Boundless Family Upgrades For The Deadbeat Lord

Raymond stood beside the sixth carcass with his arms folded tightly beneath his coat, irritation slowly giving way to genuine unease.

"So whatever did this killed several Bronze-class beasts, barely ate anything, and continued south. Wonderful. Please tell me this is another perfectly normal piece of Zulor winter geography everybody assumed I already knew about."

Boris shook his head. "No, my Lord. This isn’t normal."

Before Raymond could ask anything further, one of the Silver Knights abruptly turned toward the eastern tree line.

His hand moved instantly to the hilt of his sword, and the other summoned warriors reacted a heartbeat later.

Raymond’s body tensed as a low growl traveled through the trees, followed by another from a different direction.

The horses began shifting nervously, their nostrils flaring as they sensed danger before anything became visible.

One of the hunters whispered, "Wolves."

The first creature emerged from behind a snow-covered tree.

It stood nearly as tall as Raymond’s chest at the shoulder, far larger than any ordinary wolf he had ever seen on Earth.

Its fur was pale grey with streaks of icy blue running along its spine, and two long white fangs extended from its upper jaw even when its mouth was closed.

Frost clung unnaturally to the hair around its muzzle, and its eyes carried a cold silver glow as it stared at the humans.

Then another appeared.

And another.

Within seconds, more than a dozen wolves had spread through the trees around them.

"Frostfang Wolves," Boris said quietly, drawinghis sword. "Bronze-class pack predators. They hunt together and usually target anything weaker than themselves."

Raymond slowly drew his own weapon. "And I’m guessing the phrase ’usually target anything weaker than themselves’ currently includes us?"

Boris glanced toward the Silver Knights. "Not all of us."

One of the wolves lunged before the sentence fully ended.

The fight exploded almost instantly.

Three wolves rushed from the right while another pair broke toward the hunters, clearly identifying the lightly armored men as easier targets.

The Bronze Knights intercepted them without hesitation.

One warrior stepped directly into the first beast’s charge and drove his sword upward beneath its jaw, the blade punching through skull and brain before the animal’s momentum carried both of them several feet across the snow.

Another Knight pivoted around a snapping bite and buried his weapon into the wolf’s ribcage with enough force to lift the creature partially off the ground.

Raymond barely had time to appreciate the efficiency before a Frostfang Wolf broke around the flank and charged directly toward him.

His instincts screamed at him to retreat.

Instead, he forced himself to remember Boris’s criticism from the Ironhorn hunt.

Strength isn’t experience. Don’t freeze after the first move.

Raymond shifted his weight and waited until the beast closed the distance.

The wolf opened its jaws, revealing rows of sharp teeth surrounded by misting frost, and Raymond moved sideways at the final second.

His reactions were much faster than they had been during the elk hunt.

Mana surged through his legs, carrying him just beyond the snapping jaws, and he swung his sword across the creature’s shoulder.

The blade cut deep.

Not cleanly enough to kill.But deep enough to stagger it.

The wolf twisted violently and tried to turn back toward him.

Raymond immediately stepped away instead of staring at his own strike like an idiot. That single decision probably saved him from another humiliating rescue.

The wolf recovered and attacked again.

This time Raymond was ready.

He brought his sword across with both hands, caught the creature along the side of its neck, and felt the blade tear through fur and muscle before striking bone.

The impact nearly ripped the weapon from his grip, but Raymond planted his feet and forced more mana through his arms. With a final push, the edge broke through the vertebrae.

The Frostfang Wolf collapsed into the snow.

Raymond stood over it breathing hard.

His hands trembled slightly.

Not from exhaustion but from adrenaline.

For several seconds he simply stared at the dead beast before a strange smile appeared on his face.

"Okay... that felt considerably better than the elk."

Boris, who was currently wiping blood from his sword several meters away, looked toward him. "You moved after the first strike this time."

Raymond gave him an offended look. "Was that praise?"

"It was."

"I’ll treasure it forever."

Around them, the remaining wolves were already dying.

The Silver Knights moved through the pack with terrifying efficiency, and once three of the beasts fell within seconds of one another, the survivors seemed to realize they had selected the wrong prey.

Two turned and attempted to flee into the trees.

One made it.

The other didn’t.

A Silver Knight’s sword crossed the distance first.

Within less than five minutes, the clearing became silent again.Raymond looked around at the bodies.

Fourteen Frostfang Wolves lay dead across the snow, their pale fur stained red.

