Sang hurriedly leaped out of the carriage, fully prepared to face the enemy.
To his surprise, however, a group of Rose Knight Order knights led by Mondo had already captured the intruder alive. Their efficiency was truly impressive.
There was only one enemy—and strictly speaking, it was a werewolf. Upon closer inspection, Sang even recognized him. Wasn’t this Shika, the young chief of the Wolfman Tribe he had clashed with back in the Extreme North Mountain Range?
That’s right!
The attacker was none other than the werewolf Shika, who also happened to be the young chief of his tribe.
Sang muttered, “Uh… how come it’s this idiot?”
The guy wasn’t weak by any means.
Sang’s strength was now comparable to that of a Silver-level Knight, yet even after two encounters, they had always ended in a stalemate. The second fight had been interrupted midway when old man Orcus summoned a flying dragon and rode off to the final battlefield, conveniently ignoring Shika in the process.
Mondo lived up to his reputation as the captain of the Rose Knight Order’s 11th Squad; he had subdued Shika with ease.
“You bastard! Let me go! I’ll kill you humans! Avenge the Wolf King!” Shika bellowed, even as Mondo pinned him firmly to the ground.
Despite Snow Hill’s orders to seal off all information about Sang’s role in the Northern Region battlefield, Shika had not only been among the warriors present but had also personally fought Sang. He undoubtedly knew Sang’s true identity…
In fact…
When Sang faced off against Wolf King Gallo in their final duel, Shika had rushed from the entrance of the Extreme North Mountain Range to the heart of the battlefield. That meant he had witnessed the entire fight—including Wolf King Gallo’s ultimate defeat at Sang’s hands.
Unlike humans and the Blood Race, who were spread far and wide, the Werewolf Clan was almost exclusively confined to the Northern Region. They lived nomadic lives, splintered into countless tribes, and Shika was the young chief of one such tribe. Before this great war, their clan had received a summons from Wolf King Gallo, who had mysteriously regained his youth. For reasons unknown, Shika’s father—the tribe’s chieftain—had strongly opposed participating in the battle.
But Shika was different. From childhood, he had idolized Wolf King Gallo above all others—the first and only one to unite the entire Werewolf Clan.
He dreamed of becoming the next Wolf King!
Defying his family’s objections, Shika had set out stubbornly, accompanied by like-minded companions from his tribe…
Well… they had truly set out on a one-way journey…
In the aftermath of the recent great battle in the Northern Region, every werewolf from his tribe except Shika had perished.
Including his companion named Wolvo.
He, too, had died…
So, in truth, this attack was less about avenging Wolf King Gallo and more about vengeance for his fallen comrades… though Shika would never admit it.
Back to the present moment.
Shika, his face twisted in grief and rage, was still being held down by Mondo and the other knights. He appeared to be a boy of sixteen or seventeen, about five foot ten, with rough yet refined features, a muscular build, and a coat of gray fur. His eyes burned with hatred as he glared up at Sang and snarled through gritted teeth, “You bastard! Let me go! I’ll kill you!”
Sang had no idea what Shika had been through. He simply looked down at him from on high and, on a whim, crooked a beckoning finger at him provocatively. “Come on, come on—hit me! I’m just sitting right here!”
His tone was utterly infuriating!
Well… with the protection of the Rose Knight Order now—and especially Mondo, who had shed his racial prejudices after the Northern Region battle and developed a measure of genuine respect for Sang—this was no idle boast. Mondo’s vigilance stemmed from sincere concern, not just orders from above.
“You bastard! Fight me one-on-one if you’ve got the guts!”
Sang rolled his eyes at Shika’s words. He had zero interest in tangling with this guy. For one thing, his injuries hadn’t fully healed. For another, he still hadn’t figured out 【Layer of Power】. If he had, this decently strong opponent would make for a perfect guinea pig to test it on. As it was, though, he just couldn’t be bothered.
【Layer of Power】 was, in simple terms, the ability he had gained upon entering Snow Hill’s Channel—the name Sang had given it himself.
To this day, Sang remained utterly clueless about it. He couldn’t even activate it again.
Though Snow had warned him not to use the power lightly, the young man had no idea how to wield it in the first place.
As the saying went, having a sword but not using it was not the same as having no sword at all. Sang needed to keep this as his ace in the hole; he would find time later to master it.
Mondo had no time or patience to keep wrestling Shika—they still needed to press on. With growing irritation, he said, “Mr. Sang, head back to the carriage. Let me handle him out here. It might get bloody… I wouldn’t want to dirty your eyes.”
The implication was clear: he intended to execute him.
Werewolves and the Blood Race had always been at odds, especially the Northern Blood Clan, who frequently suffered raids from werewolf packs. They were natural enemies, hardened by years of slaughter—and after the Northern Region campaign, their hatred had only deepened.
Did they think everyone was a Snow Hill?
Shika had been ranting a moment ago, but now fear gripped him.
He wasn’t just the young chief of his Wolfman Tribe; he was a prodigy of his clan, always attended by escorts. His assault on Sang had been a heat-of-the-moment impulse…
But now that his hot blood had cooled, genuine terror set in—especially when he saw Mondo draw his Knight’s Sword. It felt as though the scythe of the Grim Reaper was already hovering at his throat.
This is it!
Am I going to die?
Because his tribe hadn’t joined the war, most of his family and friends were still alive… The realization filled him with belated dread and regret.
Terrified as he was, pride kept him from showing it.
“Die, you foolish werewolf!”
The words had barely left Mondo’s lips when he raised his Knight’s Sword high, poised to bring it crashing down on Shika’s head. Shika squeezed his eyes shut in despair.
But at that very moment, the blue-haired youth not far away suddenly spoke up. “Eh… forget it. Let him go.”
Shika’s head snapped up. He stared at Sang with a tumult of emotions, utterly baffled as to why this man would spare him.
“Mr. Sang, why show such mercy? Have you forgotten the knights who died on the battlefield just recently?” Mondo respected Sang, but he wasn’t blindly obedient. His tone grew firm.
Sang scratched his cheek, his expression complicated. “It’s just my opinion—personally, I’d let him go. But whether you do or not is up to you, Sir Knight.”
In the end, Mondo honored Sang’s wish and released Shika. Shika departed in a daze, lost and dispirited, stumbling away unsteadily.
Watching Shika’s dejected retreating figure, Sang felt a pang of complexity himself. The previous war had claimed countless lives. While relations between humans and the Blood Race in the Northern Region had improved, tensions between humans and werewolves had only worsened.
The chain of hatred seemed an inescapable curse for humanity, impossible to eradicate.
The only things that could unite individuals were shared interests or a common foe.
If this had been some random werewolf, even a bleeding heart like Sang would have turned a blind eye and let Mondo kill him. But this was Shika. For one thing, the guy hadn’t gone for the kill against Thea and Aisha back then—he really was an idiot. For another, Snow had mentioned that Shika’s tribe often pulled off foolish acts like robbing the rich to help the poor.
Let him go!
Just this once, he’d follow his heart.
The war was over. Let me catch my breath.
