Chronicles of the Chapter Era (V): The Pack and Roast Meat

The fire is blazing. ★😳 🍓🐜

A rough hand grabbed a handful of snow and threw it into the fire.

The flames did not go out; instead, they surged for a moment, and then a huge, fat and blood-dripping hind leg was hoisted onto it.

A makeshift grill made of four tree branches held it firmly in place, while wind and snow blew from all sides, scattering grease everywhere. The aurora borealis on the horizon was still dazzling, wild animals still roamed the woods, and a streamlined fighter jet shut down its engine and stopped not far away.

It was completely out of place with the scenery, a discordant note. Two elk, tethered to the side of the plane's wing, were leisurely pawing the snow with their hind hooves for amusement. The firelight continued to flicker, but no one spoke beside it.

This is truly strange; there are clearly six people sitting here, yet they have all chosen to remain silent.

Until the owner of that rough, large hand drew a knife. It had a wide blade with a cruel curve, the blade gleaming, the handle shining like Auramite, and lightning bolts and eagle heads shimmering with a hazy light at both ends of the guard.

The hand gripped the knife tightly and began to cut the hind leg. The firm yet tender flesh made cutting it a pleasure; the steel darted through the sea of meat, slicing it apart layer by layer like a prophet parting the sea in an ancient myth.

Each time it was cooked, the crimson sea trembled. Fresh blood flowed down, dripping into the fire and crackling. The fat spread, the raw meat gradually cooked, and the enticing aroma of meat began to fill the air.

Bjorn sheathed his knife, plunged it into the snow, and clapped his hands.

"I never imagined we'd actually see you in person." He spoke slowly, his voice deep and resonant, as if with a sigh, echoing through the darkness.

His voice seemed to possess a magical quality. Although he wasn't roaring and was speaking in a very calm manner, it caused the wild animals that had been drawn to the forest by the alluring aroma to flee immediately, without looking back, for fear of being a step too late.

Birds leaped from the branches, dark shadows darted through the woods, branches swayed, and snow fell straight down from the broad trunks, like corpses thrown from a height, creating a distant echo.

The light of day was still dim.

"How did you get back?" Bjorn asked sincerely, even pointing to the Hunter sat silently to the side.

"These gloomy little brats, led by Jago Sevatarion, searched for a solution for ten thousand years, and this is how you end up in Fenris? By the Astronomican, when I saw you from the heavens, I almost thought I was back in Terra."

"Did you really leave?" Ahzek Ahriman asked without looking up.

He was looking down, holding an unfinished book, and writing and drawing on it with a quill pen.

His lost eyesight and the swirling snow seemed to have no effect on him; his handwriting was neat and beautiful, and even the spacing between lines was perfectly controlled, presenting an elegant aesthetic.

"I don't know, what about you?" Bjorn countered. "Have you left?"

The blind man did not answer; he simply stopped writing, closed the book, and put the contents into his backpack.

Lukas watched his movements intently, his eyes, hidden beneath his messy red hair, drifting almost imperceptibly to the other end of the fire. A man in a black robe sat there, his pale face expressionless, his dark eyes reflecting the firelight.

However, just a dozen minutes ago, he was merely a blood-soaked skeleton.

This stark contrast stirred a genuine fascination within Lukas, compelling him to dedicate himself to this work, seeking clues to unravel his current predicament.

He'd take any clue, after all, he had far too many problems to solve. But he didn't realize one thing—an excessive thirst for knowledge often leads to a nightmarish ending.

The blind man sitting next to him was very qualified to speak on this matter.

Soon, amidst the aroma of oils, the world before Lukas's eyes underwent some subtle changes.

As darkness turned to light, the snow began to melt amidst violent tremors. A fierce wind howled, and the sunlight was obscured by dark clouds. A hideous, enormous, scarlet eye loomed behind the clouds. Thunder rumbled, and lightning struck instantly, cracking the earth and shattering glaciers.

The mountains wailed, the world perished, and an extremely evil and dark god cast a glance at him.

