Thane and his companions finally came face to face with BloodClaw Fortress, the stronghold that had once halted the full scale assault of nearly one hundred thousand Hesmor troops. It was a massive, impregnable fortress, constructed in a unique architectural style that resembled a gigantic wolf raising its head in vigilant watch. Encircling the exterior was a low yet broad and thick wall built from Emerald mountain stone. The single gate resembled the lifted claw of a wolf and was only ever closed when war drew near. The chieftain’s hall formed the head of the wolf, the highest point of the fortress, offering a commanding view of the entire region. With a spyglass, one could easily observe even the far side of the Emerald River from there.

  BloodClaw Fortress stood at the edge of its own territory. To the east lay the BloodMoon hills, the dwelling place and lair of Vargan. Vargan was an Epic tier beast. After the battle with the Dark God, no one knew whether Vargan was still alive or already dead. Yet no one possessed the courage to challenge such a fearsome monster, and BloodMoon remained a forbidden land to humanity, except for children who carried the bloodline of Reddan.

  To the west of the fortress stretched Vayle Valley, the last peaceful land before reaching the Allblack region and the territory of Cerberus. The Lay River flowed down from the Emerald Mountains, bordering the BloodMoon hills, forming the boundary between the territories of BloodClaw and RhinoHorn. It ran through Vayle Valley, descended toward the Infernic Mountains, and eventually merged with the Emerald River. Because of this, one could also say that BloodClaw Fortress served as a defensive bulwark for RhinoHorn as well. During the war between Hesmor and Golden, it was Hush who personally led his tribe’s special forces to assist Nash in defending this region.

  Thane felt stirred by the bustling atmosphere of the fortress. At its center lay a vast plaza. He saw BloodClaw children covered in blood drawn tattoos, their bodies bare except for a single red loincloth. They stood in long lines as an elderly woman prayed and burned incense before them, presiding over the rite of coming of age. After receiving her blessing, each child stepped forward to touch the head of a massive bronze wolf statue placed behind her. Their eyes were calm yet resolute. To them, this was not a life or death struggle, merely a trial they were meant to overcome. If they failed, then death itself was considered a form of mercy.

  Of course, BloodClaw were not fools who relied solely on reckless bravery. They clearly divided different times and zones so that the children could measure their own limits instead of charging blindly toward death. The peak of the full moon period lasted about three days. During the first two days, the wolves were more docile and far less ferocious, especially the weaker ones that roamed the outskirts of the hills. The deeper one ventured inside, the stronger the wolves became.

  Because of this, those who wished for a higher chance of success would choose the early days and the outermost areas. Not everyone was like Reddan, who ventured deep into the summit of BloodMoon. His survival and eventual subjugation of Vargan were not due to strength alone. If Vargan had wished it, the beast could easily have devoured Reddan. The reason Reddan emerged alive was because he was a child who could hear the “Language of Wolves.”

  Ramos rested his chin on his hand as he observed the coming of age ceremony from above. Today was only the first day, and he held little hope of finding a successor worthy of the emblem. For the emblem to choose someone, it would have to be at least a prodigious child who participated on the final day. Very few knew that within the bronze wolf head rested the chieftain’s emblem of BloodClaw. The moment a suitable bearer appeared, the emblem would immediately respond and cause the eyes of the wolf head to glow. Ramos was merely passing time, letting the wind brush past him as his thoughts wandered.

  In his youth, both he and Nash had been bold children who participated on the final day upon the slopes of BloodMoon. Though he deeply resented his father for favoritism, Ramos had always respected his elder brother. Nash had subdued a ferocious white wolf and turned it into a powerful Wolf King. Nash fought the wolf from dawn until dusk. When the red moon rose high, the wolf grew many times stronger, while Nash’s strength steadily waned. It was his madness and indomitable courage that led to his success. At the very moment he conquered the wolf, Nash collapsed into a pool of blood, only a hair’s breadth away from death. It was that very white wolf that carried him back to receive treatment.

  Ramos was a clever man. Precisely because of that, he never dared to gamble with his life. He knew exactly where his own limits lay and chose a wolf from the outer fringe. Though it was not particularly powerful, it was still a Battle King tier Wolf King even now. He knew he lacked courage and true valor, and because of that, the badge had never chosen him.

