Chapter 65: Wolfkin's Struggle

When noon came, Keiran ventured into the forest, his movements steady and purposeful. He had one goal in mind—hunting boars. The dense foliage rustled with life, but his focus remained sharp.

By attuning himself to the mana around him, he tracked his prey with ease. The faint fluctuations in the air guided him, allowing him to pinpoint the presence of monsters lurking within the woods. Before long, his senses locked onto a familiar presence.

[Uncommon: Giant Spike Boar — Level 32.]

These monsters were a frequent sight in this region. Their bulky frames and thick hides made them formidable creatures, and their sheer power set them apart from the other beasts that roamed the forest.

For the Wolfkin, however, these monsters were an insurmountable threat. The Wolfkin were much weaker in comparison, unable to stand against the raw strength of a Giant Spike Boar. Even if they wished to challenge one, the risk far outweighed the reward.

Worse still, the Giant Spike Boars were fiercely territorial. Anyone who dared to step outside the safety of their settlement was at constant risk of being attacked.

This oppressive reality left the Wolfkin with no choice but to remain confined within their homes, their freedom stolen by the beasts that lurked just beyond their borders.

They were trapped, left with no path forward. All they could do was wait for the inevitable—the slow, creeping end that loomed over them like a shadow.

Using his flaming wings, Keiran soared through the air, closing the distance between himself and the Giant Spike Boars in an instant. The intense heat radiating from his wings left a faint shimmer in the air as he propelled himself forward like a streak of fire.

Without hesitation, Keiran clenched his fists and launched a devastating assault. His sheer speed and raw power allowed him to tear through the creatures effortlessly.

Each punch landed with a thunderous impact, crushing bone and flesh alike.

The first boar barely had time to react before it was sent flying, lifeless.

The second and third fell in quick succession, their massive bodies crumpling under the force of his blows.

The fourth managed a feeble attempt to retaliate, but Keiran dodged with ease before delivering a finishing strike.

The fifth tried to flee, but he was too fast—one final strike ended its struggle.

As their corpses lay scattered around him, Keiran activated Divine Inheritance, the mystical energy swirling around his body as he absorbed the essence of his fallen foes. He had acquired two Uncommon skills from them.

With his task complete, Keiran moved swiftly to gather the carcasses. He lifted them with ease, stacking them together before carrying the entire load back to the village.

The sight of Keiran carrying massive slabs of meat instantly made the malnourished wolfkin citizens salivate. Their gaunt faces, sunken eyes, and frail bodies betrayed their desperation as they stared at the food with barely contained hunger.

Some instinctively stepped forward, but they stopped themselves, their trembling hands clenching at their ragged clothing as if afraid that the sight before them was just a cruel illusion.

Keiran walked forward with steady, unhurried steps before he finally put the giant boars down.

The thud of the carcasses hitting the ground sent a tremor through the starving crowd, their ears twitching at the sound. The rich scent of fresh meat filled the air, making their tails stiffen with anticipation.

Keiran's gaze shifted toward Brei, his eyes devoid of emotion. His voice, calm yet absolute, cut through the tense silence.

"We are going to have a feast."

Brei fell to his knees, his entire body shaking as tears welled up in his eyes. His voice cracked with raw emotion as he bowed his head deeply before Keiran.

"Thank you for your kindness, my lord," Brei choked out. "We haven't eaten for days because we are too weak to hunt, and the monsters in this area are much more powerful than us. Many of us died trying to hunt… The last was my big brother."

Keiran remained silent for a moment, his gaze unmoving. When he finally spoke, his tone was devoid of surprise.

"I noticed it."

His words were simple, yet they carried the weight of his understanding. He had seen their suffering. He had known.

Brei looked at Keiran's army. Their expressions were warm, their smiles genuine. Despite the tense situation that had brought them here, there was no hostility in their eyes—only kindness. It was as if they truly wished to help, not out of obligation but from their own will.