Lukas's mind went completely blank; he was no longer able to react. He could only watch helplessly as the evil god stretched out its hands to grab him—

"Hello, young man," a hoarse voice said to him. "Nice to meet you. My name is Karyl Lohars. What is your name?"

Lukas stiffly raised his head, swallowed a mouthful of icy saliva, and spoke with an awkward laugh.

"Lukas, sir, my name is Lukas."

"I hold no official position, Varakil, there's no need to address me like that."

The man who identified himself as Karyl Lohars gave this answer, but Lukas was taken aback.

There are two reasons. First, he answered in Fenris, specifically the language of the Hearth, an ancient language used by Space Wolves to communicate with each other in their daily lives. This language is unknown to outsiders and can be used as an encryption language.

As for the name Valakir, the Fenrisian regarded Space Wolves as the embodiment of gods, and Valakir was their name for the Space Wolves. Translated into Gothic, it means "warriors of the gods."

The moment he realized this, Lukas's heart stopped beating.

A wave of fear washed over him, and his intuition began to scream: He knows! He knows what you're doing! He knows you've seen his true face, that's why he used Varakil to mock you! He's going to kill you!

Lukas took a deep breath, maintained his smirk, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Whatever you prefer, sir, I insist."

Karyl sighed and sat back down, quite understandingly.

A silence fell around the fire. No one present was stupid; even Ragnar Thunderfist, who was just as bewildered as Lukas, vaguely sensed something.

But he had no time for that now; he was staring intently at the Hunter, seemingly harboring great hostility towards him. The Hunter, however, ignored him, sitting calmly in place, his posture as dignified as an ancient sculpture.

Finally, Bjorn broke the silence and the increasingly awkward atmosphere with a loud laugh.

"Finally found someone who can handle you, Lukas." Lone Wolf chuckled and wagged a finger at him. "I hope you learn something from this."

Lukas lowered his head and replied sullenly, "I know I'm wrong and I'll correct it, Alpha Wolf."

"I'm not a wolf," Bjorn said, his thick beard unable to conceal the half-smile on his face.

He reached out his right hand from under his cloak, pulled the knife from the snow, and began cutting meat again. Ahzek Ahriman, meanwhile, took out several thick wooden bowls from his backpack and handed them to Bjorn one by one.

The two worked together seamlessly; often, Bjorn finished cutting a piece of meat, Ahzek Ahriman would take the bowl and hand him a new one.

Although he was blind, he was able to accurately hand out the wooden bowls filled with sliced meat to each person, earning him four thanks and a cold snort from Bjorn.

The lone wolf began to grumble and complain.

"I brought the meat, I grilled it, and I cut it myself. And you're apologizing to him? It's truly disheartening!"

"I had no such intention, Lone Wolf!" Ragnar Thunderfist shouted back, only to be met with a soft laugh from Bjorn.

He waved for the young Blood Claws to sit down. Ragnar blushed and sat down, bewildered. Lukas chuckled and nudged him with his elbow, giving that annoying smile a perfect demonstration of why he was unpopular with the pack.

"He was just joking, kid."

Ragnar glared at him coldly and began to eat his meat in silence.

Bjorn sat down with a smile, picked up his wooden bowl, took a big bite of meat, and after a few seconds of his eyes narrowing slightly in satisfaction, he asked a question as if casually.

"Alright, let's eat. It's a pity I left in such a hurry that I forgot to bring any wine, otherwise I could have let you try Fenris's finest brew, Instructor. Oh, by the way, did you know that the Night Haunter once drank wine with Russ?"

Karyl held the wooden bowl and nodded slightly. "They did drink together. And that's why he reminded me many times not to drink your Fenrisian's special brew."

Bjorn's squinting eyes returned to normal. He swallowed the piece of meat, his expression softening considerably. He slowly lowered his head and said hoarsely, "I apologize."

