Chronicles of the Chapter Era (VII: The Wolves' Feast)

The banquet table was noisy, with a constant stream of people coming and going. The pungent aroma of mead lingered in the sweltering air, mercilessly overpowering the scents of the food and becoming the sole dominant force in the room—just like countless other banquets before.

At the wolf pack's drinking table, mead is always the main dish.

Admittedly, a variety of delicacies are an indispensable part, but chefs need time to bring them out of the kitchen, while mead is never in short supply.

Every Space Wolves will learn to brew wine; sooner or later, they will all have to inherit this craft.

They would use thick wooden barrels to brew this rich mash, which could be used as poison, then throw it into a corner and either drink it themselves or forget about it until a banquet begins.

Karyl slammed his glass down, and Bran Bloodthirster, the Wolf Lord, laughed as he began to pour him more wine. The dark, pungent liquid flowed from the enormous jug, soon filling the glass completely.

Karyl nodded to him and thanked him amidst roars, barks, and continuous bursts of maniacal laughter.

"Thank you, Wolf Lord."

He didn't shout; his voice was even as soft as usual, yet it was very clear to Bloodthirst's ears.

The Wolf Lord grinned, pounded his chest, and roared, "You like mead, that's enough, Instructor!"

In reality, it's probably more than just liking.

Karyl smiled slightly, tilted his head back, and downed the mead in one gulp. This was his seventy-ninth cup of mead, a capacity that was incomprehensible even to the Wolf Lord.

Of course, for the wolf pack, his performance will become a legendary tale that will be passed down forever. For at least the next ten centuries, wolves will tell it by the fire and mention the name Karyl Lohars.

Being remembered this way doesn't seem so bad, Karyl thought with a hint of smugness.

However, there was one thing he had to admit: he had never drunk so much in his life. Yet, even after drinking so much, he still didn't feel "drunk."

The reason the wolf pack considered mead a precious beverage was because it was one of the few drinks that could make Astartes feel intoxicated. However, it seemed to have no effect on him; no matter how much he drank, he could only taste the toxins, the alcohol, and the Phosphex.

They might look terrible individually, but together they're surprisingly pretty good.

At least that's how it is for him.

Karyl exhaled a hot breath and slammed the wine glass back onto the long table.

The twelve Wolf Lord began to cheer loudly for him, Bjorn was even more enthusiastic. He cheered as he walked up to him carrying a wooden barrel that had been cleaved open by a sword and handed him a heavy, enormous wooden spoon.

At this moment, the lone wolf's whiskers and hair stood on end, its eyes were wide open, and it looked extremely happy.

Karyl couldn't help but laugh. He shook his head, threw the spoon on the table, picked up the barrel with one hand, tilted his head back, and began to drink voraciously.

The wooden barrel almost completely covered his upper body, and drops of mead slowly dripped down the edge of the barrel, which then rose higher and higher.

The Wolf Lord raised their right hands and began to tap the table, shouting cheers for him. Ahzek Ahriman, sitting at the end of the table, kept his head down and wrote furiously, without touching a drop of alcohol.

It took a full five minutes for the wooden bucket to reach the ground.

Karyl released his grip and patted his chest. The front of his black robe was completely soaked with wine, but his face remained pale, showing no signs of drunkenness.

Bran Bloodthirst excitedly reached out and grabbed his shoulders, shouting in Fenris, "Can you keep drinking?!"

"It's possible."

"Then keep drinking, Instructor! Your name will be sung among the wolves!"

"In this way?"

"Isn't it wonderful?" Bloodthirst laughed, pointing to Ahzek Ahriman at the end of the long table. "Our greatest poet has already begun writing! Just you wait and see, Instructor!"

Karyl chuckled to himself.

Being with this group of people made him feel very relaxed. The Wolf Lord knew more or less who he was, or what kind of "thing" he was, but they obviously didn't care about these things.

All the Space Wolves share a very simple philosophy that allows them to disregard human identity, status, power, and other such things, and to focus on "humanity" itself.

