Chapter 39: The Moon-Howling Silver Wolf King

The slaughter upon the ramparts had begun. While cavalry possesses the advantage of momentum and initiative during a charge, once they are forced onto the confined space of a city wall, those advantages often transform into liabilities. However, these Moon-Howling Wolves were so ferociously savage that they suffered no such disadvantage in close-quarters combat.

The pairing of rebel soldiers with Moon-Howling Wolves was an ad-hoc arrangement, failing to achieve the seamless unity of rider and beast. Their coordination in movement and attack was inevitably disjointed; at times, a rebel would attempt to shift right, only for the wolf to lung forward, jaws snapping and claws raking. This lack of synchronization created moments of chaotic vulnerability, which the defenders were quick to exploit, cutting down both man and beast.

Steel clashed with steel, spears danced, shields blocked, and wolf claws tore through the air. The rebels fought with a viciousness far exceeding their behavior back at the camp, yet the defenders, tempered by Feng Zhong’s rigorous training, stood their ground, their counterattacks precise and methodical.

*Awoooo!*

A howl echoed across the battlefield. Upon hearing it, the Moon-Howling Wolves erupted into a frenzy. A crimson mist suddenly manifested, swirling around their bodies before being absorbed into their hides. Their forms surged and swelled like over-inflated balloons, and their already bloodshot eyes turned a deeper, more menacing shade of crimson, seemingly leaking blood.

This was the lupine racial talent: the Bloodthirst Art.

In the monster camps, these wolves had never once displayed this ability, even unto death. It was clear that the Moon-Howling Silver Wolf King was now commanding its kin. It possessed both intellect and tactical authority. If they could locate and slay the King, the leaderless pack would lose its greatest threat.

Feng Zhong had been searching for the Silver Wolf King since the battle began, but it had vanished the moment the charge sounded. Amidst thousands of wolves, finding a beast intentionally concealing itself was no easy task. Seeing the wolves activate their Bloodthirst—their size and lethality surging—Feng Zhong immediately planted his Yellow Springs Spear into the ground and unleashed his skills:

[Divine Strategy]: Active skill, cannot be upgraded. Upon activation, the combat effectiveness of the legion under his command increases by 100% for 10 hours.

[God of War]: Tactical power, active skill, cannot be upgraded. During warfare, it boosts the morale of soldiers by 100% and increases the chance of critical hits for 10 hours.

Simultaneously, he activated the [Earth-Bearing Formation], granting all soldiers +50 to defense. This was the first formation Feng Zhong had unlocked; the others remained stubbornly dormant—frustrating!

Empowered by these skills, the soldiers fought as if possessed. Their weapons moved faster, their strikes landed with greater lethality, and their combat prowess surged. Lin Mu felt the boon as well; checking his stats, he saw his combat power had hit 6,520—equivalent to 62 points of martial prowess. It was an astonishing leap.

Like the other soldiers, Lin Mu avoided head-on collisions with the wolf-riders, instead utilizing side-steps, piercing thrusts, and shield blocks. Repeatedly, he wore down the massive beasts until, finally, they collapsed, and he finished off their riders with a single strike of his spear.

The advantages of high-quality soldiers began to manifest. Their superior stamina, martial prowess, and endurance—further bolstered by Feng Zhong’s buffs—allowed them to push their combat power past the ten-thousand mark, making short work of the seven-to-eight-thousand-power wolf-riders.

The ten thousand wolf-riders began to suffer catastrophic casualties. On the azure stone walls, blood sprayed across the ruined parapets, painting a scene of gruesome carnage. The once-pristine walls were now marred by claw marks, blade gashes, and spear holes—a testament to the brutality of war.

The blood belonged to the wolves, the defenders, and most of all, the rebel soldiers. Of the fifty thousand rebels, ten thousand were mounted, but the remaining forty thousand had to charge on foot. The fighting was so fierce that each of the 1,200 defenders was surrounded by five or six wolf-riders at any given time. Despite their high-quality steel armor, weapons, and shields, they could only slowly whittle down their attackers.

The most intense fighting was centered around Feng Zhong and Xiaohu.

Feng Zhong had observed the battlefield for a long time without spotting the Silver Wolf King, so he finally took the initiative. He moved like a thunderbolt, his spear flashing to slay a rebel and his wolf mount in a single, overbearing strike. In just a few breaths, he had slaughtered over twenty riders.

Xiaohu was no less impressive. Having grown accustomed to fighting cavalry, he began to dominate his sector. One strike to fell the rebel, another to slay the beast—it was a fluid, tiger-like display of martial arts worthy of a high-ranking general. Together, they operated like a meat grinder, striking terror into the hearts of the wolf-riders.

"Brothers, kill them! These wolf-riders have the momentum but no substance! Take them down, and we’ll have a wolf-meat feast tonight! Hahaha!" Feng Zhong shouted, his voice booming as he skewered another rider.

"Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill every enemy that dares violate our territory!" The soldiers' morale soared.

Slowly, the tide of the battle began to turn in favor of the defenders.