"Why apologize?" Karyl countered. "You obviously know me to some extent, though I don't know where you got that impression from, but you've probably heard about some of my quirks."

"You understand this, which is why you didn't address me with honorifics. Well, I should understand you too, Bjorn. Your probing is nothing; in fact, if I were you, I would have arranged for a pack of wolves to wait nearby."

Bjorn an awkward smile, and under Ahzek Ahriman's glare, he subtly raised his right hand, causing the woodland to tremble again, and many of the "beasts" quickly fled.

"Ahem—" Lone Wolf coughed. "Anyway, welcome back, Instructor of the Eighth Legion."

"There are no more Legions now." Karyl shook his head. "I have no problem with you calling me that, but the Legions have been disbanded. This is the age of Chapter. Have the Wolfpacks broken away from their Chapter?"

Bjorn coughed again, scratching his head even more awkwardly. "No."

"The wolf pack's situation is somewhat unique, Instructor," Ahzek Ahriman said cautiously, speaking on his behalf. "The offspring of Russ are not well-suited to spreading throughout the galaxy; Fenris's natural environment is both a persecution and a protection for them."

"Wolves must walk with wolves. Even a lone wolf Bjorn must stay with a blind man like me. Therefore, the pack has not accepted being split up. Although we no longer call ourselves a legion, but..."

He paused, and for some reason, he seemed embarrassed. After a long while, he finally finished speaking.

"In short, the wolf pack is now small in number. Fenris has a harsh environment, is surrounded by enemies, and coupled with the Space Wolves' natural instincts, their numbers have never recovered to their peak in the past ten thousand years. I think Bjorn bears at least half the responsibility for this."

His words drew a genuine glare, Bjorn looked like he was about to throw the bowl in his face.

"Why?" Karyl asked softly. "So much has happened in the last ten thousand years, you can't blame him for every single thing that has caused the wolf pack to die."

"Exactly!" Bjorn exclaimed in agreement.

"I had no such intention. I only said that because I felt he hadn't taken responsibility," Ahzek Ahriman replied seriously.

"He clearly deserves to be the alpha wolf, but he won't. Even though everyone strongly urged him to be the alpha wolf, he repeatedly refused, as stubborn as a mule. I really don't understand why he insists on going against everyone else."

"Where the hell have I gone against everyone, you blind bastard!" Bjorn roared in fury. "Stop spouting nonsense and twisting the truth in front of him! I'm not the alpha wolf because—"

"--Why?" Ahzek Ahriman asked. "Because you're afraid you won't do a good job?"

Lukas and Ragnar gaped, staring intently at them, even forgetting to chew the roast meat in their mouths.

Karyl sighed, took a piece of roast meat from the bowl, and put it in his mouth. His "emotions" had gradually stabilized, which was undoubtedly related to the chain he had personally put around his neck.

However, this could also be due to the snowstorms of Fenris. This world has some ancient connection with him; ancient Vengeance beliefs once visited this place.

Somehow, this connection, which should have made him even more manic, inexplicably changed its nature; it became so cold that it even helped him maintain a sliver of rationality.

One mystery after another. Karyl chewed his meat absentmindedly, unable to taste anything, his mind filled with doubt.

His resurrection is illogical, which is one of the mysteries. Those fragments are clearly part of him, yet they haven't come alive along with his resurrection, which is another mystery. As for Fenris, it goes without saying that faith, in turn, influenced the deity himself.

While it makes sense and is achievable, the Vengeance beliefs of Fenris are still very primitive and shouldn't be related to him.

The appearance of the god of Vengeance and hatred in the Materium is a matter of ten thousand years ago, but the faith on Fenris has lasted for a much longer time.

That's amazing.

He swallowed the piece of meat, but it fell into darkness. At the same time, the sky suddenly brightened, and five hundred meteors tore through the clouds, creating a dazzling meteor shower in the night sky of Fenris.

Karyl subtly put down the bowl and stood up.

"Perhaps," he said cautiously, "We need to find another place to continue our business."

(End of this chapter)

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