Kaelen sat in the main command tent, the flags representing the opposing forces intertwined on the sand table before him.
Drake lifted the tent flap and strode in, carrying the stench of blood.
"Alpha," he said, tossing a newly captured helmet with the crescent moon crest onto the table. "Another skirmish is over. We lost five of our brothers; they left over thirty bodies."
"Just like the last two times," Drake's voice was tight with suppressed rage. "They were equipped with southern insignia, but… something feels wrong."
Kaelen didn't look at the casualty report. Instead, he picked up a spear captured from the battlefield. He rubbed the dried blood on the tip between his fingers and then examined the rough wear on the shaft.
"Drake, do you think a force capable of disemboweling our elite patrols and hanging them from trees would use weapons that even a raw recruit would scorn?"
"...No," Drake frowned.
"What about their formations?" Kaelen asked again.
"There were no formations," Drake replied in a low voice. "They were like a herd of driven beasts, scattering at the first charge. Their will to fight was weak. It was less of an attack and more of… a suicide mission."
Kaelen threw the spear to the ground with a clang.
"This is not the South's regular army. This is a group of vagrants or mountain bandits being used as cannon fodder. Someone deliberately killed our soldiers and used brutal methods to provoke us."
"Provoke us?" Drake's brow furrowed. "Alpha, whoever they are, their actions are a blatant provocation to the North! If we don't respond forcefully, what will the neighboring Crimson Rock tribe and the other fence-sitters think of us?"
"So, you want to lead our main forces into a meaningless war of attrition?" Kaelen countered. "Drake, think again. If the enemy's goal was to start a war, they should be showing strength, not weakness. To send such a weak force to their deaths is not a provocation; it's a lure. Ian of the South is a coward, but he is not a fool. He would not use such tactics."
Drake was at a loss for words.
"Any movement from the 'Ghoul-Wolf Knights'?" Kaelen changed the subject.
"Strange," Drake replied. "Since we left the castle, they have been exceptionally quiet. All their activity has been confined to the Wailing Canyon. They haven't crossed the border to harass us again."
"That's not right," Kaelen said, his gaze sharpening as he looked at the sand table. "On one hand, the threat at our heart has gone quiet; on the other, the border is in flames." Kaelen's gaze sharpened. "Don't you think this looks more like a clumsy feint?"
At that moment, Gavin and Rosalind entered the tent together.
"Lord Alpha! Another great victory!" he announced loudly. "The southern scum are as weak as ever! Their border outposts are poorly defended. I request that you immediately order our Grey Wolf tribe's vanguard to lead the attack, tear through their lines, and strike at their heart!"
"Yes, Kaelen," Rosalind added. "The enemy's provocations have reached their limit. We must strike back with our full force while morale is high!"
Drake looked at them, then at the silent Kaelen, and finally spoke up. "Alpha, the enemy has insulted our warriors in such a way. If we don't act, I'm afraid… the morale of the army will suffer. And the envoy from the 'Crimson Rock Tribe' has arrived today. They are also waiting for our response."
"A response?" Kaelen finally spoke, his voice cold. He didn't look at Gavin and Rosalind, but his gaze fell on Drake.
"So, all three of you believe we should launch a full-scale attack immediately?"
Gavin and Rosalind nodded immediately. Drake, under Kaelen's sharp gaze, hesitated and lowered his head.
"Very good," Kaelen stood and walked to the sand table, picking up a small red flag representing the enemy and slowly twirling it between his fingers.
"Gavin, I ask you, in all our engagements these past few days, have we taken a single prisoner?"
"...No," Gavin's face stiffened. "They… they fought with exceptional ferocity to the very end."
"Ferocity, or… were they driven to their deaths by some other force?" Kaelen slammed the small flag back onto the sand table. "Rosalind, in the ambush you encountered, after they succeeded, did they choose to press their advantage, or did they retreat immediately?"
"...They retreated immediately," Rosalind's voice was lower.
"Drake," Kaelen's gaze returned to his second-in-command. "What kind of army do you think would have the ability to slaughter our patrol's best scouts, yet fight with the worst equipment? Would launch the most vicious provocations, yet only engage in the most meaningless harassment?"
He paused, then said, enunciating each word, "This is not an army. This is a trap."
He pointed to the intertwined battle lines on the sand table.
"They don't want to defeat us. They want to pin our army down here, like a wedge, so that we cannot move."
Kaelen looked at Gavin and Rosalind's suddenly unnatural expressions and didn't continue, just gave his final order:
"Until we find out who is behind this, everyone is to hold their position, strengthen their defenses, and make no rash moves. That is an order."
Gavin and Rosalind were left speechless by Kaelen's terrifyingly calm analysis. They exchanged a look, their eyes showing their dissatisfaction and impatience.
After the two had left, only Kaelen and Drake remained in the tent.
"Alpha, I still don't understand," Drake's voice was filled with confusion. "Even if this is a trap, we have to do something."
"Holding our ground is the best response," Kaelen said, walking to the sand table and picking up a black wolf-head flag representing his main forces. "Let's see who gets anxious first, them or us."
He looked at Drake, his gaze sharp.
"Send our most elite scouts, in two groups."
Drake's heart tightened.
"One group will bypass the main battlefield and go deep into the southern heartland. I need to know where Ian's main forces are."
"The other group," Kaelen's voice dropped to a low whisper, "will keep a close watch on Gavin and Rosalind. I don't believe, with their intelligence, that they can't see the strangeness in all of this."
Late that night, the campfires outside the tent slowly died down, leaving only the heavy footsteps of the patrolling guards.