In other words, they simply don't care what the truth is about Karyl Lohars, hidden beneath his facade. Their logic in this matter is probably exceptionally simple.

The banquet continued to heat up.

Karyl took his glass, stood up politely, and raised it to the Wolf Lord in farewell—he had something to say to Jago Sevatarion alone for the time being.

The Wolf Lord also raised their glasses to bid him farewell. Bloodthirst, sitting beside him, was the most reluctant among them. He pounded the table and roared, "Then you'd better hurry back, Instructor! Don't sit with those wolf cubs, or they'll definitely keep bothering you!"

"You think everyone is as utterly devoid of respect as your bunch of fools?" another Wolf Lord, Krom Dragon's Gaze from Firehowlers Great Company, immediately retorted.

He was a man of short temper—even among wolves, he was exceptional in this respect. Bloodthroat scoffed at his words, disdainfully tossing a bone from his plate.

It spun around and struck Krom squarely on the forehead. The Sun Wolf Lord immediately roared and stood up, lunging at Bloodthirst in front of everyone.

His strength and steel boots shattered the long table, and the other Wolf Lord immediately began to curse, both for the loss of food and for the rudeness shown to their guest.

Wolves are indeed savage, but that's just an appearance. They are masquerading as savages, not truly savages.

But the enraged Krom clearly wouldn't listen to anyone's advice; he was now only focused on throwing punches. Bloodthirst, who had initially intended to back down, was also completely provoked, baring his fangs and beginning to grapple with Krom.

Bjorn watched their fight with a cold eye, shrugging indifferently at Karyl.

"An ancient Fenris tradition dictates that the situation will escalate in the next few minutes, and all the Wolf Lord at this table will join the brawl. By the Allfather, I truly hope they can control themselves."

"I don't think it's necessary," Karyl said. He had already realized that Bjorn was being sarcastic; if the wolf really wanted to control the situation, he wouldn't be standing there so brazenly.

His words made Bjorn's eyes widen slightly. Lone Wolf turned around, looking at him with considerable surprise, and asked, "Don't you think they're being very rude?"

Karyl shook his head, smiled, took another sip of mead, and took two steps back, dodging the flying splinter of wood as if he had known it all along.

"I won't impose my own standards on others, and frankly, it's not even a standard, just a kind of obsession. I know exactly what I've been doing all along, Bjorn. That's why I'm happy to walk with the wolves, because you all understand that too."

Bjorn bowed respectfully, his face beaming with a smile, "I thank you for your praise, sir."

Karyl glanced at him, then picked up his wine glass and left the long table.

As Bjorn said, the twelve Wolf Lord will start a chaotic battle, and he has no intention of waiting in the eye of the storm.

This is the most rational and humane moment he has had since his recovery, and he must seize this opportunity to deal with some things he hasn't had the chance to deal with before; otherwise, who knows if he will ever have such a good opportunity again?

Karyl silently held his wine glass, moving like a ghost across the many long tables.

During this time, blood and broken teeth flew out from the punches and kicks and landed behind him. Cold soup, along with the wooden bowl, was shoved onto someone's face by a hand. Empty wine glasses rolled on the carpet. Leftover bones were scattered everywhere. Howls and singing filled the air.

Amidst this chaotic yet unexpectedly harmonious scene, Karyl found his target. To his surprise, Jago Sevatarion was surrounded by Space Wolves without any sense of incongruity.

"Who's next?!"

Sevatar roared as he asked, reaching out to pull a Space Wolves up from the ground. The man had a bruised and swollen face, his left hand hanging askew across his chest, clearly badly injured, yet his face was full of joy.

"I'll remember that trick!" he shouted. "I know I was wrong, Sevatar! You won't knock me down like that next time!"

Go to hell.

Sevatar glared at him, then surprisingly smiled gently. He patted him on the shoulder, shoved him back into the pack, and then raised his arms to call for the next challenger.