Keiran himself remained composed, his face unreadable as always. Yet, even without words, his actions spoke clearly.

He gave a simple nod before ordering Greon and the others to prepare the meat. There was no hesitation in his command, no sign of reluctance.

Without delay, Keiran's army got to work. Fires were lit, the rich scent of roasting boar filling the air as they carefully cooked the meat.

They handled everything with efficiency, cutting the portions and ensuring there was enough for everyone. The starving Wolfkin citizens, weary and weak from hunger, watched with cautious anticipation.

When the food was ready, Keiran's men distributed it without discrimination.

Wolfkin of all ages received their share, but it was the children who ate the fastest.

They devoured the food, their small hands trembling as they clutched the warm meat.

Some barely chewed, desperate to fill their empty stomachs. The relief in their eyes was undeniable, a flicker of life returning to their tired expressions.

Through it all, Keiran remained still. He simply watched them, his gaze unwavering. He did not partake in the meal, nor did he speak. Yet in his silence, there was understanding.

Greon stood next to Keiran, his gaze fixed on the weary group ahead. He exhaled through his nose, his arms crossed over his chest.

"They managed to survive to this point," Greon said, his tone even. "They are lucky."

Keiran's eyes didn't move from the scene in front of him. His expression remained unreadable, but when he spoke, his voice carried a quiet weight.

"But not everyone was as lucky as they were," he said. "Many of them were not fortunate enough."

His voice was monotone as always, flat and detached, yet Greon caught something different this time. A shift—small, but there. A hint of frustration, buried beneath the usual indifference.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but to Greon, it stood out. That was the closest thing to emotion he had ever heard from Keiran's voice. And it surprised him.

Keiran looked at the tall mountains ahead of them, their towering peaks casting long shadows in the forest. His gaze was sharp, filled with unwavering determination.

He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice steady yet carrying the weight of his resolve.

"Tonight, we are going to attack the demon encampment on those mountains. We are going to annihilate them."

His words cut through the tense air, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation.

Greon, standing beside him, smirked at the declaration. With a confident expression, he crossed his arms over his chest, his stance firm and unwavering.

"As you command, my lord," he replied, his tone laced with anticipation.

Keiran silently joined the feast, sinking his teeth into the roasted boar meat. The rich, savory flavor filled his mouth.

The once-desolate clearing, which had served as a temporary camp for the desperate and starving Wolfkin, was now alive with laughter and conversation.

The scent of cooked meat filled the air. Just hours ago, this place had been filled with exhaustion and despair—now, it was a gathering of the renewed.

Though it had come late, the final survivor of the Silverfang had been saved. A piece of their shattered pride had been restored.

But there was no time to revel. The demons responsible for the suffering of the Wolfkin still roamed free, unpunished. Their crimes demanded vengeance.

Keiran clenched his fist. Their next battle was already decided.

•••••

The night came, and Keiran ordered his army to prepare for the impending battle. Soldiers moved swiftly, tightening armor straps and checking weapons. The air was thick with tension, the weight of what was to come pressing down on them.

Torches flickered against the darkness, but the true fire burned within the hearts of the warriors awaiting their commander's word.

Under a moonless, starry sky, they marched forward, their synchronized footsteps echoing through the land. The mountain ahead loomed like a silent guardian over the demon encampment, its jagged peaks outlined faintly against the heavens.

The scent of damp earth mixed with the distant aroma of burning wood, a sign that their enemies were unaware—or perhaps unbothered—by their approach.

At the front of the formation, Keiran led the way, his golden crown of pure magic glowing atop his head. The ethereal radiance pulsed gently, casting an otherworldly aura around him. His expression was unreadable, his eyes devoid of emotion, as if he had already accepted the bloodshed that would soon follow.

His voice carried through the night, steady and resolute. "Let's show them the wrath of Casimiro."

A hushed yet powerful roar spread through the ranks. Weapons were drawn, breaths steadied.