"It's way too peaceful here."
North of Long Life Farm.
In a dark, silent abandoned town.
White mist puffed from his mouth as the man carrying a rifle glanced out the window, danger gleaming in his narrowed eyes.
A lantern sat beside his boots, while a black hyena lay at his feet, a low rumble coming from its throat.
The man's name was Gray Wolf.
Although his name contained the word wolf, he had nothing to do with the Wolf Clan, one of the three major clans of the Bone Chewing Tribe. He was merely a centurion under Lion Fang.
Unlike the other centurions of his tribe, before joining the Bone Chewing Tribe, he had only been a wandering mercenary. He had risked his life for the Legion and beaten up his former employers for the Great Rift. Whoever paid him was who he followed.
Later, when the Bone Chewing Tribe began recruiting troops everywhere and various raider factions flocked to join them, he took a few of his brothers and seized the chance to enlist as well.
The facts proved that it had been an incomparably wise decision.
Life as a raider was far better than being a mercenary.
The law of the jungle ruled here. The strong were respected, and fists and bullets were the law. As long as one was strong enough, one could earn respect. As long as one was ruthless enough, one could become the leader of a group.
Following Lion Fang's banner, he had slaughtered his way from the center of River Valley Province all the way to its southernmost reaches. More than a hundred heads of all sizes had piled up in his tent, and his rank had risen from squad leader to centurion.
However, he was still an outsider. Centurion was more