Sensing that victory was slipping away, the long-hidden Silver Wolf King finally revealed itself—not in a glorious charge, but in a cowardly ambush. It had realized that Feng Zhong was the greatest threat to its kin, so it had lurked within the pack, waiting for a lapse in his defense to strike a killing blow.

Feng Zhong, however, was not afraid of the King attacking him; he feared it would target the ordinary soldiers, causing casualties he could not justify to his lord. These soldiers were the fruits of months of effort; to suffer heavy losses in such a minor siege would make the upcoming campaign against the Green Dragon Stronghold impossible.

After felling a rider, Feng Zhong felt a chilling draft behind him. Instead of alarm, he felt joy. *Finally, you’ve shown yourself!*

He executed a "returning horse" spear strike. *Clang!* The spearhead met the wolf's claws, and both recoiled, neither gaining an advantage.

"Heh heh heh, finally!" Feng Zhong laughed, a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Awoooo, awoooo..." The Silver Wolf King howled in response. This human had slaughtered too many of its kin. In the mere ten minutes it had hidden, this man had killed over three hundred of its pack. Forced by the heavy losses, the King had no choice but to confront this terrifying human. To the beast, the man felt like a colossal predator standing in its path, yet it was driven by a dark destiny to destroy this village.

Kill! Kill!

The level 60 Silver Wolf King possessed combat power equivalent to a Profound-tier general with 80 points of martial prowess. Although Feng Zhong had the foundation of a Divine General, his current level was still low; nonetheless, holding his own against the beast was well within his capabilities.

Feng Zhong’s spear became a blur of dreamlike shadows, accompanied by the thunderous sound of air being rent asunder. The Silver Wolf King was equally formidable, using its powerful claws and fangs with savage efficiency. Having evolved into a Primary Spirit Beast, it could manipulate the energy of the world, occasionally spitting out blades of wind that left numerous wounds on Feng Zhong’s body.

Their duel raged from the ramparts to the ground, back to the walls, and into the village itself. Buildings collapsed under the force of their struggle, a testament to the ferocity of the clash.

Without Feng Zhong anchoring the line, the wolf-riders regained the upper hand. The remaining thousand soldiers began to struggle, their situation worsening by the minute. Half an hour had passed, and unlike when Feng Zhong was present, the casualties began to mount, filling Lin Mu with anxious dread.

His own combat power was too low to be of much help. This was the first time Lin Mu had felt such desperation, and the first time he had so hungered for strength.

To his relief, the fighting on the other three sides had concluded. The defenders there had cleared the monsters and were now rushing to provide support.

"Brothers, hold on! We’re here! Kill! Slaughter these beasts!"

The arrival of the 1,800 reinforcements turned the tide once more. A portion of the reinforcements moved to clear the foot-bound rebels beneath the walls, while the rest joined the fray atop the battlements.

The arriving soldiers felt a surge of awe upon seeing their comrades on the wall—their armor shattered, weapons damaged, and faces masked in blood. Everyone knew the western wall was the most dangerous, and that the soldiers stationed there were veterans—the toughest of the tough.

Trained the longest by Feng Zhong, they had stood their ground with iron-willed hearts, unflinchingly guarding the village against the most ferocious threats. Lin Mu felt a profound respect for them; they had faced death without a single word of complaint, using their own flesh and blood to hold back the blades and claws of the enemy.

"Kill! Protect the village! Slaughter the invaders!" The soldiers roared in unison.

Some soldiers, their guts torn open by wolf claws, would grab the beast's legs with their dying breath, driving their weapons into the wolf's maw to pierce its brain, taking the monster down with them. Others, focused entirely on the wolves, would be decapitated by the rebels riding them.

The battle was harrowing. This was the first true war the village army had ever faced—a baptism of blood that would forge them into something greater.

Lin Mu had lost count of how many times he had swung his steel spear. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He checked his stamina: only 26 points remained out of 100. A mere half-hour of fighting had drained him significantly. The other soldiers, while more talented, were also reaching their limits. Stamina was a critical issue; the territory lacked the alchemical knowledge to produce restorative elixirs or food, leaving them to rely on common supplies.

Lin Mu longed for the restorative pills of his past life. It was a pity the territory lacked the recipes.

With the addition of 1,800 soldiers, the casualties began to taper off. The scales of victory tipped back toward Lin Mu. After felling another wolf-rider, he took a brief moment to catch his breath. The battlefield was thinning; the wall was no longer choked with enemies.

He applied some styptic powder to his wounds and looked toward Feng Zhong’s duel. It was a gruesome spectacle. Feng Zhong’s deerskin tunic was in tatters, covered in claw marks. His exclusive armor remained sealed and unusable, providing no more protection than standard gear. Yet, the Yellow Springs Spear in his hand remained sharp, shimmering with a bloodthirsty light.

Feng Zhong bore several bite wounds, blood flowing freely, but his focus remained locked on the Silver Wolf King. The beast was faring no better; three holes punctured its hide, one of which had pierced a leg, severely hampering its speed. This only deepened its frenzy, and it lunged forward, sinking its fangs deep into the human’s shoulder.