"Who else wants to learn something new from your Uncle Sevatar?" he asked, his smile turning into a sarcastic sneer.

The wolves booed loudly, and a brave man stepped forward. To Karyl's surprise, he turned out to be an acquaintance.

Ragnar Raiquan raised his right hand and slammed it into his chest, silently but solemnly expressing his desire to challenge. Many hands immediately began to push and shove him, and some people shouted loudly.

"You're not qualified, Blood Claws! Go back to your Blood Claws brethren and drink milk together. This is a warrior's hall!"

"I am already a soldier!"

Ragnar roared and glared at the man, his wild nature showing no sign of wanting to be tamed. The more violently he was pushed, the stronger his struggle became, and the wolves quieted down.

A tall, fur-covered Space Wolves mumbled and scratched its cheek, then turned and gestured to Sevatar.

"What do you mean? Do you think he's qualified?"

"None of you are qualified, and neither is he, but he is indeed a warrior," Sevatar said.

He smiled and beckoned to Ragnar: "Come on, Ragnar Thunderfist."

The young Blood Claws paused slightly, and the pack shoved him in front of Sevatar. He quickly composed himself and asked, "You remember me?"

"My memory isn't so bad that I can forget someone I just met recently."

But you remembered my name.

"What difficulty is there for Astartes?"

"This is different," Ragnar growled, repeating, his fists clenched, his expression stubborn and earnest.

"You remember me," he repeated. "And I will remember that."

Upon hearing his words, Sevatar's smile instantly turned into an arrogant nod. He raised his chin and cast a disdainful glance at the young Blood Claws.

"If this is all you think, then you're not even qualified," he said coldly. "Now come here, Blood Claws."

In the next half minute, Sevatar ruthlessly dismantled the fledgling Ragnar's fighting skills, dodging all of Ragnar's attacks without ever raising his hands once.

The wolves began to laugh loudly. Ragnar gritted his teeth, his blood boiling, and he felt a deep sense of shame. The wildness in Russ's bloodline began to awaken, and he took complete control of the Blood Claws, which he could not yet fully control.

He roared and lunged at Sevatar with a desperate, life-or-death attitude, only to be stopped mid-air by a punch to the face.

Ragnar landed heavily, blood splattering everywhere. He lay on the ground for a while before getting up again, his face full of dejection, but he received no ridicule. The wolf pack fell silent at that perfect moment.

Sevatar reached out and helped him up.

"First, be ruthless and go all out when dealing with the enemy."

He calmly reached out and tapped the wolf head emblem on Ragnar's shoulder armor with his sharp claws.

"Secondly, your foundation is solid, but you can't fully control yourself yet. In other words, you're still too young, Ragnar Thunderfist. You need the baptism of war and the tempering of blood."

He sneered and kicked Ragnar back into the pack, where they began howling again. This time, however, the shoving was gone. They affectionately ruffled Ragnar's hair, led him to a long table, and began to offer him drinks.

The acceptance was thus completed quietly, but it will take some time for Blood Claws to truly shed this name.

Sevatar understood this very well. He had dealt with wolves many times over the past ten thousand years, and this kind of "close encounter" with them was nothing new.

He raised his hands with enjoyment, intending to teach a little more before stopping, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a ghostly Shadow.

He immediately put his hand down.

"Go on," Karyl said, holding up his wine glass.

The noise suddenly fell silent, and no one spoke again.

The wolves stared in astonishment at the black-robed figure who had "suddenly" appeared beside them, utterly bewildered by their malfunctioning senses of smell and perception.

They only knew that Karyl was drinking with the Wolf Lord, but they didn't know who he was, and their faces were full of doubt—until Sevatar spoke up.

"That concludes the sparring," he said. "I have something to attend to and must leave temporarily."

"What about your share of the drink?" one of the Space Wolves asked.

"Leave it for me," Sevatar said, baring his teeth. "Anyone who touches it will have their hand chopped off, understand?"

He walked toward Karyl, and together they strolled to the edge of the hall.