Chapter 17: When the Forest Howls
The mercenaries froze. The dreadful howl reverberated through the forest. It wasn't just a sound—it was like an impending omen, clawing into their bones and chilling their blood. Their hearts raced, and each of their beat was echoing louder in the tense silence that followed.
"W-What the hell was that?!"
The wind user barked, spinning on his heel. He darted his gaze through the trees, scanning for movement. The other two mercenaries mirrored him, tightening their hands on their weapons.
But they were too late.
A dark figure emerged from the foliage—silent and shadowed. Standing on all fours beside Velren's unconscious body... was a wolf. No ordinary wolf. Its midnight-black fur seemed to absorb the moonlight. Scars marred its flank, but what drew their attention—their terror—was the creature's single gleaming eye.
The beast lowered its massive head, nuzzling Velren's side. The sight of it looked... gentle... and protective. The boy's chest still rose and fell—alive. Relief flickered in that lone golden eye. But when Fenrir turned his gaze back to the mercenaries, his tenderness vanished, replaced only by fury.
"K-Kill it!" one of them commanded. Panic bled into his voice.
The earth manipulator acted first, slamming his palms to the ground. Spiked pillars shot up, aiming to skewer Fenrir—but the wolf was already in motion. A blur of black. He leapt aside, and his claws were scraping bark as he twisted mid-air. Landing fluidly, Fenrir surged forward with his gaping maw. The mercenary barely raised his arm before Fenrir clamped down, crunching bones beneath his powerful jaws.
A strangled scream echoed through the forest, and blood spattered the mossy ground. One mercenary—gone, just like that.
"Damn it—Damn it!"
The wind user backed away, gathering a vortex around his arms. Razor-sharp gusts hurled toward Fenrir. Leaves were tore from its branches, and the trees groaned. Yet the wolf carved through the storm, with his coiled muscles. He zigzagged through debris, closed the gap, and pounced. Claws raked the man's chest, ripping flesh and sending him sprawling. Desperate, the wind user flung a last gust—Fenrir twisted mid-air, dodging, and immediately flashed his jaws. Teeth found throat, followed by silence.