The Guardian gods Chapter 481

The eting had concluded, but neither leader departed with a sense of ease. If anything, they were burdened with new questions, the weight of unresolved matters pressing heavily on their minds.

In the grand, frost-laden halls of the werewolf kingdom, Wulv now sat upon an imposing ice throne—the very seat once occupied by his father. The crystalline structure glead under the soft, ethereal glow of the stars visible through the high-vaulted ceiling. Yet what stood out most was the constellation behind him, an intricate celestial pattern etched into the air itself. It pulsed faintly, its presence becoming an ever more frequent sight ever since Wulv had taken his place as ruler.

This was the gift of his constellation. The power granted to him, one necessary if he was to lead his people in the tis ahead.

But now, after the encounter with Zirikon, his thoughts were consud by a single, troubling question.

"Krogan" A na long forgotten. A being who had seemingly faded from history.

Why now?, Why had Krogan begun to stir again?

And, perhaps most pressing of all—what did he want with the Mammoth Beast King?

The throne room was eerily silent, save for the occasional distant howl of the winter winds. Then, a soft but deliberate sound broke the stillness.

Footsteps.

A lone figure approached.

A werewolf, broad-shouldered and clad in a heavy cloak of dark fur, strode toward the throne, carrying a massive, ancient to bound in thick, weathered leather. The air around him seed heavier, as if the book itself carried an imasurable weight—not just physically, but in knowledge.

He halted at the base of the throne, bowing deeply before Wulv. Then, with careful precision, he took a seat.

For a mont, the two said nothing.

The only sound was the soft crackling of frost forming and breaking along the edges of the ice throne.

And then, as the werewolf placed the book between them, Wulv finally spoke, his voice quieter than before, but no less firm.

"Tell what you know."

The massive to trembled for a brief mont before lifting into the air, as if guided by an unseen force. Slowly, it floated toward Wulv, its thick, weathered pages rustling like whispers carried by the wind. Then, with a faint hum, the book flipped open, its pages turning rapidly—dozens, then hundreds—before abruptly stopping on a specific entry.

Wulv’s blue eyes sharpened as he leaned forward, scanning the aged parchnt with unwavering focus. His gaze moved carefully over the intricate script, ensuring he missed nothing. Every word, every diagram, every footnote—he absorbed it all.

Yet, despite his ticulous attention, he found nothing of true significance.

The book was a ticulous record of the many beasts that road the frigid lands of the northern continent. Countless ages cataloged the mighty Beast Kings—their appearances, territories, strengths, and habits—each entry written with scholarly precision.

And yet, the Mammoth Beast King held no extraordinary distinction.

Its recorded strength was formidable, but not unique. Its domain, vast but unremarkable. There was no forgotten legend, no concealed truth buried within these pages.

Wulv’s brow furrowed slightly, the faintest trace of frustration flickering across his usually amused expression.

"Are you certain this is all you could find?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge of expectation.

The werewolf before him t his gaze and gave a solemn nod.

"That is all, Your Grace," he confird. "However, I have dispatched a unit to retrieve one of its offspring. If there is anything we have overlooked, we may find our answers by examining its lineage up close."

Silence stretched between them for a mont, heavy with thought.

Wulv exhaled slowly, his fingers lightly tapping against the armrest of his icy throne. His constellation pulsed faintly behind him, its glow flickering like distant starlight.

Sothing about this didn’t sit right and he intended to find out why.

The massive to lifted once more, pages fluttering as it drifted back toward the werewolf figure. Wulv let out a long sigh, his fingers idly tracing the armrest of his throne as his thoughts swirled.

"Did I take it too far this ti?" he murmured, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness.

The werewolf before him regarded him carefully before speaking.

"As a king, you did the right thing," he replied evenly. "But as a brother... it was never the right thing to do—putting your sister in danger."

Wulv’s golden eyes flickered as he turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, where his sister was making her way back to the kingdom. She was unhard, but the weight of his actions lingered in his mind.

