Our Family Has Fallen-Chapter 507 - 319: The Destitute Warwolf_2
He also had plenty of junk on his hands that he couldn’t use, and maybe he could take this opportunity to snag something.
But there was no rush; he would wait a bit longer for the situation to intensify further.
"I have plenty of Gold Coins, but I only want good things," Lance stated, his gaze drifting irresistibly towards Amanda—more precisely, towards the obsidian ring on her hand. "Things like storage-type equipment, mounts with Transcendent Bloodlines, or items with few to no drawbacks..."
Through swift negotiations, Amanda accomplished her task and ensured her own safety.
Still, she could sense Lance’s distance; the trouble Tamara had left her with before departing remained unresolved.
With his preconceived notions already in place, getting closer to him and replacing Tamara would likely be even more difficult.
However, the silver lining was that she was here and had time. No matter how important Tamara might have been, once someone is gone, the tea eventually cools.
To be clear, Amanda’s aim in replacing Tamara was to gain Lance’s support, not to win him over romantically. But then again, no one ever knew what might happen when feelings became involved.
Lance couldn’t care less what Amanda was thinking; he had already found the team he’d assembled.
Previously, he might have called Wang Cai to join, just as he always brought Boudica on missions.
But the harsh environment of the Beast Lair would be torture for Wang Cai. What if it ate something it shouldn’t and fell ill? There were no veterinarians in this world.
So, in the end, as the carriage departed, Wang Cai could only lie at the doorstep, watching with a yearning gaze.
However, the moment Lance was far enough away—out of Wang Cai’s sight and even beyond its range of smell—that darn dog immediately sprang up and, ignoring everyone else, bolted off to play.
When Lance was around, Wang Cai’s activities were restricted; Lance only took it out for a couple of rounds during patrols. For a wolf still growing, that amount of exercise wasn’t nearly enough.
Now that Lance was gone, the creature was free to dash about with abandon.
The townspeople were used to it, as this wolf didn’t bite.
But some wolves not only bit people, they ate them!
Deep in the dense forest, several white wolves fought over a corpse. One, as large and robust as a calf, claimed the choicest entrails for itself, leaving only scraps for the others. Its incredible jaw strength made short work of even tough leg bones; with a CRACK! CRACK! sound, the sweet marrow flowed out. It lifted a paw, slammed it onto the head, and cracked the skull open like a walnut, lapping up the brains within.
While this wolf pack feasted, the mood among another group nearby was somber. Among them were surviving Barbarian Tribes warriors, including one of an almost exaggeratedly imposing stature. They were clearly the Fang Wolf Tribe contingent that had departed the Misty Mountains for Hamlet. The contingent had suffered heavy losses since setting out, and most survivors were injured. Even their Warwolves bore recently healed scars, their former bravado replaced by a sorry state.
"It’s all that Eagle Flock’s fault, acting as lapdogs for the Imperial People! Where’s an ounce of honor left for the Sons of the Mountains?"
"When we get back, we’ll annihilate their tribe!"
"Yes! Destroy them and take their women!"
The Barbarian Tribes warriors vented their fury at the Eagle Flock tribe, yet they hadn’t forgotten who was truly responsible for their current desperate plight.
The Empire called them barbarians, but they referred to themselves as the Sons of the Mountains. The Empire had always been wary of raids by the Mountain Barbarian Tribes, establishing Bastia, a major military fortress, at a key location to guard the Mountains. Due to its strategic geographical position, the Barbarian Tribes within the Mountains had only two routes to enter the Empire in force: either through Bastia or by a long detour, traversing treacherous mountain terrain to reach inhabited regions of the Empire. Thus, even if they managed to plunder, they could bring nothing back unless they could conquer Bastia. Since its construction, the fortress had never fallen.
Conflicts between the Empire and the Mountain Barbarian Tribes were thus contained; any disputes were typically small-scale. Meanwhile, some Barbarian Tribes began to communicate and trade with the Empire, and some individuals even left to earn Gold Coins as mercenaries within the Empire. Consequently, Bastia became a vital hub for exchange between the Empire and the Mountains, gradually developing into a large city. Of course, its military nature remained unchanged. As long as Bastia stood, the Mountain Barbarian Tribes could not launch a large-scale invasion of the Empire.
The Fang Wolf Tribe’s annihilation of the Deerhead Tribe had provoked widespread outrage. When they left the Mountains and were discovered, it was the Noble Lords of Bastia who launched an assault against them. After all, these lords had been the Deerhead Tribe’s biggest trading partners. The demise of the Deerhead Tribe meant the end of their Potion business, and consequently, the loss of substantial Gold Coins. To them, cutting off someone’s source of wealth was akin to murdering their parents, and the Fang Wolf Tribe had long been on their blacklist.
They couldn’t conveniently dispatch troops into the Mountains, but if the Fang Wolf Tribe ventured out on their own, they had only themselves to blame for the consequences. Other Barbarian Tribes might fear retaliation from the Fang Wolf Tribe, but the war-hardened Nobility supported by Bastia had no such fear.
Back in the Mountains, ambushing merchant caravans—even well-equipped elite forces—had been mere sport for Warwolf. But when he faced a charge from an elite Cavalry Squad of Noble Knights, armed to the teeth, he finally understood why the previous tribe leader, the Wolfhead, had been so cautious. Even tribal warriors capable of invoking secret techniques were instantly incapacitated, their bodies torn asunder by a charging Lance, to say nothing of the fact that every noble house possessed some form of Supernatural Power. Ultimately, thanks to the Wolf God’s Protection, Warwolf used his formidable strength to tear open the encirclement and lead the surviving warriors to escape. However, they suffered devastating losses, their numbers halved, and the route through Bastia was now completely cut off.
Facing pursuit from the noble Cavalry, Warwolf knew that rationally, he should return to his tribe, lick his wounds, gather strength, and await an opportunity. The Mountains were his shield; the Cavalry couldn’t penetrate them, and if they tried, he might even find a chance to avenge his defeat. But he had sworn an oath before the tribe’s Priest to bring back the bloodline and power of the Wolf God. Returning empty-handed and defeated was unacceptable; he had to press on and prove himself, no matter the cost.
Thankfully, the prestige he had accumulated was enough to suppress any dissent among the warriors. Otherwise, the younger aspirants wouldn’t hesitate to challenge the old wolf for the title of Wolf King. Choosing to cross the mountain range meant challenging the Mountains themselves. Even as a child of these peaks, he had to endure their trials.
Their journey had already lasted nearly a month. Fortunately, having grown up in the Mountains, they knew how to procure resources from nature; otherwise, this path would have been a death sentence. Yet, along the arduous way, warriors continued to succumb to untreated, worsening injuries. As had just occurred, the deceased’s body would be devoured by the wolf pack. To these warriors, this was not a tragedy but a return of the soul to the Wolf God. They ate wolves, and wolves ate them—a savage yet genuinely egalitarian custom, perhaps even ahead of its time.
The corpse was quickly consumed by the wolf pack, even the toughest bones crushed and swallowed. No one mourned; to them, the soul had already returned.
"Once we cross this summit, we’ll be out of the mountain range," Warwolf said, concealing his exhaustion as he gazed into the distance. The hardships of this period had been both an ordeal and a refinement, tempering his restless spirit. If he completed this mission, upon returning to his tribe, he would become a leader truly capable of guiding them to prosperity. He sensed his goal was near, and the mere thought lifted his spirits.
"Let’s move!" At Warwolf’s command, the warriors followed.
The Wolf King among the white wolves looked up, licked the crimson from the corner of its mouth, and then strode forward to keep pace.
