Book 5: Chapter 61: Death by a Thousand Cuts

“I don’t think we’ll be able to hold, Commander,” the young man said, avoiding Frost’s eyes. Admitting defeat felt shameful, but Frost couldn’t blame the young man for his pessimism. They had been pushed back day after day, losing men and ground along the way.

The situation was grim.

By now, they had already retreated halfway through the tunnel leading to their sanctum, and their hastily built defenses were already crumbling. After this, only one line of defense remained before they would have to make their final stand.

Frost rubbed his tired eyes, looking at the young man standing before him. He was one of the newly promoted Elders—too many of them had been promoted lately. On the first day alone, two Elders had died, and in the two weeks that followed, they had lost four more. Their heirs had been ready to take their places, but only a handful had survived to see this day.

He’s not going to make it either, Frost thought, noting the nervousness of the young warrior. Two of his elder siblings had already fallen, and this was likely the end of their line.

“We’ll do what we must,” another voice interrupted.

Frost glanced at the speaker—Elder Claw, once the youngest among them, now one of the most senior. Claw stood up, his fierce gaze sweeping over the frightened men. It was a miracle he’d survived the first day, but the battles had hardened him. The boy he had once been was gone, reborn as a man and a warrior.

Elder Claw turned to face him. “Your orders, commander?”

Frost sighed as he rose from his seat. All eyes turned to him, but he no longer cared for the attention. He felt like a man twice his age, his steps heavy with the weight of exhaustion. He was weary… weary of sending his brothers and sisters to their deaths, weary of losing day after day, weary of this unending battle that gnawed at his very soul.

“The plan remains the same as yesterday. Conserve your strength, rotate the frontline frequently, and retreat when the poison becomes too thick.”

There were no cheers anymore—those had faded long ago. Only a chorus of half-hearted murmurs followed the announcement. The strategy meeting ended as it had the last few times, with everyone returning to their posts in low spirits. On their way out, the two outsiders, Ash and Gravitas, gave him a slight nod.

Technically, they weren’t supposed to attend this gathering, but no one objected. The followers of the human Mage had proven their worth time and again, and it was no exaggeration to say the tribe would have fallen without them. Their presence also boosted morale; their eyes still burned with strength and determination, a rare sight among the battle-weary men.

“They still hold hope that the human will come for them,” Elder Fang rasped from beside him, a trace of melancholy in his voice.

“I don’t begrudge them their faith,” Frost replied. “At least it gives them something to hold onto in these dark times. I don’t know what we’d do if they lost hope too…”

“Now that we are already on the subject…” Elder Fang started. “I had to take another 25 off the active roster. The poison's spread too far—they wouldn’t survive another fight.”

“How many does that leave?” Frost asked.

“About a third, but some of them are nearly as bad,” Elder Fang answered, his face pale and worn. He had been on the frontlines since the beginning, never missing a single battle. If you measured how much poison each tribe member had endured, Fang was likely the most affected. And yet, he still refused to take a break. No, it was more likely that he knew they couldn’t afford for him to take a break.

Frost nodded grimly. “If we survive today, tomorrow will be our last stand.”

Saying it out loud made the reality sink in—none of them would see the end of the week. His head slumped, and his snow-white hair fell forward, obscuring his view.

From beside him, he heard Elder Fang’s voice. “For what it’s worth, I’m certain your father would be proud to see the leader you’ve become.”

Frost smiled bitterly, not looking up. “What kind of leader is that? The one who led his people to ruin?”

Elder Fang shook his head. “The kind of leader who did all he could—until the very end.”

Frost finally looked up. He studied the old warrior. The veins on Elder Fang’s neck bulged, swollen from the poison coursing through him. He had to be in immense pain, yet the man bore it with unwavering stoicism. Despite everything, the Elder still cut a menacing figure, his gaze as fierce and unyielding as ever.

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“If anything, it’s you who deserves to be honored, teacher,” Frost said. “The entire tribe knows of your heroics during these dark times, and none will forget.”

The Elder smiled faintly. “I haven't been your teacher for a long time, boy, but your words are appreciated. I just hope the ancestor will see it the same way when I meet him in the afterlife.”

“Don’t worry,” Frost said, a light smile coming to his lips. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”

Elder Fang chuckled. “That would be appreciated.” He extended his forearm, and Frost clasped it firmly. The grip was tight enough to shatter an average person's bones, but for them, it was just a friendly squeeze. Despite his state, the Elder still retained much of his strength, and Frost felt his spirits lift by the display of camaraderie from the old warrior.

