Unwilling to accept defeat, Hask tried again.
He spat out the grass in his mouth, his wolfish eyes burning with stubborn defiance. The black warhorse stood a short distance away, staring back at him warily. The fall from earlier still left his backside aching, but the real pain was to his pride. Being thrown off a horse in front of everyone—there was no greater humiliation.
"Bonebreaker!"
At his call, the massive Snow Giant Wolf approached silently, its steps light despite its enormous size. Bonebreaker was noticeably larger than the other wolves, its muscles coiling beneath snow-white fur like tightly wound steel cables. Even standing still, it radiated the oppressive presence of an apex predator.
Its icy blue gaze swept over the herd.
A low growl rumbled from its throat—not loud, but enough to make the air feel heavy.
The horses reacted immediately.
They shuffled backward, hooves clattering nervously, crowding together as if seeking safety in numbers. Even trained warhorses, fearless on the battlefield, could not suppress their instinctive terror in the face of such a creature.
The black horse was no exception.
Its ears flattened, and its proud head lowered slightly despite itself.
"See? You just need to reason with them," Hask muttered smugly, as if he had achieved something remarkable.
He began approaching the horse again, step by cautious step. His movements were exaggeratedly careful, almost comical—like a hulking giant attempting delicate handiwork.
He extended a hand, palm open, stopping just short of the horse's nose.
"Easy now… I'm not here to hurt you," he said, trying to soften his naturally rough voice. Unfortunately, it still sounded more like a threat than reassurance. "And my friend here won't eat you… probably."
Bonebreaker, utterly uncooperative, let out a lazy yawn beside him—revealing rows of gleaming, dagger-like teeth.
The black horse shuddered.
But with Hask's hand so close, and Bonebreaker looming nearby, it hesitated… then cautiously stretched its neck forward.
Its warm breath brushed against Hask's palm as it sniffed.
The scent was unfamiliar—sweat, leather, and something wild—but there was no immediate killing intent.
"…Good. That's it," Hask said, grinning widely—though the expression looked more terrifying than comforting. He gently placed his hand on the horse's neck, his rough fingers awkwardly stroking its mane.
The horse stiffened instantly.
But Bonebreaker's gaze pinned it in place like a blade. It didn't dare move.
"Relax… relax… I don't even eat horse meat…" Hask muttered.
Time stretched.
Finally, the horse exhaled sharply, its body loosening just a little.
Hask's eyes flashed.
Now!
He grabbed the reins with one hand, pressed down on the saddle with the other, and bellowed:
"Up!"
With a powerful leap, his massive frame launched upward—
Thud!
He landed squarely in the saddle.
Success.
…For about half a second.
The horse panicked at the sudden weight and rough movement, rearing violently onto its hind legs.
"HOLY—!"
Hask clung desperately to its neck, legs flailing as he tried to hold on. His enormous body bounced awkwardly as the horse bucked and twisted, turning him into a flapping, oversized burden.
"Steady! Grip with your legs! Use your core!" Colin's voice rang out like a bell.
Through the chaos, Hask caught sight of him.
Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to follow the instructions—loosening his stiff posture, lowering his center of gravity, and pressing his thighs against the horse's sides.
The difference was immediate.
Instead of resisting the motion, he began to follow it.
The process was anything but graceful.
Each violent jolt sent pain shooting through his body, especially where he met the saddle. It felt like his soul might leave his body at any moment. But his werewolf physique endured it.
Slowly… painfully… he adapted.
The horse's bucking weakened.
Then stopped.
It stood there, breathing heavily.
Hask slumped forward, gasping for air, more exhausted than after a full battle.
But he had done it.
He hadn't been thrown off.
"Hahaha! Did you see that?! I did it!" he shouted, sitting upright again—crooked and unsteady, but undeniably mounted.
His grin was wide, face covered in sweat and dust.
Around him, the other Wolf Fang warriors were inspired.
They rushed to try for themselves.
The training ground soon descended into chaos.
Each warhorse was shadowed by a Snow Giant Wolf, their presence alone enough to keep the animals in line. The werewolves used every method they could think of.
Some brought food—offering wheat cakes awkwardly.
Under the wolves' watchful eyes, the horses accepted the offerings with trembling reluctance.
Others relied on brute persistence—mounting, falling, and mounting again.
Again and again.
Their stamina was terrifying. Their stubbornness even more so.
The ground echoed with thuds, curses, and laughter.
In contrast, the Forest Tracker Squadron moved with quiet grace.
A fox-girl whispered softly to a mare, her voice like a breeze. The horse leaned into her touch, even nuzzling her fluffy tail. Moments later, she mounted effortlessly.
A deer-folk youth simply stood beside a horse, gently grooming its mane. The animal pressed against him affectionately, as if greeting an old friend.
Within an hour, more than half of them were already riding steadily.
Some had even begun trotting.
Boulder watched everything from atop a rock, chewing roasted meat.
"Hey, Colin," he called with a grin. "Your wolf cubs don't seem too bright. Want me to help? I could tame one by just sitting on it."
Colin walked over, amusement hidden beneath his helmet.
"Then be ready to pay for a horse afterward."
He glanced toward the struggling werewolves—dusty, bruised, but unyielding.
"This is something they must overcome themselves," he said calmly. "Force can suppress, but it cannot build trust."
He paused.
"What I want is not men who can ride. I want cavalry."
Boulder scratched his head, only half understanding.
By sunrise, the training ended.
All twenty-nine Wolf Fang warriors looked miserable—bruised, filthy, exhausted.
But every single one of them could now stay on a horse.
Hask even managed a few clumsy laps, pride written all over his face.
Colin stood before them.
"How does it feel?"
"Painful!"
"Exhausting!"
"Awesome!"
The replies came all at once.
Colin nodded.
"Good. Today, you learned to stay on. Tomorrow, you learn to fight."
His voice sharpened.
"In three days, I want you capable of taking a man's head during a charge."
A pause.
"Those who can't… go back to running on foot."
"Yes, Chief!" they roared.
Colin turned his gaze north.
Beyond the mountains lay the heart of the Western Earldom.
Soon, these warriors would become his fangs—
Heavy cavalry to break lines.
Light riders to harass and hunt.
When both were ready…
The true nightmare would begin.