"Fenrisian Wolves! Quickly, sound the horn!"
"Woooo!"
From the watchtower at the edge of the village, the sentinel's eyes locked on the distant pack moving across the frozen tundra. His breath froze into crystals in the biting wind.
The desolate horn call tore through the polar air, echoing above the village for a long time.
Tribal warriors gripped their bone spears and axes tightly, but when they saw the wolves clearly, confusion flashed across their faces.
The wolf pack wasn't attacking the ice-hardened palisade walls of the village. Instead, they halted several hundred meters away, just beyond arrow range.
Two enormous silver-gray wolves strode toward the village. Their fur shimmered with a metallic sheen beneath the aurora's glow. But what shocked the tribesmen most was that, on each wolf's broad, platform-like neck, sat a warrior.
Realizing the wolves were under command, the villagers eased slightly, though they kept their weapons ready.
The larger warrior, riding the smaller wolf, stopped at a distance, while the smaller warrior on the larger wolf came forward to the gate.
The smaller one shouted, "I am Caelan! And this is Leman Russ! We demand an audience with your chieftain!"
A burly warrior with an antlered helm raised his head; his voice boomed like colliding glaciers. "I am Orlf Bloodfang, chieftain of the Bloodfang Tribe. Outsiders, why have you come?"
"Duel."
The word stunned everyone on the walls, followed by a surge of roaring cheers.
"Duel!"
"Duel!"
They struck the icy battlements with their rough palms; young warriors even raised horn trumpets to their lips, blasting battle calls into the frozen air.
On Fenris, no warrior refused an honorable duel.
It didn't matter who issued the challenge; if the challenger had the right, refusal meant eternal disgrace.
And anyone who could tame a pack of Fenris Wolves… had that right.
"You and me?" asked Orlf Bloodfang.
Caelan shook his head and pointed behind him. "You and him."
"I do not duel without stakes. What's the prize?"
"What do you want?"
"Your giant wolves. One will do."
Caelan shook his head. "I won't wager my children. But if I lose, we'll serve your tribe for one year."
Orlf nodded in approval. "And what do you want, outsider?"
Caelan's voice thundered across the wall. "I want your tribe to recognize him as your king!"
The declaration exploded like lightning through the crowd. Warriors erupted in uproar, not because they feared submission, but because of Caelan's arrogance. Did he really think one man could defeat all Bloodfang warriors, one after another?
Did he mean by 'the duel doesn't end until you yield your loyalty'?
Did he think they would dishonor themselves by denying a duel's result?
The Bloodfang tribe's gates slammed open, and hundreds of warriors surged out, surrounding Caelan and the female wolf, Sylvia.
Caelan wasn't large, on Fenris, even children could be taller, but the giant wolf he rode drew wary stares.
"Here?" Caelan asked calmly.
"Here!" bellowed Orlf. "The duel has already begun!"
The chieftain raised his axe, but when he saw the figure leaping down from the distant wolf's back, his pupils shrank in disbelief. The outsider was huge, as tall as a glacier bear. His shadow completely swallowed Orlf's two-meter frame.
The Bloodfang warriors unconsciously stepped back. None of them had ever seen such a giant.
"Now?" asked Russ.
"Yes!" Orlf growled, forcing courage into his voice. "Come, Leman of the Russ tribe! Show me your strength!"
Bang!
The mighty always sleep soundly, and Orlf Bloodfang collapsed like a felled tree, snoring into the snow.
The battlefield fell silent.
"Next," Russ said coolly, as though he hadn't just flattened the strongest man of the tribe, but some random stray dog.
The other warriors hesitated, glancing at their fallen chief.
Shame flushed their faces; they had stepped back from fear. Gritting their teeth, two stepped forward with axes raised.
Bang. Bang.
Two more warriors joined their chieftain in the snow.
"As many as you like. Next!"
The Bloodfang warriors roared and charged.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each thundering strike cracked through the howling wind. The first to reach Russ felt his ribs shatter before even realizing what had happened.
Russ moved like lightning across the snow; the gleam of his axe drew perfect arcs through the air. Each blow struck with precision, devastating but never lethal.
When the last warrior fell, only ragged breathing and groans filled the silence.
Russ stood motionless at the center of the battlefield, calm, unshaken, his breath steady.
Slowly, Orlf pushed himself up from the snow. He hadn't truly been knocked out; he'd just been too ashamed to get up.
Russ hadn't killed anyone either. Those "unconscious" warriors were merely pretending to sleep, same as their chieftain.
But now that everyone had been beaten, there was no shame left to hide.
With a heavy thud, Orlf dropped to one knee. "We lost. The Bloodfang Tribe pledges loyalty to you, King Russ."
From that day onward, Leman Russ's name swept across Asaheim like a polar storm.
Every valley, every tribe bore witness to the same duel, repeated day after day.
Russ never gloated. After each victory, he helped his opponent stand and accepted their loyalty.
The most stubborn were the Bonebreaker Tribe. Their chief, Bodrey, challenged Russ 137 times in three days and lost every single time.
He didn't refuse to yield; he simply refused to give up.
To him, even brushing the hem of Russ's cloak would be a victory. He couldn't even manage that.
When every warrior had fallen, only Bodrey kept fighting, until dusk on the third day, when even he knelt.
Russ asked, "What's your tribe's greatest threat?"
"The ice trolls of the northern mountains. They raid our hunting grounds and once attacked our village."
