Finn returned to the camp with his head swimming. He was not good at thinking, but he was very good at listening—even so, Alyona's long string of almost endless conjectures still left him unable to take it all in for a while.
The female captain had told him seventeen possible ways this matter could develop, and Finn had not remembered a single one. In the end, out of options, she simply told Finn to go straight back and tell his Wolf Lord, and not think about anything else.
That was more like it. Why make it so complicated? Finn thought. If you had something to say, say it. If you were pissed off, fight.
However, before he did that, he still needed to deal with something far more urgent, far more important.
Standing in front of the camp gate, he carefully studied the silver metal doors. Only after confirming that they were shut tight did he have the Glyph Array unlock them.
This was experience bought with many lessons. He was in charge of a group of Bloodclaws, and they were not exactly obedient.
A passion for challenging authority was in the Bloodclaws' nature—and in the pack's nature as well. The strong had to always ensure they were not brought down by ambushes and challenges, while challengers came one after another without end.
Finn, with great foresight, did not step inside right away. His choice was the right one.
Several Bloodclaws who had been hiding behind the doors waiting for his return realized they could not ambush him, so they simply walked out from behind the doorframe and slowly surrounded him.
Every one of them held a blunt practice sword. None wore armor, and on their bare arms and chests was the same dark-red tattoo. They stared at him nonstop,