The werewolf dragged forward trembled uncontrollably, his face drained to a sickly gray. Under the weight of watching eyes—some pitying, most contemptuous—he looked like a man already buried.
"Re… reporting, Chief…" His voice cracked. "I… I thought the saddle was loose. I just—checked…"
"Checked?"
Colin's voice rose, distorted by the steel helm into something monstrous.
"While your brothers charged. While spears were aimed at your throat—you bowed your head… to look at your saddle?"
He stepped forward.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
"Understand this." The scabbard slammed into the man's chest with a violent clang. "The moment you looked down—you died."
Silence.
Colin's gaze swept across them all, sharp as drawn steel.
"Your eyes belong to the enemy. Your body belongs to the horse. Your life depends on both." His voice dropped lower, colder. "Fear has no place between them."
No one moved.
"What is cavalry?" he continued, voice cutting deeper. "Infantry on horseback?"
A pause.
"Wrong."
"Cavalry is impact. It is speed. It is the moment before death when the enemy realizes they are already broken."
His tone hardened.
"On horseback, there is no man. No beast. Only one will."
"If you fall, you may still live." His voice turned deadly quiet. "But if your hesitation slows the charge—then every man here dies with you."
Heads lowered.
Shame burned hotter than any fire.
Colin turned.
His eyes fell upon Anna and her archers.
"And you."
Her back stiffened.
"You stop to shoot."
A simple statement.
A condemnation.
"You make yourselves targets. Prey standing still."
Anna said nothing.
She couldn't.
"Archers who stop are infantry," Colin continued. "What I need are ghosts."
His gaze sharpened.
"Shoot while moving. Kill while unseen. Bleed them dry before they can even raise a blade."
"If you cannot strike at full gallop—then you are nothing more than baggage."
No one dared speak.
The illusion of strength—the pride from victory—was shattered completely.
What remained was raw.
Unforgiving.
Necessary.
"Hask."
"Here!"
"Anna."
"Here!"
"Take them. Now."
His voice left no room for thought.
"Break them. Rebuild them. I don't care how many times they fall—when the next battle comes, I want warriors, not children clinging to saddles."
"Yes!"
They moved immediately.
Orders turned to shouting. Shouting to chaos.
Horses screamed. Warriors cursed. Bodies hit the ground.
Training began again.
Harder.
Crueler.
Colin stepped away.
The noise faded behind him.
The system surfaced.
[Killed Militia x28 — +0.56][Killed Villagers x224 — +2.24][Kill Points: 333.8]
So little.
Lives reduced to fractions.
Still—
Enough.
[Basic Horsemanship Training Manual — 10 points/person]
Forty-seven needed it.
He only had enough for thirty.
That was enough.
For now.
"The Wolf Fang Squadron—thirty units. Begin infusion."
[300 Kill Points consumed][Infusion initiated]
At once—
Every Wolf Fang warrior stiffened.
Something broke open inside them.
Or perhaps—
Something was forced in.
Buck clung to his horse—then suddenly froze.
Knowledge flooded him.
Not learned.
Not practiced.
Remembered.
As if he had always known.
Balance. Pressure. Rhythm. Control.
The language of horse and rider—etched directly into his bones.
He loosened his grip.
Straightened.
Pressed lightly with his legs.
The horse beneath him calmed instantly.
Obeyed.
Perfectly.
"What… is this…?"
Around him, the others reacted the same.
Shock.
Then realization.
Then something deeper.
Something dangerous.
"Chief…"
"It's him…"
"A miracle…"
Buck dismounted first.
Dropped to one knee.
"Long live the Chief!"
His voice cracked with fervor.
"Glory to the Wolf Lord!"
The others followed.
Thirty warriors.
Kneeling.
Roaring.
The forest trembled with it.
Colin said nothing.
He accepted it.
Because this—
This was control.
Power, beyond strength.
Faith, beyond reason.
"Rise."
His voice was cold again.
"Knowledge is nothing without blood."
He turned.
"Mount up."
A pause.
"Our next hunt begins."
They moved.
This time—
No hesitation.
No fumbling.
They mounted like they had done it all their lives.
The army advanced.
Faster.
Sharper.
Alive with something new.
An hour later—
Stone Bridge Town appeared.
Larger than the last.
Stronger.
Prepared.
Smoke had warned them.
"My Lord," Anna said quietly. "They're ready."
Colin looked ahead.
Barricades.
Watchtowers.
Fear.
Good.
"A wall does not give sheep courage," he said softly.
Orders came quickly.
Cleanly.
Deadly.
"Hask."
"Split. Flank. Burn their rear."
"Anna."
"Harass the front. Keep moving."
"Boulder. Barton."
"When they break—crush them."
They moved instantly.
The Wolf Fang Cavalry split like blades along the riverbanks.
Fast.
Too fast.
Arrows chased shadows and struck nothing.
At the bridge—
Anna's riders loosed arrows in motion.
Unsteady.
But relentless.
The defenders ducked.
Panicked.
Blinded.
Then—
The rear broke.
Hask's riders came like a nightmare.
No walls.
No defense.
Only screams.
They did not slow.
Did not dismount.
Blades fell from horseback—
Heavy.
Brutal.
Unforgiving.
A man with a pitchfork stepped forward.
He didn't even finish his scream.
The town collapsed from within.
"Rear breached!"
Panic spread.
Orders shattered.
Formation dissolved.
And then—
Colin spoke.
"Now."
Boulder moved first.
A living siege engine.
The barricade shattered beneath him.
Wood splintered.
Sand burst.
Men broke.
The rest poured in.
What followed—
Was not battle.
It was slaughter.
Colin rode forward.
Slow.
Unhurried.
The stone bridge ran red.
Bodies piled.
Steel rang.
Voices died.
He watched.
Silent.
Detached.
The system pulsed with numbers.
Kills.
Points.
Noise.
Irrelevant.
His eyes moved beyond the burning town.
Further.
Deeper.
More targets.
More names.
More blood.
The hunt had only begun.
And there would be no end.
Only a path—
Paved in bone.