However, after experiencing the situation where he could not replenish his ranks from the tribe, he fully realized the importance of casualties. The loss of each warrior was incredibly painful to him.
Two severely injured warriors struggled to say sothing. Warwolf cald sowhat, his face solemn as he took out the Wolf Head Statue. Finally, Warwolf personally killed the two warriors in front of the statue, ending their agony.
Then the white wolves surrounded the corpses, devouring their Flesh.
Indeed, this was their final request. Warriors never fear death and knew their wounds were fatal, so they did not want to burden the troop any longer.
In the presence of the Wolf God, they died as warriors and were able to return to the Wolf God's side.
Once the ritual ended, the n couldn't help but start looting the camp, while Warwolf turned his attention to the captives.
After a string of incomprehensible words, the captured bandits were dragged before Warwolf.
His massive build looked as though he could kill a man with a single punch; just sitting there, he exuded an oppressive force that made the captives tremble in fear.
Warwolf had not learned the common tongue, but there were translators in his troop who understood it.
"Ask them," Warwolf commanded, "what this place is, what settlents lie nearby…"
Warwolf began to realize the importance of intelligence. He needed to understand the situation in this area and avoid potential enemies.
Those n were already scared witless. They had heard of the Barbarian Tribes' wicked thods, not to ntion they had just watched two of their own kind killed and then devoured by a pack of wolves. Seeing such ruthlessness, the captives dared not waste words and spilled everything they knew.
They had spent ti in the army and knew more than the average person.
And as the translator relayed the information, the Empire's decline was laid bare—from natural disasters to famine to wars.
A glint lit up Warwolf's solemn eyes.
He hadn't expected this venture to bring such unexpected gains. This vast Empire was actually in the midst of a civil war, one that was escalating and showed no signs of abating.
Why had the Mountain Barbarian Tribe beco increasingly destitute? It was because of the Empire's suppression. Now, he seed to see an opportunity for his tribe's rise.
If they could rise amidst the chaos, the Fang Tribe could return to its ancestors' glory under his leadership…
But at this thought, Warwolf frowned as he looked up at his warriors. With so few of them left, each loss was irreplaceable. Everything must prioritize completing the mission; other matters had to be put aside for now.
"Prepare the ritual." Warwolf waved his hand dismissively and turned to oversee the preparations.
The captives didn't understand. They rely felt they had temporarily escaped death, at least until the ritual preparations were complete.
As the barbarians chanted, one captive watched as his companions—n who had, not long ago, idly chatted and mocked his unrealistic hopes—were dragged one by one before the statue, their throats slit.
As they struggled violently, their blood drenched the upturned Wolf Head Statue, making it seem as if it had co alive to greedily drink the fresh blood.
But when the warm blood splattered onto his face, it brought no warmth. Instead, a chill coursed through his entire body, as if his very soul were freezing.
Struggling was futile. He was dragged forward like a dead fish; a large wet patch had already spread across his groin, emitting a foul, acrid sll.
As the blade cut, the man seed to snap back to his senses. He desperately tried to struggle, but could only weakly feel his Life Force draining away, his already weakened body succumbing to the encroaching cold that engulfed him.
The man, thrown aside, still twitched faintly. Blood mixed with air, forming bubbles that continuously frothed from his severed neck, like a punctured tire subrged in soapy water.
Soon, suffocation caused his consciousness to begin to fade. He vaguely saw that peaceful little village again, and a figure running wildly through the wheat fields.
Run faster… faster… don't stop…
Until his gaze, too, gradually dimd.
No one paid any mind to a corpse; only the still-hungry wolves awaited the end of the ritual.
Warwolf communicated with the Wolf God, using Extraordinary power to search for the lost bloodline.
A black mist, not of the material world, seed to swirl in the Void. It appeared before him, but this ti, instead of indicating a direction as before, it clung directly to him.
The power of the ritual was closely related to the quality of the offerings. Previously, he would massacre entire villages, using thirty to fifty people as sacrifices at a ti. This allowed him to extend his senses over vast distances, yet he could still only perceive a general direction. This ti, however, he had captured only five prisoners. Warwolf had been concerned the scale of the ritual would be too small. The current outco could only an the target was nearby.
At this mont, Warwolf clearly felt a guiding sensation in his mind as a surge of power welled within him.
He knew this was the Wolf God's blessing, but it ca at a cost. The bloodline within him grew restless, as if urging him onward.
He could disregard the self-serving actions of the tribe's Priest, but he could not refuse any demand from the Wolf God. His power ca from the Wolf God; to lose the Wolf God's attention was to lose everything.
Casting aside all other concerns, he abandoned his intention to find a place and plunder the surroundings. He quickly gathered his troop and set off in the indicated direction.
The warriors, knowing this was the Wolf God's guidance, displayed extre enthusiasm, completely free from their earlier dejection.
The tenacious character of the Mountain Barbarian Tribe was fully exemplified at this mont. The Wolf God was their faith, no different from the fanatical followers of the Church; even successive hardships could not extinguish it.
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