  Suddenly, Ramos eyes widened. What was he seeing. The eyes of the wolf on the bronze statue were beginning to shimmer. Standing before it were three youngsters quietly observing the ceremony. One of them was without question the chosen one.

  Mira bowed politely and asked the elderly woman presiding over the ritual whether they might use a memory stone to record the scene. The old woman frowned slightly but said nothing, then gave a faint nod. Her hand swiftly concealed the silver coin Vogar had just slipped to her. She cleared her throat softly and smiled.

  “Honored travelers, using a memory stone is permitted. However, it would be best not to touch anything without permission.”

  Mira leapt up in excitement and cheered. She grabbed Vogar and Thane and dragged them to stand beside the massive wolf head, striking a pose and asking a passerby to use the memory stone. The passerby initially refused, but in the face of money, he quickly broke into a pleasant smile and took several images from different angles. Thane did not particularly enjoy being recorded, but he indulged Mira nonetheless. Seeing her lively and cheerful again eased the guilt weighing on his heart.

  When Thane stood near the wolf head, even without touching it directly, the strange gleam in the statue’s eyes made the old woman tremble. It was as though she had realized something. The way she looked at Thane’s group became filled with reverence and warmth. Just as they were about to leave and rest at the Adventurers Guild, the old woman hurriedly stopped them. She expressed her wish to invite Thane and his companions to stay within BloodClaw Fortress and meet the deputy chieftain, Ramos.

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  The old woman walked slowly toward the central district of the fortress. Every soldier who saw her rendered a respectful salute. Although mages were often looked down upon in Ossa, Ulmar was different. As a witch who had lived for many years and bestowed blessings upon countless children during the coming of age rites, she was regarded as a priestess with real authority within BloodClaw.

  She gently knocked on the chieftain’s chamber door, nodded to the two towering guards, and stepped inside at an unhurried pace.

  “Sit down. I already know what you wish to say.” Ramos eyes shone with excitement and joy. More than anyone else, he wished for this tribe to prosper, and now the true leader of BloodClaw had finally appeared.

  “You already know” Ulmar asked in surprise.

  Ramos nodded. It truly was fate. While merely standing around earlier, he had witnessed it by chance. Among those three children, he was certain the chosen one was Thane. Just look at the massive metal sword on the boy’s back. That was unmistakably the innate strength of the BloodClaw bloodline. Thane had to be a lost child of the tribe.

  “Could he be the son of that man” Ulmar asked softly.

  Ramos suddenly recalled his deceased brother. Nash had never been a handsome warrior type. He was short, with deformed hands. Yet his wife had been the most beautiful woman of SilverFang. That child might resemble his mother more. If Thane was Nash’s son, then everything became simple and clear. Perhaps it truly was him, the nephew he had lost all those years ago.

  “Arrange a banquet. I will personally investigate this matter.”

  Mira ran her hand along the layers of red stone lining the interior walls of BloodClaw Fortress in amazement. This was fire stone, mined near the Infernic mountain range. It possessed excellent resistance to both force and heat and was used for internal defenses against enemies wielding long range explosive weapons. Vogar clicked his tongue quietly. Since when had BloodClaw become so wealthy. In his impression as a noble, the tribes of Ossa were powerful but mostly barbaric and lacking in knowledge. Using fire stone to line the walls was truly extravagant.

  “Honored guests, the deputy chieftain invites you to a banquet.” A commander wearing armor crafted from wolf hide clasped his hands politely as he spoke.

  Thane looked at the man’s armor and frowned in discomfort.

  “Is this not a place that deeply respects wolves. How can you hunt them and turn them into armor.”

  The commander hesitated briefly, then studied Thane with a look of surprise. Almost no visitors had ever questioned him about this. He shook his head and explained calmly.

  “I was once a cavalryman under Nash. One of the five hundred suicidal wolf riders during the Hesmor and Golden war. We were tasked with striking the enemy flank. The battle was brutal. One by one, my comrades fell, including my closest companion. Every child of BloodClaw bonds with only a single wolf. We are warriors, and battle itself is our glory. That is why I turned my partner into armor, so that it may continue to fight by my side until the day I die.”

