Observations from the Era of the 45th Chapter (VI: The Wolf's Nest)

The Hunter raised his hands expressionlessly. 🎅😾 Claws 🐉♧

A knife was held to his neck, and his helmet had fallen to the ground, embedded in the ice and snow. The helmet's own weight alone could not have caused such a sight by simply falling, so the answer was quite obvious.

Silence reigned all around, but the Hunter knew that four hundred and ninety-nine deadly assassins stood in the darkness, all coldly staring at him, awaiting the judgment of the one with the knife.

So, who is the person holding the knife?

The answer to this question doesn't even require any thought.

Besides Jago Sevatarion, who else would dare to draw their sword and threaten a Night Lords near Fenris's the Fang Keep in front of Karyl Lohars, Bjorn, Ahzek Ahriman, and others?

"Give me a reason not to kill you," Sevatar said slowly.

His face was hidden behind his helmet, his skull-like faceplate was crimson, and hot steam was constantly pouring out from the gaps in the armor, melting the blizzard before it even had a chance to get close.

The snowmelt and warm wind lashed restlessly against the Hunter's calm face, creating an artificial rain curtain in his cloudy white eyes.

He didn't blink, as if those eyes weren't his own. He also didn't seem to care about the knife held to his neck, as if someone else was the one being threatened. He appeared calm and detached, but since he was standing there, he had to face certain things.

For example, Jago Sevatarion, who is currently in a fit of rage.

"I'd love to give you a plausible explanation, Sevatar, but I can't." The Hunter blinked. "You should understand our duties; silence is a necessary quality."

"You can say it again," Sevatar said with a smile. "I wouldn't mind hearing this riddle again, and then ripping your throat and spine out of your body."

Bjorn stood to the side, watching the conversation grow increasingly dangerous, but showed no emotion. He now looked completely different from the man by the fire.

The same was true of Ahzek Ahriman; the blind poet tucked his hands into the pockets of his cotton-padded coat, breathing in the chill of Fenris and exhaling an almost invisible stream of heat.

They flanked a man in black robes, with the wolf pack standing nearby, waiting for this "internal affair" to come to the Veil.

Karyl sighed inwardly.

A person has to pay some price for everything they do; eating requires chewing, resting requires sleep, and even breathing requires bodily function. He was no exception, and he knew that Sevatar would probably have some complaints about it.

However, Karyl did not expect his "complaints" to be so strong.

"This whole thing has nothing to do with the Hunter, Jago," Karyl advised gently. "You didn't need to say such harsh things."

Sevatar let out a cold laugh without turning his head.

"Come on, Instructor. He orchestrated this whole thing. Without that book, you wouldn't have reached Fenris, and who gave you that book? Who was secretly planning this, making you do something so counterproductive?"

"I haven't lost anything," Karyl tried to argue, but stopped mid-sentence and remained silent.

A ripple of moonlight seemed to swirl and surge within his Shadow.

Bjorn glanced at him, then immediately looked away, and without looking to the side, threw a light punch at Ahzek Ahriman, who was watching intently to the side.

The poet angrily parried with his elbow, uttering a string of extremely filthy curses in Fenris. Bjorn chuckled, turned his face away, and his laughter was swallowed by his beard.

Sevatar stared at the Hunter, then with a slight exertion of force in his right hand holding the knife, the dagger precisely avoided the major blood vessels and sliced into the Hunter's neck.

Hot blood dripped slowly, creating crimson blooming flowers on his Power Armour.

The Hunter remained unmoved, keeping calm and gently shaking his head to let the blade sink deeper, completely resigned to his fate.

"We all have our responsibilities, Sevatar. It's a pity I can't give you the whole picture, but I can assure you I have a clear conscience."

"Even if you kill me now, I will not hate you at all. In fact, I will tell our Gene-Father in the wasteland just how outstanding his eldest son is."

Sevatar slowly bared his fangs, revealing a ruthless expression that was neither a smile nor a frown, before suddenly sheathing his knife.

"This is a one-time exception. Remember my words, Hunter."

He turned around, sheathed his sword, coldly uttered a single sentence, and walked straight toward Bjorn. Their subsequent exchange all took place within a minute, concise and to the point, without any unnecessary embellishment.

"A political visit?" Bjorn asked.

"No, Chapter discussion," Sevatar said with a forced smile. "Is there a banquet?"

"Yes, we have as many as you want. What size do you need?"

"We only sent five hundred people, you decide what to do—oh, no, it's five hundred and two."

Bjorn grinned. "How about we hold it in the Great Wolf Hall then?"

"So grand?"

Lone Wolf tilted his head, pointing to the silent Karyl beside him, saying nothing, yet it was as if he had said everything.

Karyl raised his hand to cover his face, and began to doubt his decision, which he had made under the influence of "moral principles."

--

The fortress monastery of the Space Wolves, named the Fang, is an enormous, almost exaggerated fortress. While it cannot compare to the Imperial Palace, it is still breathtakingly large.

Located atop the highest peak of the Asaheim mountain range in Fenris, it overlooks the entire tundra. Beyond its symbolic significance, its location at such a high altitude carries profound strategic importance.

Thanks to its altitude and height, the Fang can penetrate the atmosphere, providing a direct docking point for ships reaching near-Earth orbit. In this way, the wolf pack or anyone visiting can quickly and safely reach Fenris.

In this respect, the Fang can perfectly metaphorically represent the personality of the Space Wolves. Everyone thinks they built this place so high as a symbol, but few realize the wisdom they concealed.

Of course. Sometimes, these two are not contradictory.

Karyl stopped and watched Bjorn touch the rocks with his hands. They were in a secret passage. The Fang had countless such passages, most of which were probably only remembered by Lone Wolf and the Blind Man, who had lived through ten thousand years.

