Deep into the night, with cold stars hanging high, the temporary camp was like a massive, frigid, slowly contracting stomach, mercilessly digesting all remaining warmth and light.
Inside the command tent, the bonfire that had once blazed fiercely was now reduced to a dying pile of embers, flickering like the eyes of a beast on the verge of death. The insignificant residual heat it emitted was utterly unable to dispel the bone-chilling cold that seeped incessantly thru the gaps in the thick animal-hide tent flap.
The captured werewolf youth, who claimed to be from the "Remnant Bone Tribe," had swallowed a venison leg that was almost larger than his own head—a piece of meat that felt like salvation. His stomach, which had been shriveled and pressed against his spine from extreme hunger, finally ceased its embarrassing, whimpering spasms.
A long-lost, blissful wave of warmth slowly rose from his stomach, flowing thru his small, frozen, and numb limbs.
However, this warmth was like a small, fragile match lit in the boundless, freezing darkness; it only briefly dispelled the cold and despair for a moment before being completely swallowed by an even deeper, more suffocating fear.
He remained firmly pinned to the cold, hard snow by two silent Wolf Guards who stood like iron towers. Those large hands, like iron pincers filled with explosive power, pressed down on his shoulders like two immovable mountains, leaving him unable to make even the slightest struggle.
He could clearly feel the powerful, cold, and warning force emanating from those large hands. That force silently declared to him a cruel reality he had no choice but to accept.
He was a captive. A pathetic, insignificant captive who could not even control his own life or death.
Colin sat right in front of him, on a crude "throne" covered by a single, massive, intact piece of cowhide.
He spoke no more, nor did he look at him again. He simply and quietly used a sharp, small dagger to methodically trim his nails, which had become somewhat rough from gripping a sword for long periods.
His posture, full of laziness and nonchalance, made it seem as if he were not interrogating a daring, damned thief; as if the ragged, trembling, pitiful youth before him were not a living being with his own thoughts and will.
He was merely a piece of spoils waiting for his final use and fate to be decided.
This feeling of being completely ignored, of being humiliated and scrutinized like a piece of loot, made the youth feel even more terrified than Hask's fists, which were filled with destructive power!
The faint hope that had just risen in the youth's heart because of that venison leg was instantly drowned by an even deeper, colder despair.
His stubborn, hateful gaze had not yet faded from Colin's face—which was flickering in the firelight and unreadable—when suddenly!
"Thump! Thump! Thump!" A burst of rapid, heavy footsteps, filled with panic and anger, like a series of urgent war drums, suddenly and without warning, thundered in from the dead silence of the darkness outside the tent!
The footsteps were so heavy, so full of power, that even the hard, frozen ground inside the tent, which was as solid as rock, trembled slightly!
Immediately after, the thick animal-hide tent flap, capable of withstanding the most frigid winds, was violently ripped open in a near-savage manner!
A cold wind, more biting and murderous than ever before, roared like a released, invisible frost beast, instantly surging into the tent that had previously been considered "warm"!
The embers of the bonfire were blown backward by this sudden gust of cold wind! Countless tiny sparks, like a swarm of startled red fireflies, danced chaotically in the air, illuminating the entire tent with flickering light!
A tall Werewolf Warrior, reeking of a heavy, almost tangible scent of blood, burst in without announcement like a fired cannonball!
His body still carried a lingering, pungent smell of burning. His face was covered in black soot from the smoke and fire. His eyes, which should have been filled with calm and vigilance, were currently burning with two wild flames of endless anger and grief!
He didn't even have time to offer a proper military salute to Colin before dropping to one knee on the cold, hard ground with a heavy "thud"!
The immense force caused the dust on the ground to kick up into the air!
"Leader—! It's bad!" His voice was so hoarse, so filled with violently suppressed trembling, as if a flame of anger were burning in his throat that could consume him entirely!
"The outermost... Warehouse No. 3... was attacked!"
"Erke and Grace... the two brothers responsible for guarding the warehouse... they..."
At this point, his iron-tower-like body shuddered violently! For the first time, his cold eyes, which had killed countless times, welled up with hot, scalding tears of grief and reluctance!
"They... were killed!"
"Their throats... were all cut! They didn't even manage to sound a.. worry, filled with contradictions that even he himself could not understand.