  Hearing this, Thane felt a surge of fervor. He could vividly imagine that heroic scene. Five hundred wolf riders charging down from the hills like a drill, tearing apart the enemy formation, slaughtering the soldiers of Hesmor. The disparity in numbers was overwhelming. They knew they would die, yet they advanced without hesitation.

  “How did you survive?” Vogar asked. He had heard Voga recount this battle before. In that conflict, Golden had deployed only a small contingent of wolf riders for harassment, yet their quality was terrifying. There had been three Ossa chieftains within that unit. Nash objective was not merely to destroy the enemy catapults at the rear, but to lure the commander Ceasar and execute the "beheading" plan.

  The one who came to support them was not Ceasar, but Fogger Mullack, the prodigious young master of the Fogger clan and Jacor’s nephew. Mullack perished in the battle, his body ravaged and dissolved by lethal poison. After that came the mysterious appearance of an Epic tier Behemorth. The colossal monster annihilated nearly the entire wolf cavalry, along with a vast number of Hesmor soldiers. Each roar and every stomp inflicted devastating casualties on both sides. At that moment, the leader of DragonScale appeared and engaged the beast, forcing it back. In the end, the monster seemed to dissipate into nothingness. Drake withdrew for reasons unknown. The battle was riddled with mysteries, but its brutality was beyond doubt.

  “When I was drunk on blood amid the chaos of battle, that colossal monster appeared. It triggered a massive earthquake that buried me along with a great number of Hesmor soldiers beneath the earth. When I woke, lying atop me was my companion. It had used its body to shield me until its final breath.”

  The officer fell into melancholy, forcing tears of anguish from his eyes. Vogar felt a stab of unease. It seemed he had struck directly at the soldier’s deepest wound.

  “That question of yours pierces straight into my heart. Those painful memories come flooding back,” the soldier continued, making Vogar even more uncomfortable.

  “Oh my comrade. My partner. If only I had the money to build you a proper grave. I truly deserve death. I should have died together with you,” the soldier pounded his chest heavily, his face flushed as tears streamed down without restraint.

  Mira began to sniffle as well. She understood the pain of losing someone dear and clearly empathized with the commander before them. She shot Vogar a fierce glare.

  At this point, the noble finally realized the soldier was extorting him. What a cursed mouth he had. He wished he had been struck dumb earlier. Normally, Vogar would never compromise with such a crude tactic, but seeing Mira crying along with the man, he knew he had no way to refuse. Veins bulged on Vogar’s forehead, betraying his irritation. He forced what he believed to be his most polite smile.

  “My deepest apologies, brave warrior. It is truly tragic what happened to your companion. This is a small token. Please accept it and use it to build a proper grave for your fallen partner.”

  “No no, you must not do that. I cannot accept it,” the commander said. Even as he spoke, his hand swiftly snatched the three silver coins from Vogar and slipped them into his pocket. His expression returned to calm as if nothing had happened, the tears vanishing and replaced by a radiant smile.

  “But since you insist, I will accept them. Ha ha ha.”

  The soldier patted Vogar on the shoulder as if they were kindred spirits and cheerfully began to talk about the BloodClaw tribe and various bits of local knowledge as they made their way toward the banquet. A spiral staircase carried them higher and higher until they finally stopped at the top floor, standing before the chieftain’s chamber.

  “This is where the banquet is held” Mira frowned. It seemed far too small for a feast.

  “Please,” the soldier said, his earlier frivolity gone. He gestured respectfully, inviting them inside.

  Inside the room stood a small but lavishly prepared table. Seated at the head was a dignified middle aged man with a firm and upright countenance. He wore simple coarse linen. Not tattered, but certainly not made of any precious material. Beside him sat the old woman who had presided over the blessing ritual that morning.

  “Welcome to BloodClaw, young ones. I am the deputy chieftain, Ramos. Please, take a seat,” he said warmly.

  From the moment Thane entered the room, he could feel the gazes of the two fixed firmly upon him. Clearly, this invitation was not without purpose. Their target was him. Thane sat down calmly, facing Ramos directly. At that moment, their eyes met. Ramos froze, then smiled, his eye sockets already moist.

  There was no mistake. Those eyes could not be wrong. This boy was without question Nash’s son, the rightful heir of BloodClaw.