Therefore, they naturally fell into disrepair over the years, yet it is not cold here.

Geothermal heat brought warmth through the cracks in the rocks, and the wolves whispered amongst themselves behind the tunnel, seemingly complaining about the temperature. The air was filled with the pungent smell of fur and the sweaty stench of the Space Wolves, whose sweat glands were highly developed.

This was quite unpleasant for the Night Lords —at this moment, out of courtesy, they all removed their helmets, their pale faces taut in the darkness, holding their breath like the dead who would never breathe again.

Karyl took all this in stride, and his remaining sense of humor finally came through, bringing a smile to his face and prompting Jago Sevatarion, who stood by with a blank expression, to ask a question.

"Don't you think it smells bad, instructor?" he asked very directly.

"When you were living in the Shantytown, didn't you smell anything worse than this?" Karyl retorted.

"That's different." Sevatar frowned. "Lack of hygiene caused by the environment is different from personal choice to neglect hygiene."

"Come on, you cold-blooded bat who always fakes a smile."

Upon hearing this, Bjorn was searching for the mechanism, immediately snorted and offered his rebuttal.

"If you're so capable, come live in Fenris for a while. Let's see if you can be so particular about hygiene in this freezing weather. Fur may smell bad, but at least it's warm. Mead is hot, but it's also warming."

With a fake smile, Sevatar raised his hand and pulled a red-haired Blood Claws past Ahzek Ahriman, then unabashedly grabbed the man's messy beard with his right hand—or rather, his claw.

Food scraps slowly fell to the ground.

"He's an exception," the blind poet said slowly. "Lukas isn't a typical example. If you're looking for a standard image that represents most wolves, you should look for this young man beside me."

Ragnar Thunderfist's face flushed red, and he straightened his chest, seemingly casually raising and lowering his gleaming gauntlets, as if he had forgotten where his hands were supposed to be.

Sevatar finally couldn't help but burst into laughter; in fact, it was almost hysterical.

The other four Chapter Masters in the five-hundred-man team stood not far away, staring at his gleeful face, and exchanged silent glances.

Kaul Sahora spoke first, "It seems the Orlak Librarian was right; our eldest brother has indeed gone mad."

"It's mental instability," the Hunter corrected quietly. "That's different from madness."

"That's one thing," Skaradrik retorted seriously and somberly. "Mental instability is just one interpretation of the word 'madness' in the conventional sense, and besides, hasn't he already had various mental illnesses?"

"You should know that he and the instructors can hear us talking, right?"

Sheher Cold Soul couldn't help but offer a reminder. He shook his head, hesitated, and tapped the stone wall beside him. A muffled sound echoed through the winding secret passage.

The Supreme Commander spoke again, saying, "Besides, everyone else can probably hear what you're saying—like those stinking wolf cubs."

A howl and excited laughter came from behind the wolf pack.

"We can hear you, Grand Master!" someone shouted. "But what does it matter? It doesn't diminish my respect for Lord Jago Sevatarion!"

Sevatar suddenly turned around, baring his teeth, and unleashed a string of Fenris slang. The speed and precision of his words even caught Bjorn's attention.

Lone Wolf waited until he finished cursing before speaking, "You really learned a lot from Russ, Sevatar."

"I didn't learn it." Sevatar belatedly regained his composure. "I didn't teach him anything either."

He was looking at Karyl as he spoke, and the latter was staring at him silently, his hands clasped together in front of him. His ten fingers were clearly defined, and the veins on the back of his hands stood out.

And so the farce came to an end.

Eleven minutes later, this large but strangely composed group finally left the secret passage and went straight into the Great Wolf Hall of the Fang Fortress.

This place is also known as the Leman Russ Russ Hall, where the Wolf King once held banquet after banquet.

His chair still sat alone on the high platform, covered in fur. Two giant wolves, seemingly asleep, lay on either side of it.

Below this high platform, countless long wooden tables filled the enormous hall, piled high with steaming hot delicacies and, of course, barrel after barrel of Fenris's signature wine.

The flag fluttered in the wind, and the wolves, who had arrived early, struggled around the table. The cold wind howled, and sunlight streamed through the observation holes deliberately left overhead, illuminating their faces.

Weapons were hung on the walls, and the floor was covered with a thick carpet that had been deeply dented by the giants who came and went. Mead flowed freely on it, along with blood left from fights.

Bjorn a deep breath and nodded with great satisfaction. He strode out of the group and headed straight for the platform.

He called out something in Fenris, and the hall fell silent. Karyl turned around and saw that the Space Wolves who had followed them back had left the pack and found their own seats.

Seconds later, all the Space Wolves roared in unison, each howl louder than the last, like thunder, like a war cry. As they roared, they stood up and began to pound their chests with their right hands, the clanging of metal against metal echoing incessantly, each blow higher than the last.

Countless wild beast eyes were fixed on the group, but Karyl could clearly sense that they were coming for him.

And the phrase they shouted

Welcome back?

Karyl couldn't help but lower his head and sigh, yet he also smiled. Faced with such a grand and enthusiastic welcome, even he didn't know what to say.

The wolves, however, didn't care. They quickly gathered all five hundred Night Lords around the long table, and regardless of whether the other was Chapter Master or a fellow warrior, a drinking contest immediately began. Then came storytelling, playful banter, and demands for duels.

Even Karyl was pulled to a wooden table by Bjorn and Ahzek Ahriman, where twelve sturdy wooden goblets were immediately raised. Bjorn also grabbed his own goblet, grinned, and nodded to Karyl.

"We won't treat you like an 'adult'!" He winked at him and shoved another glass at him. "Drink up, Instructor!"

Karyl gripped the glass, tilted his head back, and drank it all in one gulp.

He actually tasted it.