Our Family Has Fallen

But in recent years, sudden changes had swept through the Empire as it faced a major reshuffle. Consequently, the Earl’s covetous desire for Hamlet began to stir.

The matter of an Heir was crucial to the family line and could not be compromised, but Alvin’s identity was not so sensitive. Even if the Emperor ultimately won and turned his attention back to the Northwest, the Lord of Hamlet would still be Alvin, with no connection to the Bastia Family.

Although everyone was aware of the relationship between the two, it was uncertain how much strength the Emperor would have left to wage another war once the turmoil was subdued.

This way, the Emperor’s face would be saved, and the Earl would successfully annex Hamlet. In just a few more generations, the Bastia Family would emerge as a new behemoth.

If they failed...

These Barons vaguely guessed this, but they could not speak of it, nor did they dare to.

Because they were now tied to Alvin. As long as they seized Hamlet, this masterless yet fertile land, their own families would also gain more Fiefs.

So he had to fully support Alvin, even if it meant propping up a pig on the throne.

”We don’t know the Barbarian’s purpose, but we have already cut off their path westward to Ovando City. Therefore, as long as we also block the southern route, they will be confined to this limited area.”

As he spoke, the Baron looked toward the Eagle Flock member wrapped in dark green robes and raised his hand, producing an object.

When the woman saw the object, she too couldn’t help but show surprise, and the Hawk on her shoulder stared intently, letting out a sharp KAW!

”I understand now.”

「 」

After entering the core region of Hamlet, the wilderness became even more lush but also exuded a certain strangeness.

Even the Barbarian Tribes who lived in the Mountains felt a pressure upon entering, and Warwolf, as the Champion of the Wolf God, sensed an odd force here.

Not to mention it was now nightfall. The surrounding environment was even more formidable than the sky-obscuring fog of the Misty Mountains; not a single star was visible overhead, only what seemed like congealed darkness.

The wild plants seemed to come to life at this moment. Twisting branches in the dark resembled limbs, and bizarre tree hollows howled in the wind. Everything became...

They endured continuous pressure. With every step forward, their will was tested, forcing them to constantly pray for the Wolf God’s Protection.

”Has the Wolf God abandoned us?”

”I can’t see the path anymore...”

”Oh, Wolf God’s Protection...” they murmured in prayer.

Warwolf realized the situation and had to halt the party’s advance through the dark wilderness to rest.

The warriors huddled with their white wolves, gnawing on jerky obtained from the Eagle Flock.

Warwolf looked at his warriors, their faces weary and morale dampened, unsure if leading them out had been worth it.

They were all sons of the Mountains. The harsh natural environment of the Misty Mountains had tempered them into tenacious warriors; the wilderness did not intimidate them.

Rather than the environment being the issue, it was their recent experiences that had weakened their spirits.

Fifty men had descended from the Mountains, but a single encounter with the Cavalry scattered them. They had to gather the remaining thirty-odd survivors to flee and were forced to cross the spurs of the Mountains to enter the Empire, losing some along the way. Most of those who perished succumbed to previous injuries, forced to helplessly watch death approach.

They had just managed to recover somewhat through pillaging, venting their frustrations, and performing sacrifices when the enemy discovered and pursued them. The chase lasted for days, allowing no rest, until their provisions were exhausted. This forced him to devise a plan, sacrificing one warrior to lure the enemy deeper.

By slaughtering the Eagle Flock, they shook off the pursuit and acquired some supplies, finally catching a breather.

But who would have thought that even attacking a bandit’s lair would go so wrong, costing the lives of two warriors? Out of the fifty men he had led out, only twenty now remained, though the number of white wolves was slightly higher, at thirty.

Since receiving the directive from the Wolf God, he dared not delay, constantly on the move, which led to their current plight.

Warwolf was individually strong. He had battled Cavalry, traversed the Mountains, and cut down members of the Eagle Flock. Even the continuous toil of recent days posed no problem for him.

But what use was it? While other tribal warriors had received the Wolf God’s Protection and knew some of their tribe’s secret techniques, they were still mortal. They would die if shot, and even he couldn’t reverse the inevitable.

In a way, this also demonstrated the resilience of these Barbarian Tribes. If groups from other forces had faced such a near-collapse, they would likely have scattered to find their own escape routes by now.

Yet, under Warwolf’s leadership, they had remained united, which only went to show how powerful faith truly was.

The rest was only temporary, for the power of the Wolf God was also temporary.

Warwolf could feel the strength that had possessed him during the ritual to the Wolf God fading away, and the guiding pull growing weaker and weaker.

He had to find the lost Wolf God Bloodline before the power completely dissipated; otherwise, it was hard to tell what trouble might arise.

The party, having rested for a moment, set off once again. No one complained of fatigue or hesitated; they silently rose and followed.

They had endured much suffering and faced life and death. They understood they were here to make their tribe strong again, and for this, they had no regrets, even if it meant death...

The Warwolf running through the night grew increasingly impatient, and his strides quickened, much to the suffering of the warriors following him.

But suddenly, Warwolf came to a sharp halt. His massive body froze in place, his hand clenched into a fist, tightening so much that faint cracking sounds could be heard.

The power of the Wolf God had dissipated, and naturally, the guiding force had vanished as well.

At that moment, Warwolf felt a surge of frustration welling up in his chest, and he kept questioning himself.

If he hadn’t had to take care of them, he would have found the bloodline long ago! How could he have fallen into this current plight!

This wasn’t anger born from a single incident, but the culmination of emotional pressure that had built up over this period, now flooding his mind.

Known for his volatile temper, Warwolf would have erupted in the past.

But now he actually held back, not voicing his thoughts, nor directing his rage towards his companions.

Rather, he channeled all his emotions into a sigh, loosened the grip of his fist, and waved his hand dismissively.

”Forget it. Let’s stop here for tonight. Rest well, and we’ll deal with other matters at dawn.”

The others didn’t understand, but after traveling for such a long time, any rest was welcome.

Soon, the party settled down. The cool, late-night breeze finally swept away the day’s lingering heat, and most warriors snuggled up to their white wolves.

However, some warriors had lost their white wolves in battle, and some white wolves had lost their masters, leaving them appearing somewhat lonely. But they too soon collapsed from exhaustion.

Warwolf sat perched in a tree, stroking the Wolf King’s fur. Now that he had calmed down, he realized there wasn’t much to be angry about. If the trail to the bloodline had gone cold, he could quickly pick it up again as long as he found a sacrifice for a new ritual. And finding a sacrifice was even simpler—he wouldn’t even need to risk raiding villages or towns; there were plenty of wandering refugees.

When the time came, he could simply kill a few refugees for the ceremony. Although the effect might not be as potent, it should be enough to find what he needed.

Having come to this realization, his pent-up frustration dissipated. Warwolf suddenly understood how much of his previous explosive rage had been meaningless.

AWOOO!

A wolf’s howl echoed, startling awake all the resting tribal warriors because they all understood what this sound signified.

Night attack!

Warwolf had no time for other thoughts; he grabbed his weapon and charged forward.

Yet, before he could rush far, he saw a brawny man emerge from the dark wilderness. The man was bare-chested, wore a strangely shaped helmet, wielded peculiar claw-like weapons, and shouted unintelligible words as he charged.

Even Warwolf was taken aback for a moment. He had expected the Cavalry might have caught up, not these bizarre figures.

And it wasn’t just one; a large group of similarly attired men charged over, ferocious and fearless.

”Blood sacrifice to my lord, flesh to the throne!”