Williers Gallop had grown up in Hindukush. He had become a Junior Knight before turning thirty, and was the leader of all fifty Mana-Wielders in the tribe, as well as the most loyal servant of the Curved Claw Tribe.
Today, the Curved Claw chief had led them to hunt in the southern forest. As the chief put it, "The Scorch Wolves are sweeping through the entire northern forest. We're going there to capture slaves!"
The Human Race had always served the stronger, or so Williers had been told all his life. His task today was to lead the able-bodied members of his own people and follow the Werewolves of the Curved Claw Tribe, providing them with logistical support.
But the Curved Claw Tribe's operation had gone far too smoothly. After capturing dozens of Mana-Less, they began pushing south, completely forgetting the iron rule of the Beastmen: never venture more than five hundred meters into the forest.
"Hurry and follow me! The lord said whoever catches them gets to keep them as slaves!"
Hearing the leader shout from up ahead, Williers instinctively looked back. The layers of trees had completely blocked his view. He could no longer see the plains beyond the forest—or, for that matter, the other members of the tribe outside the woods could no longer see what was happening to them.
Sensing danger, Williers shouted, "Chiefs, we can't go any farther south! It's too dangerous ahead!"
But the Curved Claw chief didn't even look back. He only said, "You damn well better catch up with me! I'm going to get ahead and—"
Suddenly, a golden beam shot out from the treetops. An arrow pierced three Beastmen in a row, then shattered a boulder less than ten meters in front of Williers.
The Junior Knight instinctively hit the ground.