Chapter 32: A Worthy Opponent

Chieftain Keith of the Ironclaw Wolf Tribe let out a ferocious, earth-shaking roar that cut straight through the deafening din of the burning settlement.

Standing over seven feet tall with dense, steel-grey fur, jagged battle scars crisscrossing his massive chest, and a pair of glowing amber eyes burning with ancestral fury, Keith swung a colossal, double-headed war cleaver forged from hardened black iron.

SWOOSH—CRACK!

The sheer kinetic force of his horizontal sweep caught three imperial spearmen dead center. Their iron breastplates crumpled like dry parchment under the weight of the blow, launching their shattered bodies twenty feet into the blazing wreckage of a timber longhouse.

"Push them back to the sea!" Keith bellowed, his voice vibrating with primal mana. "Show these bald-faced human dogs that the soil of the Moon-Mother is not taken so easily!"

Surrounding their chieftain, forty surviving elite beastkin warriors—veteran wolf and feline shock troopers—rallied with bloodthirsty howls. Armed with heavy broadaxes, barbed spears, and massive tower shields, they formed a brutal wedge behind Keith, smashing headlong into the advancing Solarian vanguard.

For the past hour, the imperial army had treated this conquest like a routine harvest. But the moment Chieftain Keith joined the frontline, the dynamic completely flipped.

Keith moved with terrifying, fluid speed that completely defied his massive bulk.

A squad of Solarian musketeers hurriedly raised their matchlocks, aiming a volley directly at his broad chest.

"Fire on the chieftain! Bring the beast down!" their sergeant shouted.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A cloud of white smoke erupted. Keith didn’t even try to dodge. Instead, he channeled his dense, natural beast-aura across his hide. The lead musket balls flattened harmlessly against his hardened skin with dull metallic pings, failing to pierce his mana-infused muscle.

Before the musketeers could reach for their powder horns to reload, Keith closed the thirty-foot gap in a single, explosive leap.

THUD!

He landed squarely on the sergeant, crushing the man’s steel helmet and skull beneath his clawed foot. In the same fluid motion, Keith spun his colossal war cleaver in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle.

SHING—SPLAT!

Four musketeers were cleanly cleaved in half at the waist, spraying crimson across the scorched earth. Keith grabbed another charging human swordsman by the throat with his left hand, lifted the two-hundred-pound armored soldier off the ground effortlessly, and slammed him spine-first over his knee with a sickening snap before hurling the corpse into an approaching shield wall.

"Monster! He’s a tribal lord!" an imperial captain screamed, backing away as his rank broke in terror. "Shields up! Interlock—"

Keith didn’t give them the chance. He charged forward like a living battering ram, his massive shoulder driving straight into the center of the imperial shield line.

WHAM!

The interlocking steel shields shattered under the impact. Imperial infantry flew in every direction, screaming as Keith’s war cleaver whirled through the gap, hacking through armor, bone, and flesh with relentless, disciplined fury. Within ten minutes, Keith and his warriors had carved a bloody path straight through three imperial companies, leaving over eighty human soldiers dead in the dirt and momentarily halting the invasion on the northern avenue.

Keith stood atop a mound of broken shields, his heavy chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths. Sweat and dark blood dripped from his snout and fur, but his amber eyes remained sharp, glaring out at the main beachhead.

Down by the surf, the Solarian advance had ground to a halt. The regular infantry units were hesitating, cautiously keeping their distance with raised pikes and trembling hands, clearly terrified of approaching the rampaging wolf chieftain.

A slow, sarcastic clapping broke the tense silence.

CLAP... CLAP... CLAP...

The ranks of imperial soldiers parted smoothly down the center, bowing their heads in deep reverence as Grand Inquisitor Lord Valerius stepped forward onto the blood-soaked sand. He wore his polished, golden-trimmed breastplate, a sneer plastered across his face, completely unbothered by the trail of dead imperial troops surrounding Keith.

"Bravo. Truly an impressive display for a savage mutt," Valerius spoke, his voice dripping with mocking amusement. "To think a filthy demi-human could slaughter nearly a hundred of my imperial infantry with nothing more than an oversized piece of scrap metal and brute strength."

Keith bared his long, bloodstained fangs, letting out a low, guttural snarl that rattled in his throat. He raised his heavy war cleaver, pointing the notched blade directly at the imperial commander.

"You speak bold words from behind your lines, human," Keith growled, his voice deep and rough. "Leave our lands, release our cubs, and return to your cursed ships across the sea. Or I swear by the blood of my ancestors, your golden head will be the next trophy mounted on my gate."

Valerius tilted his head back and let out a sharp, condescending laugh.

"My head? Mount it on a gate?" Valerius mocked, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "Oh, you poor, ignorant mongrel. You actually believe you’ve won a battle here. You think your primitive little muscles make you a threat to the Holy Solarian Empire?"

Valerius casually raised his left hand, snapping his fingers toward the shadows of an overturned wooden cart behind him.

"You beastkin rely on raw physical stats because you lack the intellect to grasp true power," Valerius sneered. "Our radiant Goddess Viona has blessed humanity with champions from beyond the veil. Divine warriors summoned to crush insects like you."

From the dark, flickering shadows beneath the burning cart, the air suddenly distorted.

A figure stepped out into the daylight.

He was a human male, roughly nineteen or twenty years old, with messy black hair, pale skin, and narrow, arrogant eyes that looked upon the world with deep, condescending boredom. He wore a set of pitch-black, lightweight shadow-leather armor adorned with purple magical runes, and flipped a sleek, obsidian dagger between his fingers with practiced, casual flair.

He yawned loudly, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced around at the burning town.

"Man, you dragged me all the way to this stinking backwater just to deal with an overgrown dog?" the youth spoke with a heavy, nasal drawl, his tone reeking of an obnoxious high school delinquent who had just been handed absolute authority. "Seriously, Valerius? I was in the middle of a nice nap back on the flagship."

Valerius gave a slight, respectful bow to the youth. "My apologies for disturbing your rest, Lord Sato. But as you can see, this savage is causing a minor inconvenience for our vanguard. The church would appreciate it if you dealt with him quickly."

The youth, Sato, stopped flipping his dagger and turned his narrow, mocking gaze toward Keith. A cruel, predatory smirk curled across his lips.

"Whatever. A pest is a pest," Sato muttered, cracked his neck to the side, and vanished into a blur of dark purple mana. "Hey, flea-bag. Try not to die too fast. I want to see how loud a dog can scream before I carve your pelt."