Our Family Has Fallen

SCREECH!

A piercing cry of an eagle sounded. The sparse feathers on the large bird exploded, and a sinister power instantly spread, emanating with the sound. The Warwolf wielding the giant axe was even slightly affected, only feeling a sharp noise suddenly blaring in his ears. However, in the next second, a shadowy wolf’s head enshrouded in black fog materialized behind him, directly dispersing that force.

Wolf God’s Protection!

The Hawk, strengthened by the chieftain’s secret technique, might pose a threat to ordinary warriors of the Barbarian Tribes. However, as the chosen of the Wolf God, the Warwolf was blessed by the Wolf God, granting him high resistance against these mental assaults. Such a disturbance was not enough to unsettle the Warwolf. In an instant, the collision of the Eagle Claw and the giant axe made a sound like iron striking gold. But the next second, the mutated large bird was sent tumbling back, crashing heavily into the bushes and wild grasses. With just one strike, the Warwolf had cut it down—the gap in strength was simply too vast.

It was his bird that had shared many years with him, after all. The chieftain couldn’t help but glance back at the mournful cry behind him. It was at that moment that he saw a massive figure charging towards him.

You have your large bird, and I have my Wolf King!

The blood-stained fangs of the Wolf King lunged forward, its ferocious maw biting down. The chieftain had no choice but to twist away, narrowly avoiding the Wolf King as it brushed past him. The Wolf King charged forward, dragging itself for two steps before halting its massive body and turning to look back at the chieftain.

After all, the Warwolf was not made of wood. With the Wolf King engaged, he too charged forward. He swung his giant axe with tremendous force, reversing the slight advantage the chieftain had gained earlier with the help of the large bird.

With wolves ahead and warriors behind, such a dire situation brought immense pressure, reminiscent of the chieftain’s days in the Mountain Tribe.

Eagles have their pride and never accept defeat!

A surge of power welled up inside him—a blend of defiance and toughness. Looking at the Wolf King ahead, he laughed wildly.

”Hahaha! Thirty years of grueling training, and today it finally proves its worth!” he exclaimed. While speaking, he kicked off the ground, leveraging the force to scamper up a tree trunk, climbing several meters before leaping into the air with a stride.

”Hmph! Think killing me, Eagle Claw the Water-Strider, will be that easy?”

The chieftain, in mid-air, spread his arms like an eagle, his feet rapidly treading the air. A strange force acted upon him, and he began to fly—an example of why one should not seek too much realism in an Extraordinary World. This move carried him right over the Wolf King’s head, and the Warwolf’s axe hit nothing but air.

However, before he could get far, a Spear—fired from who knows where—pierced straight through the center of his back. The chieftain, now in the air, lost his last support. He screamed as he fell from a height of over ten meters, crashing through the treetops. His body slammed against branches until it thudded onto the ground below, obviously dead as dead can be.

Only then did a Barbarian warrior emerge from the dense woods to salute the Warwolf. It turned out that the warriors who had been camouflaged in the camp had hurried over to complete the final encirclement. The Warwolf showed little reaction, simply waving his hand at them, signaling them to continue.

There were only about ten men in this Eagle Flock squad. With one missing and their leader killed, the remaining eight stood no chance of stirring up any trouble. It wasn’t long before the warriors of the Fang Tribe completely annihilated them.

Yet the Warwolf felt no great joy; instead, he fell into contemplation.

Indeed, he had used the cover of night to negate the Eagle Flock’s visual advantage, managing to evade them for some time. But the problem was that the Eagle Flock was still on their trail. Any suspicious trace would be discovered, pursued, and searched. The distance they managed to create by traveling at night would be closed during the day. They were like relentless grim reapers, catching up as soon as the troop paused, even momentarily.

Keeping a troop moving consumes considerable resources. With no opportunity to hunt while incessantly on the move, the goods plundered from a village were the only thing sustaining their travels. But now those supplies were running low. If this situation persisted for a few more days, it would erode the warriors’ hard-earned condition.

If this continued, not to mention other concerns, the troop might be dragged into an exhausting rhythm, completely losing their ability to resist. Moreover, they had not braved the Mountains merely to be chased in flight. Their mission was to complete the final bloodline ascension and return to the Mountains in Legendary glory, leading the tribe towards prosperity.

To locate the Wolf God Bloodline, a ceremony had to be conducted. But such a ceremony required time and offerings, and they would absolutely be targeted the moment they made an appearance. Thus, no matter what, the Warwolf had to make a decision. That was why he had set this trap. For this, he had sacrificed one of the tribe’s elite warriors as bait to lure those traitors from the Mountains into annihilation.

Now that he had wiped out the Eagle Flock, the Knights probably wouldn’t find him for a while. But just the thought of those Bastia Knights set his brain ablaze with rage.

Damn it! In the Mountains, they were the predators, but here they had been relentlessly hunted and forced into a desperate escape.

A battle between them was inevitable. Yet, the Warwolf knew this was not the time to confront those Knights.

A wolf’s patience is for the sake of unsheathing even deadlier claws.

After killing the members of the Eagle Flock, the tribe’s warriors skillfully stripped them. They threw their bodies to the wolves and divided the spoils among themselves. And the white wolves, ravenous for days, ferociously gnawed at the cadavers of the Eagle Flock. They tore their Flesh, snapped their bones, and pulled out their entrails from their abdominal cavities as the thick, fetid scent of blood wafted on the warm breeze.