The Black Wolf Lord ran at the forefront, its fur pitch-black, as hard as steel spikes, and its eyes seemed to burn with green fire, like a demon newly born from hell. As it ran, its four paws landed on the ground, and its sharp claws and teeth gleamed with a cold light, while it sprinted wildly on the forest's bed of dead leaves. The soldiers could not keep up with its speed; they could only watch it make its way from one mountain peak to the valley and then from the valley to the distant woods, all the feathered arrows falling behind it, helplessly watching it approach.

The Orderly timidly gave the command to level the long spears, but the noble soldiers of Grus retreated wave after wave, creating visible ripples on the battlefield. Sir Glus, along with his knights, ought to hold their ground with longswords in hand, yet the Wolf Calamity was a nightmare that haunt Tonyger and the Forest People for generations—the black shadow moving swiftly through the forest was a mythical sign of impending doom—all the knights were pale-faced.

"How did we end up facing this cursed thing!" cursed Glus incessantly.

The Grusians maintained the line, but the mountain people feared the Wolf Calamity more; several tribes at the rear discreetly dispersed, and the front tribes also turned chaotic. This fear had been ingrained since childhood, a terror rooted in their hearts, spreading like a calamity from the sky; even the bravest warrior would shiver in fear and abandon his armor.

The Black Wolf pack was almost at the line, less than a hundred steps away, and the archers' shots had no effect on them. Sir Glus, with Golden Power and excellent eyesight, immediately saw that the soft shots couldn't even penetrate the wolves' fur. The large army behind was advancing, and the Lord of the Grizzly Bear was deceitful and unreliable; Glus could only order his soldiers forward. Humans cannot outrun the Black Wolves, nor can horses. Sir Glus, having lived in the Southern Territory for thirty years, knew this well.

The forest was biting cold, but the chill inside the hearts was even colder. The Black Wolves numbered only in the hundreds, resembling colts, their speed was too fast, seemingly endless. Sweat formed on the palm, congealed on the sword hilt, as if even his breath froze.

Yet, from the forest, a young knight emerged first.

Brand tilted his head up.

Glus first thought it was his scout, but then realized it wasn't. The young man looked at him, and though far apart, made him feel completely seen through.

"Who are you?" Glus felt a sense of foreboding rise.

"Sir Glus, do you still remember in your dreams the decisive moment on the Condor battlefield, where you left your honor behind? Now I've brought it back for you."

Once Brand spoke, Glus screamed, his face pale as if plunged into the depths of a nightmare. Sir Glus pointed shakily at Brand, "You... you..." The incident of leaving his comrades and fleeing twenty years ago, he thought no one knew, yet now a young man exposed him instantly.

Brand fell silent, for he had no intention to mock Glus. As he said, he merely brought back the lost honor for him.

Behind him, the Black Wolf pack surged like a tide. Horses and wolves were opposing creatures, yet Brand, riding his horse, could stand unwavering within the wolf tide, an eerie scene that intensified the fear in people's hearts. Then, the Black Wolves collided with the noble soldiers of Glus.

As if black paint spilled into a gray-green line.

At that moment, time slowed, the leveled long spears simultaneously stabbed into the colt-sized Black Wolves, but the metallic spearheads couldn't pierce the wolves' tough fur, let alone the armored plates beneath. The long spears bent, splintered, cracking, the fragmented wood raising a mist on the frontline of the battlefield.

Most of Sir Glus's noble soldiers were still White Rank, infantry junior NCOs often were only at Black Iron Rank; how could they oppose the Silver Middle Rank Black Wolves? The first line of defense composed of over a thousand infantry was breached almost instantly, turning into a sieve full of holes.

Human soldiers began to retreat, mixed with cries and screams.

Sir Glus seemed to awaken from his nightmare only then; he immediately ordered his knights to stabilize the second line of defense. The knights were all warrior-level with silver power; they took command upon entering the battlefield, attempting to stabilize morale with ordinary soldiers' assistance.

But the Grusians' line had started habitually collapsing inward, the wolves tearing a giant hole, and this breach pointed directly at the hilltop where Sir Glus stood. Perhaps influenced by Brand's earlier words, Sir Glus resolutely stood his ground, silently watching the battle unfold below, long sword in hand.