This entire sequence of events had been orchestrated by him.

Not everything, of course—her unexpected encounter with Yuki’s son, their joint hunt that had ended with the icy ground collapsing beneath them, the deaths of the Mammoth Beast King’s offspring—those were unforeseen developnts. But from the mont he learned that Yuki had entered the Beast King’s territory, he had set his plans in motion.

It all stemd from her weakness.

Not in skill, nor in willpower, but in the absurdity of her own bloodline.

She was a child of their father "A demigod" and a descendant of a true dragon.

Traces of divine blood and pre-draconic lineage ran through her veins—an inheritance that should have granted her an unshakable path to power.

And yet, despite that potential, she remained at the peak of the Fourth Stage.

A disappointnt. For soone of her lineage, the Fifth Stage should have been an inevitability, a natural progression with no obstacles in her way. Only upon reaching the Sixth Stage—where talent alone was no longer enough, where sheer will and understanding of the world beca paramount—should her growth have slowed.

And yet, here she was. Stagnant.

Wulv exhaled through his nose, his constellation behind him flickering with dim light.

Perhaps this gamble had been necessary after all.

She could not be blad for her stagnation—at least, not entirely. She was a princess, after all. She had no need for such strength.

Wherever she went, Fifth Stage guards trailed her in the shadows, ensuring her safety. There was no urgency for her to grow stronger, no true danger to push her forward.

This was sothing Wulv himself struggled to understand.

He had stood beside their father centuries ago, when their kind had no kingdom, no throne, no warm halls to call their own. Back when they huddled in makeshift igloos, enduring the bitter cold, where survival depended on strength alone.

Back then, stagnation ant death.

But tis had changed. The newer generations of werewolves, born into an era of prosperity, had lost that fire. With abundant resources at their disposal and the luxury of long lifespans, few felt the need to push beyond their limits.

Yet Wulv believed that, as a mber of the royal family, his sister should be different. She should be strong. The duty to protect their people rested upon them more than anyone else.

And yet, her situation was dire. Despite her Fourth Stage strength, she struggled against elite warriors at the Third Stage. A disgrace, considering her lineage.

That was why Wulv had placed her in the Mammoth Beast King’s territory. It was not rely a coincidence—it was an orchestrated trial. A calculated risk.

He had wanted to push her, to force her into danger, to see if the fire within her could be ignited.

But then Leiko appeared.

Wulv had not expected him. And in the boy’s presence, he saw sothing his sister lacked.

Ferocity, a refusal to stop and Ambition.

Wulv did nothing to prevent their eting. In fact, he welcod it.

He even smiled when Leiko greeted his sister in an attempt to cleave through both her and the mountain she sat upon.

At that mont, Wulv abandoned his initial plan. He no longer needed a powerful beast to test his sister—Leiko would serve that purpose far better.

Even as events spiraled beyond his expectations, even when his sister faced an opponent she stood no chance of defeating, he did not give the order for his n to intervene.

He let it happen. Because if she could not rise from this trial stronger...

Then she never would.

The cold air of the throne room settled heavily around Wulv as he reclined against the ice-forged seat, his mind churning. His sister had survived, but had she changed? Had the fire he sought to ignite within her finally caught fla? Or had she rely endured, waiting to be saved?

He clicked his tongue in mild irritation.

Leiko had proven himself far more than a simple pawn in Wulv’s designs. There was potential in him—a hunger that reminded Wulv of the old days, when survival was uncertain and only the strong carved out a future for themselves.

Perhaps that was why Wulv found himself watching the boy with growing interest.

Standing up from the throne, he ordered "Prepare the mirrors, it’s ti to speak with the other godlings"

While Wulv prepared for his eting, Yuki, on the sunlit side of the world—far beyond the vast expanse of ice and snow—sat in quiet contemplation, her fingers tracing the smooth, ti-worn surface of a small skull. Dark mist curled lazily from its hollowed eyes and slack jaw, seeping out in slow, deliberate tendrils that dissipated into the warm air.