None of Raymond’s people had suffered serious injuries, although one hunter had been knocked down and another Bronze Knight possessed several deep scratches across his armor.

Normally, Raymond would already be calculating how much the fur, fangs, meat, and Mana Cores might be worth.

But Boris wasn’t looking at the carcasses like resources.

He was staring toward the direction the surviving wolf had fled.

Raymond noticed. "What’s wrong?"

Boris remained quiet for several seconds before finally turning. "Frostfang Wolves aren’t supposed to be here yet."

Raymond’s brows drew together. "Explain."

"They descend every winter, but not this early and usually not this far south. During the first stage of the migration, they remain closer to the foothills because there’s still plenty of prey there. They only follow the herds deeper into Zulor once the mountains become significantly colder."

The older hunter nodded grimly. "He’s right, your Lordship. I’ve hunted Blackridge for twenty-three winters. I’ve never seen a pack this large this far south after only the first snowfall."

Raymond looked back toward the dead wolves.

Something cold settled in his stomach.

The Ironhorn Elk had appeared earlier than expected.

Now the predators had followed them earlier than expected.

And something considerably larger had been killing beasts without even bothering to eat them.

"Let’s follow the trail," Raymond said.

Boris immediately looked at him. "My Lord, that may not be wise."

"I’m not suggesting we march into Blackridge. We follow it far enough to understand what we’re dealing with, then turn back. If something dangerous is moving toward Althoff, I’d rather know now than when it reaches the town walls."

Boris clearly didn’t like it, but he couldn’t argue with the logic.

The group continued north for another fortyminutes.

The signs became worse.

More blood, more broken vegetation and several abandoned animal tracks suddenly changing direction as though entire herds had panicked.

Then one of the scouts stopped.

"My Lord."

Raymond approached.

A much larger carcass lay partially buried beneath the snow.

At first he couldn’t identify what it was. The creature resembled a massive feline predator, nearly twice the size of the Frostfang Wolves, with muscular limbs, dark spotted fur, and long curved claws extending from its paws.

One side of its skull had been crushed completely inward.

Boris’s expression changed the moment he recognized it.

"Whitecrest Panther."

Raymond looked at him. "Rank?"

"Silver."

That single word made the entire clearingfeel colder.

Raymond slowly approached the body.

A Silver-ranked predator lay dead in the snow.

Not merely dead but destroyed.

Its ribs had been crushed. One foreleg was twisted backward. The side of its body carried four enormous claw marks that had torn almost completely through its torso.

Raymond crouched beside the wounds. His hand hovered above them without touching.

Each claw mark was wider than two of his fingers together.

He looked toward Boris. "Frostfang Wolves?"

"No."

"Ironhorn Elk?"

"No."

"Anything you recognize?"

Boris didn’t answer.

That was answer enough. And the hunters had gone pale.

One of them slowly examined the tracks surrounding the body, then shook his head. "Whatever killed this came from deeper inside Blackridge. The prints are partially covered, but they’re enormous."

Raymond stood up. The excitement he had felt about the Winter Migration only days earlier was completely gone.

Something was wrong. The herbivores were moving early. Predators were following them early.

A Silver-ranked beast had been slaughtered by something stronger.

And whatever was causing the disturbance appeared to be moving south.

Raymond turned his head toward the distant Blackridge Mountains.

For the first time since seeing them properly, they didn’t look like an unexplored resource frontier.

They looked like a warning.

At that exact moment, a sharp crimsonlight flashed across Raymond’s vision.

The familiar crystalline chime rang inside his consciousness.

[ Ding! ]

[ Extreme Environmental Anomaly Detected! ]

Raymond froze.

Another notification appeared.

[ Warning! Abnormal Magic Beast Migration Confirmed! ]

[ Territorial Threat Level Increasing Rapidly! ]

His expression hardened as additional crimson panels unfolded across his vision.

[ Mandatory Territory Mission Triggered! ]

[ Mission: Survive the Blackridge Winter Migration ]

[ Description: An abnormal mass migration has begun within the Blackridge Mountains. Increasing numbers of Magic Beasts are descending toward the southern Zulor lowlands, and House Althoff lies directly along a major migration corridor. ]

[ Primary Objective: Ensure the survival of House Althoff and protect the territory throughout the Blackridge Winter Migration. ]

[ Mission Evaluation: F — SSS ]

[ Final Rewards: Determined by Host Performance. ]

[ Mission Duration: Four Months ]

Raymond stared at the blood staining the snow beneath his boots before slowly raising his eyes toward the Blackridge Mountains.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me."