"Gather your warriors," said Russ. "We'll wipe them out."
Bodrey was stunned, but obeyed. Russ wasn't merely a conqueror; he was a protector.
He couldn't make Fenris peaceful, but he could purge the dangers that plagued his people.
Nearly every mountain tribe faced the same enemies: Fenrisian Wolves and Ice Trolls.
The wolves he challenged in duels; the trolls, he crushed in war.
The ground trembled as Ice Trolls, over four meters tall, stormed from their caves, frost thick on their gray hides, swinging tree-trunk clubs.
Russ stood at the front, his warriors forming ranks behind him.
When a troll roared and swung its club, Russ met it head-on with his fist.
BOOM!
The air cracked. The troll's weapon, thick as two men's arms together, snapped in half like brittle ice.
Wood shards exploded through the air. Russ's punch still carried power, snapping the troll's neck with a thunderous crack and twisting its head full around.
Blood fountained over the snow like frozen flowers.
A long, resonant howl split the mist. Russ's wolves had arrived. They leapt through the storm like shadows of death, tearing into trolls with jaws like guillotines.
Russ fought beside them, a living tempest of fury and frost.
When the Ice Troll King fell, Russ turned to Bodrey.
"The wolves will stay. Feed them, honor them, and they will guard your tribe and hunt with you."
Bodrey knelt deeply. "Your Majesty, where will you go? The Bonebreaker Tribe will follow you forever!"
Russ laughed heartily. "I've conquered Asaheim. Now I'll conquer the seas!"
His conquest brought no oppression, only safety, unity, and strength. The tribes followed him not out of fear, but respect.
Fenris was not unified by empire, but by trust and shared survival.
Russ knew his brothers unified worlds through empire and law. But Fenris was different, and he understood it better than anyone.
"Fish. Again."
Caelan sighed, chewing another roasted fillet.
Russ had conquered the mountain tribes in two months. Conquering the island tribes took two years.
Asaheim was small; the oceans were vast. And the island tribes roamed constantly, some even lived near the southern pole.
To find them all, Caelan had eaten nothing but fish for two years.
Sylvia, the great wolf, whimpered softly, pressing her muzzle to his chest.
"It's not your cooking," Caelan said, stroking her fur. "I'm just tired of fish."
Russ, who had been eating contentedly, now found his own meal tasteless.
They had spent years adrift on the sea, following his dream of uniting Fenris. The wolves longed to run free on the tundra, not languish on longboats.
They never complained, but Russ still felt guilt.
"Soon," he said. "We'll be home soon. No more fish."
They had finally conquered the last island tribe. There might still be undiscovered ones, but they had circled the world.
Russ didn't want his people to wander any longer.
Wherever he conquered, he left peace behind, wolves to guard the mountain tribes, sea beasts slain for the islanders.
Hundreds of sea monsters had fallen to his axe, some two hundred meters long, some nearly a thousand.
Even the smallest corpse fed a tribe for months. Their bones built ships larger than any dragon boat.
Russ had done enough for his world. Now he wished only to rest, to spend time with family.
He knew the Emperor would come for him someday. Perhaps in five Fenrisian years, perhaps in three. But he would come.
And when that day arrived… Caelan would leave.
Russ accepted his fate, but hoped that day would come a little later.
"The King has returned!"
"Leman Russ!"
Before winter, their dragon ship returned home. Thousands of ships from Russ's tribe sailed out to greet them.
When Russ pulled back the wolf-hide curtain, the familiar smell of roast meat and mead filled the air.
"It's just like when I left," he said with a faint smile.
Jorin, the tribe's strongest warrior, grinned. "You're taller than when you left."
Three years ago, he'd met Russ when he was still a child, barely his own height. Within months, the boy had grown taller than any warrior in the tribe.
Now Jorin himself had grown, second only to Russ in strength.
Russ chuckled. "I wish I were shorter. Do you realize I'm only three and a half years old? At that age, other children are in their parents' arms. And I'm already a king."
To most, it sounded like humble boasting, but Jorin heard the sorrow beneath it.
The tenderness Russ once rejected was now something he could never reclaim.
Before the bitterness could rise in his throat, Russ drowned it with a gulp of mead.
"Where's Thengir?" he asked.
Jorin fell silent. Russ understood.
"Last year," Jorin said quietly, "during the Season of Fire, a sea beast attacked our fleet. Two hundred meters long. We slew it, but Thengir and 173 warriors died."
Thengir had been a mentor, a wise elder who taught Russ in his youth.
But Fenris had no place for grief. Russ didn't mourn; he celebrated.
To die in battle, bringing down a sea beast, was the highest honor of all.
"Thengir will be remembered," said Russ. "Always."
Caelan raised his cup. "To Thengir."
"To Thengir!" Russ and Jorin echoed.
They drained their mead in one swallow. Caelan coughed violently, face reddening from the burn.
Jorin blinked. Caelan never drank.
Russ was Fenris's greatest warrior. Caelan, Fenris's greatest shaman.
But who'd have thought the mighty shaman couldn't even handle a sip of mead?
"You're such a child," Russ chided gently, snatching the cup away. "If you can't drink, don't force yourself."
He patted Caelan's back, his massive hand covering nearly Caelan's whole back.
Jorin stared silently at the scene before him, one towering giant scolding a tiny man like a father to his son.
He couldn't help thinking: 'Which one of you is actually the parent here?'
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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