Chapter 17 : Chapter 17
Chapter 17: The Wasteland Wolf King
A month was enough to transform a landscape, and enough to reforge a people.
The bitter wind of the Wailing Wastes remained merciless, scraping against faces like ice-tempered blades.
But upon this silent frozen earth, a scar of human civilization stubbornly expanded outward.
A five-meter-high rammed earth and stone wall, like a clumsy yet steadfast embrace, enclosed six hundred meters of land around the Well of Life.
Between the rammed earth were interspersed frozen soil and rubble excavated from the ground—ugly, yet reassuringly solid.
Inside the walls, fires blazed and hearts burned hot.
“HA!”
“YA!”
Over a hundred refugees, bare-chested and muscular, trained in the sub-zero wind, their muscle fibers swelling with each breath.
They repeated the most monotonous thrusts and slashes over and over.
Once, they had been skeletal, dead-eyed corpses. Now, after a month of unlimited Earth Potato meat soup and rigorous training, their chests and arms had developed hard, defined contours.
White vapor from their mouths instantly condensed into frozen mist, while scalding sweat droplets struck the frozen earth with a “HISS,” sending up barely visible wisps of steam.
One-eyed Barrett stood atop a high rock, spittle flying thicker than snowflakes, voice like rolling thunder.
“You're all soft as unweaned whelps! Speed! Faster! Those things in your hands are your meal tickets, your lifelines!”
“Think about your families in Grayrock Town, think about that pot bubbling with oily meat soup! Anyone who dares slack off gets to gnaw on black bread for dinner tonight!”
At the mention of meat soup, these rough men's eyes instantly reddened, throats emitting beast-like growls as their wooden spears pierced the air with sharp “WHOOSH” sounds.
A trace of imperceptible satisfaction flashed in Barrett's single eye.
Molding this rabble—once worse than hyenas—into their current somewhat fierce appearance felt more intoxicating than the strongest liquor.
He stole a glance at that silent figure in the distance, his heart filling with ever-deepening reverence.
Outside the walls was another scene entirely.
A black shadow returned treading on thin frost, shouldering a sand lizard the size of a small mountain.
Caesar approached the newly established “butchering area” outside the wall with an expressionless face, then shrugged his shoulder.
“THUD!”
The lizard's massive corpse slammed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust.
This thick-skinned second-tier Magic Beast had its neck twisted at a grotesque angle—clearly dispatched cleanly.
On the watchtower atop the wall, the sentries watching this scene first fell silent, then erupted in suppressed cheers.
“Glory to our lord!”
Caesar paid no attention, walking directly toward his tent.
This past month, half his waking hours were spent killing, the other half cultivating.
The chaotic energy obtained from devouring Magic Cores was continuously refined and purified by that thread of black-gold Battle Energy flame within his body.
His strength steadily climbed until three days ago, when he finally broke through the barrier and officially stepped into the mid-Knight realm.
The growth in power was real, but the Sword-Devouring Dragon brand on his chest burned increasingly hot—like an insatiable gluttonous maw, constantly transmitting its hunger for higher-tier energy.
He had tried to be clever once.
Last week, he held a newly obtained second-tier Shadow Leopard Magic Core and silently chanted Hundredfold Amplification, fantasizing about producing dozens of second-tier cores.
The result was a system notification that echoed in his mind, cold and emotionless.
【Target is a highly concentrated energy crystalline body with stable internal structure. Does not fall within quantifiable amplification parameters.】
“Fuck.”
Caesar cursed under his breath. As expected.
The golden finger wasn't an omnipotent wish-granting machine.
With this path blocked, he instead calmed his mind.
Having lain dormant for ten years after transmigrating, he understood better than anyone that only power held in one's own hands truly belonged to oneself.
The remaining three amplification opportunities—he hadn't wasted a single one.
One amplification on steel arrows yielded thirty thousand, enough to turn a thousand-man legion into pincushions.
The other two he spent entirely on wind-dried meat chunks.
The meat mountains now filling three tents were the true foundation that gave this force the confidence to serve him in this deadly wasteland.
“My lord.”
Barrett came running in with a crouch, his single eye gleaming.
“Today's wall construction exceeded the quota.”
“That kid Finn just led people to dig up the second batch of Earth Potatoes—good heavens, each one bigger than my head! Enough for all of us to eat our fill for another half month!”
