Keck Bloodfire

Kas was a bit dazed. He had originally assumed his deadbeat father had countless enemies in the Black Ember Tribe, especially since even a nobody like Blackheart dared to provoke him.

But he never expected that their leader, the War Chief Keck—who should have been infinitely more ruthless than Blackheart—looked like an old acquaintance of the deceased.

"You and my late father...?"

"..." Keck fell silent for a moment. Seeing the blank, ignorant look in Kas's eyes, he could only explain with a sigh:

"It seems he didn't say a word. Damn him to hell...

I, Malik Axe-Breaker, and Oji Bearheart were blood-sworn brothers."

That short sentence made Kas understand the close relationship between his old man and the Black Ember War Chief.

Blood-sworn brothers was the highest term the Rishiman People used for friendship. They had to swear by blood, record their comrades' heroic deeds with their lives, and prove their valor before Pierce, until the day they finally joined the ranks of the Ancestors.

Kas's dusty memories gradually cleared. He looked at the inexplicably sorrowful Keck in surprise:

"Keck Bloodfire, is it really you?"

"That's right. It seems that idiot still knew to pass on the friendship between us to his offspring, haha."

Keck appeared very happy. He slapped Kas's shoulder hard, completely ignoring the pained expression on the face of his blood-sworn brother's son.

My god, my arm is about to break... Is this guy a monster? He looks thin and scrawny, yet his strength is greater than mine.

Kas endured the sharp pain radiating from his shoulder and forced a smile:

"I just... sort of forgot."

Keck paused, realizing his strength was too fierce for a child who hadn't yet been branded with war tattoos, and he eased up a little.

He nodded in salute to Morse Ironbone, who had drifted over to hover above Kas's head:

"I hope you still remember me, Lord Ironbone. Thirty years ago, I had the honor of entering the sacrificial hall of Zagwell to pay respects to the ancient ancestors of the clan."

"Hmm... You lad, your strength is quite good." Ironbone offered an evaluation, the fire in his eyes dimming, which counted as his approval of Keck.

"Kas, I have many things I want to say to you. I want to invite you to join the Black Ember Tribe's southern raid, and I want to take Malik's place in teaching you how to become a true warrior."

Keck shifted his gaze, staring at the werewolf not far away: "But I need to understand first why you would choose a werewolf as your wife. This is a disgrace to your clan, to my blood-sworn brother, and even to me."

The nagging Ancestor did not intervene; he seemed to believe Keck could provide some help, and that the questioning stemmed from concern rather than slander.

So, the biggest trouble is still Miss Seneya, then...

Kas looked around and discovered countless blades and crossbow bolts aimed, intentionally or not, at the werewolf behind him. They might maintain restraint in front of Ironbone, but the fear and prejudice in their hearts could not be erased.

"Perhaps we should find another place to talk, Keck."

"I am very happy you have come, but I will not allow a cursed monster to enter my tribe."

Disdain ignited in Keck's dark gray eyes. He was like a furnace fueled by hatred, showing no restraint in his murderous intent toward the werewolf in front of Kas.

"Your father and I killed many werewolves when we were young. Without exception, they were all madmen who begged witches for power and desire. Their filthy, foul-smelling bodies couldn't even be cleansed by being thrown into the Blood-Ash Furnace. You have likely been bewitched by its sorcery..."

"This is the will of the Great Shaman."

Kas interrupted Keck, dragging out the old pervert Hadi.

The origin of the matter was indeed finding a wife for the Shaman, though the client had changed—the old bastard had swapped it for himself.

"The Great Shaman..." Keck stopped speaking, his cold gaze flickering.

He raised a hand to signal his guards to stop their alert, then waved for the crowd to back away; others were not needed here.

Kas thought he wanted to hear what the Great Shaman's will entailed, but unexpectedly, Keck said quite decisively:

"If this is the Great Shaman's will, I will believe it for now..."

"Seneya."

"Seneya has suffered an unprovoked curse, but her movements within the Black Ember Tribe will be restricted. This is my bottom line, Kas."

"..." Kas considered for a moment. The main reason he was willing to accept Kulan's invitation was to visit the Black Ember Tribe's Shaman.

According to tradition, Keck would likely hold a banquet lasting eight days, and he, as a guest, had to be present.

Drunk by day, drinking by night—he didn't know much about the situation in the Black Ember Tribe. Even with the guarantee of his father's blood-sworn brother, was Seneya truly safe?

Before returning to Ferode Canyon, Kas couldn't guarantee this.

As he pondered, he suddenly felt a lightness on his head. The old bastard seemed to have guessed his inner concerns and hopped onto Seneya's shoulder.

"This is already very good."

Keck was very pleased. He ordered someone to bring a cloak large enough to cover her, then handed it to Kas.

The cloak was simple and unadorned, made of smooth, lightweight velvet. Faint, hard-to-see rays of light flowed across its surface; it didn't look like a product of the Sorrow Mountains.

"A Southerner's item. A thief once wore a similar garment and tried to steal my Blood Song from my tent. He almost succeeded."

Kas held the cloak, curious about the item's origin, and asked:

"And then?"

"And then? I was drunk at the time and thought the shadow floating in my eyes was one of Pierce's handmaidens, sent specifically to celebrate the great victory I had achieved. I stripped him of his cloak, and then..."

Keck's gaunt face smiled, his tongue licking his lips, savage and cunning:

"He had beautiful golden hair and a pretty face. I beat his ass until it bloomed like a flower, and with a few little tricks, I got him to spill that the cloak was the pride and joy of an alchemist. I took the clan warriors to find that alchemist and made him craft another one before he died."

"This garment is truly excellent. It lets me sneak off to meet girls without their husbands finding out, and it even works as a blanket in the mountains—soft, light, and comfortable to lie on."

"Don't let Seneya wear it; she's too ugly, she'll scare the children into tears."

It was a rather bizarre story, making the cloak in Kas's hands feel somewhat scorching. Couldn't you have just taken it out of context and told only the first half?

He examined the pitch-black cloak carefully, ensuring there were no strange water stains or blood marks.

He then retreated to Seneya's side, pressed his head against her furry triangular ears, and whispered.

"We will stay at the Black Ember Tribe for a few days. Kaike has promised me that you will be safe."

"Awoo~"

"Hmm... I need to visit the shaman here to ask about a few things."

"Woo~"

"Don't worry, we will set off again very soon. Once the Great Shaman lifts your curse, no one will look at you with those kinds of eyes anymore."

Kas rubbed Seneya's neck, soothing her dejected mood.

She was very sensitive; throughout the journey, she had kept her head bowed, not daring to meet those cold, murderous gazes.

Compared to Little Red Riding Hood, who had been incredibly kind to her in the forest, the attitude of the Rishiman People was nothing short of a disaster.

He fastened the cloak onto Seneya, and the jet-black shadow draped over the werewolf's body, appearing like a shroud of mist under the dazzling sunlight.

But Kas was satisfied with this; now, he could conceal Seneya's werewolf identity...

Although having a mist that looked like a ghost following him around was also strange, it was still better than a werewolf.

"Be good."