Kaelen stood alone before the sand table, his mind in turmoil. The blood pact with Aila had become distant and faint, as if shrouded in a thick fog. He could no longer clearly sense her emotions, only a growing, inexplicable unease. The feeling was more unbearable than the rage that preceded the curse's onset.
The tent flap was gently lifted.
Rosalind entered, carrying a pitcher of warm ale. She had changed out of her battle gear and was wearing only a thin silk gown that accentuated her figure.
"Kaelen," her voice was as soft as water. "It's late. Drink something to warm yourself."
Kaelen didn't turn, just stared at the sand table. "I don't need it."
"You do," Rosalind said, coming to his side and placing the goblet by his hand, her fingertips intentionally brushing the back of his hand. "Look at you, your brow has been furrowed all this time. Are you worried about the war, or… about a certain someone in the castle?"
Kaelen finally looked up, his lightless eyes cold as he looked at her.
"You didn't used to look at me like this," Rosalind didn't back down but met his gaze, reaching out to touch his cheek. "Kaelen, we grew up together. What am I to you? Your second-in-command? A marriage tool for the Grey Wolf tribe? Or… a replacement who will never be as good as that southern half-blood?"
Kaelen calmly raised his hand and caught her wrist in mid-air, stopping her touch.
"You are my most important ally," Kaelen's voice was devoid of any emotion.
"Ally?" Rosalind laughed, a bitter sound. "Kaelen, you can fool everyone else, but you can't fool me. The way you used to look at me, is it any different from the way you look at Aila now? Can you really say you never had feelings for me?"
She took a step closer, her body almost pressing against his, her head tilted back to look at his strong jawline.
"I know you're only putting on a show with her because of the blood pact," she said, gently pulling the silk gown down from her shoulder to reveal her smooth skin. "But the one who can fight by your side, the one who can bear you the strongest offspring, is me. Kaelen, choose me. I can give you the entire Grey Wolf tribe, the most stable throne."
She stood on her tiptoes, as if to kiss his lips.
Kaelen's brow furrowed slightly, and he finally moved.
He didn't push her away, just calmly turned to the side, causing her kiss to meet empty air.
"It's late. Go back and rest," his voice was devoid of any emotion, yet it carried an undeniable distance.
"Why?" Rosalind's voice trembled. She wrapped her arms around Kaelen from behind. "What kind of spell has she cast on you? Kaelen, don't push me away!"
Kaelen didn't move, letting her hold him, but he spoke coldly. "I've always thought of you as a sister."
"A sister?" The word was a knife, piercing through Rosalind's last shred of dignity.
"What am I lacking?" her voice grew shrill with emotion. "In terms of bloodline, I am nobler than she is; in terms of strength, I can fight by your side! Everything I've done since we were children has been to become a Luna worthy of you!"
"I locked myself in the training grounds, practicing archery day and night, just because you said you liked brave women; I forced myself to study those boring tactics and strategies, just so I could keep up with you in the council hall! I have given you everything, Kaelen! Why can't it be me?"
Kaelen was silent.
"I don't have those kinds of feelings for you, Rosalind," he said, gently pulling her arms from around him. He turned, pulled up the fallen silk gown, and took his own coat from where it was hanging, draping it over her slightly trembling shoulders.
"You will find someone better."
"Why can't that person be you?" Rosalind's tears finally fell. "Kaelen, I have never begged for anything so humbly. As long as I can stay by your side, even… without a title, I am willing."
Kaelen looked at her, a flicker of pity in his eyes for the first time, but it was quickly replaced by a firm resolve.
He shook his head, his voice not loud, but exceptionally clear.
"I already have her."
Her expression instantly turned cold, all the tenderness vanishing.
"This is your last chance, Kaelen," she said, clutching the coat that still held his warmth, her voice as cold as iron. "Don't forget who is supporting you. And don't forget that the same water that carries a boat can also capsize it."
She didn't look at him again. She turned and, filled with humiliation, left the tent.
After Rosalind's figure had disappeared behind the tent flap, the tent was once again silent.
Kaelen stood there alone, pondering the hidden meaning of her last words.
At that moment, Drake's voice came from outside the tent.
"Alpha."
"Enter."
Drake lifted the tent flap. Behind him were two guards, escorting a "prisoner" with a black hood over his head.
"Alpha," Drake reported in a low voice. "The scout team captured this one. He deliberately exposed his position, was unarmed, and surrendered without a fight. He claims to have urgent intelligence and must see you alone."
Kaelen's gaze sharpened.
"You two, out," he ordered the guards, then glanced at Drake. "You too. Stand guard outside the tent. No one is to approach."
"Yes, Alpha."
After the guards and Drake had left, only Kaelen and the bound prisoner remained in the tent.
Kaelen didn't approach immediately but just watched him silently.
After a long time, he finally spoke, his voice cold.
"Take it off yourself, or shall I help you?"
The prisoner was silent for a moment, then slowly raised his bound hands and pulled the black hood from his head.
It was the capable face of a southern werewolf. His skin was a weathered bronze, his features sharp and defined, like the rocks of the northern mountains. His eyes held a wisdom and perception that belied his age.
He looked at Kaelen and, placing a hand on his chest, gave a standard southern noble's bow.
"Kaelen Winterfang," his voice was steady and clear. "I am Callum, an envoy of the Southern High Priest, Eldred."
He paused, then said something that could shake the entire North to its core.
"Our new Alpha—Kaelen, has sent me to 'borrow' something from you."
Kaelen's pupils contracted sharply. "A new Alpha? What about Ian?"
A mixture of sadness and scorn crossed Callum's face.
"Lord Ian… is gravely ill. And what Lord Kaelen needs is your 'blood pact bride's'…"