He grinned, his yellow teeth particularly prominent in the dimness.
“And Roland's side… damn, those green recruits can now nail the bullseye at fifty paces, every arrow.”
“A few of the lads are downright unnatural—they can already shoot through one-finger-thick wooden targets! This isn't training, it's sorcery!”
“Where's Roland?”
Caesar asked.
“Still at the training grounds, possessed like a madman.”
Caesar nodded and stepped out of the tent.
On the other end of the training field, Roland stood like a silent iron tower.
He personally moved behind a young soldier, who grew so nervous he could barely grip his crossbow.
Roland's rough hand settled on the man's shoulder, voice deep.
“Twist your waist and core, send your whole body's force out! Your arm is just an extension! You're not aiming at a target—you're aiming at an enemy's throat! You're killing, not embroidering!”
The young soldier, stimulated by the aura of carnage emanating from Roland—the aura of one who had crawled from mountains of corpses and seas of blood—shuddered, his gaze instantly sharpening as he pulled the trigger.
“WHOOSH—THUNK!”
The bolt solidly struck the red dot at the bullseye's center, fifty paces away.
“Well done.”
Caesar's voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly reached Roland's ears.
Roland turned, offering Caesar a meticulous bow.
“It is you, Lord, who gave them the chance for rebirth.”
His voice was hoarse yet resonant.
“My duty is merely to forge them into weapons worthy of this grace.”
Caesar said no more, turning toward the Blackspine Mountains beyond the camp.
“My lord, it's nearly dark—you're going out again?”
Barrett caught up, somewhat worried.
“The mountain nights are strange things.”
“Today's prey wasn't enough to fill the gaps between my teeth.”
Caesar didn't look back, his voice scattering on the cold wind.
The sand lizard's Magic Core energy was too impure—like drinking watery porridge. It could fill the stomach but couldn't provide nourishment for breakthrough.
He needed stronger opponents, purer Magic Cores.
This time, he brought no one.
After advancing to mid-Knight, his speed, strength, and perception had more than doubled.
Only alone could he unleash his phantom-like movement techniques and endless trump cards to their fullest.
He was like a true wasteland predator, silently infiltrating the outer reaches of the Blackspine Mountains.
Wind brushed past withered branches, making sounds like wailing.
His target was clear—a pack of Shadow-Marked Wolves occupying Broken Stone Valley.
These beasts were among the elite of second-tier Magic Beasts, renowned for cunning and savagery.
Adult Shadow-Marked Wolves possessed strength roughly equivalent to an entry-level formal Knight, while the Wolf King could rival a mid-Knight.
Lurking behind a mountain ridge, Caesar coldly observed the wolf pack in the valley below.
More than a dozen, tearing apart an unlucky elk.
One wolf, significantly larger than its kin with glossy black fur and a lightning-shaped white marking on its forehead, lay atop the highest rock, coldly surveying everything.
The Wolf King.
Caesar's breathing became long and steady, his heartbeat slowing in tandem, his entire being seeming to merge with the surrounding rocks.
From the quiver on his back, he drew three arrows laced with potent paralyzing toxin and nocked them on his bow.
He aimed not at the Wolf King, but at three young males on the pack's periphery, eating most enthusiastically.
“WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!”
Three cold gleams silently cut through the night sky.
Three Shadow-Marked Wolves dropped without even a whimper, convulsing all over, foaming at the mouth.
“AWOOO—!”
The Wolf King's hackles instantly rose, releasing an enraged howl, its ghostly green eyes locked deadly onto Caesar's hiding place.
It didn't immediately charge. Instead, it released a series of low, drawn-out howls.
The pack instantly stopped feeding. Five of the strongest adult wolves formed a fan shape, slowly encircling the ridge, while several others guarded the Wolf King, baring fangs, throats emitting low threatening growls.
Fine beast—cunning enough!
Caesar discarded his longbow, drew the Knight's longsword at his waist, and instead of retreating, leaped directly down from the ridge!
He wanted precisely this—to fight in the narrow Broken Stone Valley, limiting the pack's numerical advantage.
One Shadow-Marked Wolf lunged first, fetid breath assailing him.
Caesar neither dodged nor evaded, his left arm sweeping across.
“CLANG!”
