn't get angry.
He understood.
"Chase them."
Silence.
"Chase them?!" the deer-man blurted, voice rising. "It's almost night! Hunting wolves in the mountains in the dark? That's suicide! We need rest—not another battle!"
Colin's expression didn't change.
His gaze swept across the crowd—Haske, Anna, the young warriors.
"Danger?" he said calmly. "Of course it's dangerous."
A step forward.
"But this—"
He pointed at the blood-stained tracks.
"—is also a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."
"They're pack animals," he continued. "Strict hierarchy. I killed their alpha."
His eyes sharpened.
"What happens to an army when its commander falls?"
No one answered.
But they all knew.
"Rout."
"They're leaderless. Injured. Disorganized. This is their weakest moment."
His voice hardened.
"If we let them return to their den… recover… choose a new alpha…"
A pause.
"Next time, we won't be the hunters."
Silence deepened.
Then—
He changed the angle.
"What does Blackwood Fortress lack most?"
The group exchanged looks.
"Food… hides…" Haske muttered.
Colin shook his head.
"We lack speed."
His voice grew sharper.
"We're infantry. On this snowfield, we're crippled. We can't hunt efficiently. We can't maneuver. We can't fight cavalry."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But if we find their den…"
A flicker of something dangerous lit his eyes.
"…we might find their cubs."
That landed.
"Cubs?" someone whispered.
Colin nodded.
"Adults are hard to tame."
A beat.
"But cubs… raised from birth…"
He let the image form in their minds.
"When they grow—"
"Each of you riding a snow wolf faster and fiercer than any warhorse."
Silence.
Then—
Impact.
"Wolf… riders…"
The words spread like fire.
Fatigue vanished.
Pain dulled.
Eyes ignited.
Anna straightened instantly.
"I'm going."
Haske slammed his chestplate.
"Then we go all in!"
Barton grinned through blood and exhaustion.
"One arm's enough. I'll still smash skulls."
"I'm in!"
"Me too!"
The mood flipped completely.
From despair—
To hunger.
Colin nodded.
This was what mattered.
Not strength.
Not numbers.
Hope.
"Good."
He pushed himself upright with Haske's help.
"Fenrir!"
A fox-man rushed forward immediately.
"Yes, my lord!"
"Your nose is the best here," Colin said. "You lead the tracking. We're raiding—not fighting. Safety first."
"Understood!"
Colin diluted the remaining potions, distributing them carefully.
Not enough to heal—
But enough to stand.
Soon, a smaller force formed.
An elite pursuit team.
Colin.
Haske.
Anna.
Goff.
Barton.
Fenrir.
And a handful of warriors still able to fight.
They followed the blood trail.
Into the mountains.
The terrain worsened quickly.
Snow deepened—knee-high in places.
Each step was a struggle.
The wind howled, flinging ice like needles against their skin.
Breath froze.
Limbs numbed.
Colin swayed more than once.
Haske half-carried him, shielding him from the wind.
At the front—
Fenrir moved like a shadow.
He knelt.
Touched blood.
Smelled.
Paused.
Listened to the wind.
"This way."
He pointed left.
"The scent's stronger."
They turned.
Pushed forward.
Night fell.
A crescent moon broke through the clouds, casting pale light across the snow.
The signs grew clearer.
More blood.
Dragged trails.
White fur caught on branches.
The wolves were worse off than expected.
"Stop."
Colin raised his hand.
Everyone froze.
"Listen."
At first—
Only wind.
Then—
Faint.
Broken.
"Awoo…"
Not a battle cry.
Not a threat.
Pain.
"They're here," Fenrir whispered. "More than one. Wounded."
Colin smiled.
Cold.
Sharp.
"We've found them."
He lowered his voice.
"Check your weapons. No sound from here on."
He pointed.
"Goff—right flank."
"Anna—left."
A pause.
"Our target is the cubs. Avoid the adults unless necessary."
"Understood."
They moved again.
Silent.
Low.
Predators now.
The smell hit first.
Blood.
Decay.
Beast.
Then—
The forest parted.
A rock wall rose ahead.
And beneath it—
A cave.
Half-hidden by vines and snow.
Easy to miss.
Impossible to ignore now.
From within—
Low, pained howls echoed.
The den.
At last.