Black-gold dragon scales instantly covered his forearm. Wolf fangs scraped against the scales with a piercing screech, sparks flying!
Seizing the moment when the wolf's old force was spent and new force not yet generated, Caesar's right hand drove the sword like a viper from its den, thrusting at a vicious angle deep into its eye socket, buried to the hilt!
One-strike kill!
But he was also raked across the back by another wolf's claws, his leather armor torn open, three bloody welts burning with pain.
The smell of blood thoroughly ignited the pack's savagery.
The battle that followed was a bloody ballet danced on a knife's edge.
Caesar perfectly combined the combat techniques he'd secretly learned at House Anjou with his Knight's Battle Energy.
He used every rock as cover, calculated every dodge to perfection.
His sword sought no elegance, only lethality.
Dragon Scale Transformation was employed to its limit—now shielding his left fist in a block, now his right leg in a kick, now protecting his vital back.
Even so, wounds continued accumulating on his body.
His left shoulder was torn open by claws in three gashes deep to the bone, his thigh had a chunk of flesh bitten out.
When he severed the last adult Shadow-Marked Wolf's head, he was covered in blood, half-kneeling on the ground, sword planted for support, gasping violently, his chest like a broken bellows.
But he had won.
Under the extreme pressure of life and death, he could clearly feel that black-gold Battle Energy flame within him becoming more condensed, more agile.
Worth it! He grinned, pulling at the wound at the corner of his mouth, grimacing in pain.
Only the Wolf King, from beginning to end, had remained lying on its rock, coldly watching like a judge.
Not until all its deployed vanguard had fallen did it slowly rise, its ghostly green pupils filled with cold killing intent and intelligence.
It had been waiting—waiting for Caesar's strength to fail.
Caesar watched it back. Man and wolf faced off in the corpse-strewn valley.
He poured a recovery potion down his throat—one of his last trump cards.
The Wolf King seemed to sense danger, no longer waiting. Its limbs exploded with force, transforming into a black lightning bolt, charging straight at him!
Caesar didn't retreat but advanced, roaring low, channeling all remaining Battle Energy into his longsword!
“CLANG—!”
The collision of sword and claw erupted in blinding sparks!
The tremendous force split Caesar's grip, the longsword flying from his hand.
But his face showed a vicious grin.
Just as the Wolf King opened its maw to bite through his throat, Caesar's right fist, covered in thick dragon scales like a fired cannonball, slammed viciously into its lower jaw!
“BAM!”
The Wolf King released a shrill wail, its entire body sent flying into the air, jawbone pulverized by that single punch.
Caesar pressed his advantage mercilessly. In one bound he followed up, leaping, using every ounce of strength in a knee strike that hammered into the Wolf King's soft abdomen!
“SPLURCH!”
The Wolf King fell like a broken sack, internal organs mixed with bloody foam gushing from its mouth. After a few convulsions, it went still.
Caesar landed, staggered a few steps, and sat down hard, gasping for breath.
The battle was over.
He extracted the Magic Cores—eight total. The Wolf King's core showed a deep, profound jade-green color. Holding it, he could feel surging energy within.
“Good stuff.”
Caesar contentedly stored the Magic Core in his spatial storage, preparing to treat his wounds when he heard from deep within the wolf den several sounds like weak kitten mewls.
His heart stirred. Dragging his weary body, he entered the cave reeking of concentrated musk.
Deep in the cave, spread with soft dried grass, three fuzzy, unopened-eyed wolf pups huddled together, trembling.
Shadow-Marked Wolf cubs.
Caesar's eyes lit up.
These were treasures more valuable than Magic Cores. A well-trained wolf cavalry unit… the image was too beautiful.
He tore a strip from his robe, carefully wrapped the three little ones, and tucked them into his chest.
Just as he prepared to leave this blood-soaked land, the corner of his eye caught an extremely incongruous black smoke column rising straight into the sky from the other side of the valley.
That wasn't a campfire.
He frowned. The smoke column's color—black tinged with gray—looked more like residual smoke from burning mixed oils and timber.
A merchant caravan? No. This season, this location—not even the most desperate mercenaries would travel here.
Alarm bells rang in Caesar's mind.
He immediately suppressed his aura, compressing his Battle Energy fluctuations to minimum, then like a wounded but still vigilant lone wolf, using the ridge's shadows, silently stalked toward the smoke column.