They let go at the same time, and Elder Fang took a step back. “It should be nearly dawn,” he said, looking toward the mouth of the cave. “We should get ready.”

Frost nodded, his gaze blazing with a determination that had been absent for the last few days. “Let’s show them the sharpness of our fangs.”

***

Ash and Gravitas walked along the makeshift defenses. They wouldn’t hold—they never did. Since losing the town, every new battle line had crumbled within hours, forcing them to retreat again and again. But now, there was no more ground to give. This final curve in the tunnel was the last defense before they reached the tribe's sanctum, Winter’s Heart.

“What do you think?” Gravitas asked from behind.

Ash turned slowly, “Today is the day.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her purple eyes. “Already? Why? We didn't do that badly yesterday.”

Ash sighed. “You haven't checked in on the troops lately, have you?”

Gravitas shook her head. “I've been busy looking after that idiot.”

Despite the grim mood, Ash smirked. Gravitas might only ever have harsh words for their companion, but her actions told a different story. She had even sacrificed sleep to care for him while he fought off the poison. It was heartwarming to see such a fierce woman show such tenderness. However, his brief smile vanished a moment later.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he explained. “The poison keeps building up in their bodies, pushing them closer to the edge. If they had a few days of rest, most would recover. But instead, they're forced to fight over and over. I’d say the average warrior can barely muster half their usual strength by now.”

Gravitas’s expression grew serious. While the snakes had superior numbers, the wolves boasted greater individual strength. But that equilibrium was shifting now. It was becoming clear why their enemies favored a slow, methodical approach. Their plan wasn’t to win through a direct assault but to wear them down over time—a death by a thousand cuts.

“Should we go ahead with the plan?” Gravitas asked after a moment of silence.

Ash grimaced. It was wise to act quickly, but carrying out their strategy felt like a betrayal to the tribe and the warriors they had fought alongside. “I think it’s best to wait until the end of the battle. Our leverage won’t go anywhere…”

Gravitas stared at him for a long moment, her gaze piercing. It was clear that she had seen through his feeble attempt to justify his decision. It wasn’t a smart choice; it stemmed from his reluctance to abandon the tribe. After a moment of silence, she nodded. “Very well. But don’t forget where your loyalties lie…”

After saying her piece, Gravitas marched off, likely heading to her designated spot in the defensive line. Ash remained where he was, a complicated expression on his face. Forget where his loyalties lie… As if he could.

Even now, he still felt the lingering compulsion of the Slave Ritual in his mind. Although it wasn't as strong as before, he believed it would be impossible to betray his Master—not that he wanted to. It was just… was it so wrong to want to save the tribe too? To not betray his new allies for a chance at survival?

Ash sighed. Ultimately, the decision wasn’t his to make. Even if he wanted to save the tribe, he couldn’t. The only choice left to him was whether to die with them or try to save himself when the time came. With that thought, his feet began to move again, and he soon found himself among the men.

“Ash!” somebody called to him. Even without turning his head, he knew who it was.

“Elder Howl,” Ash greeted the young man. It was the same person who had spoken during the gathering. Ash had known him for a while, long before he had become the Elder of his line. But he still addressed him with the proper title.

“That name sounds strange, coming from you,” the young warrior said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

Ash smiled, feeling quite fond of the young man. Given just a few more years, he could have become a formidable warrior in his own right. However, life was seldom fair, and now the young Elder was expected to take on responsibilities far beyond his abilities.

“Do you think we’ll be able to drive them back today?” the young man asked, drawing several pairs of eyes in their direction. Ash sighed inwardly; the boy really wasn’t cut out for this. He needed to be a figure the men could look up to, a pillar of support. Instead, he still acted like a youth himself.

“Of course,” Ash lied. “The commander must have prepared something special for today. Don’t you see how confident he looks?”

Elder Howl, along with many others, turned to look at Frost, who stood elevated and easily visible. There seemed to be a strange new air about him. If Ash hadn’t been certain there was no such plan, he might have been fooled himself.

Elder Howl turned back to him. “Do you know his plan?” he whispered, though his voice was loud enough for the surrounding wolfkin to hear.

Ash shook his head. “It must be a secret.”

Elder Howl’s eyes widened. “Like the time he created a tunnel for us to get food?”

“Exactly,” Ash replied, though he didn’t feel his lie was very convincing. However, the men and women around them began to whisper excitedly. For those desperate enough, even the faintest rumor felt like an ironclad declaration.

As the young warriors chatted among themselves, Ash seized the opportunity to slip away. He didn’t want to answer any more questions; he had no answers to give and already felt guilty for lying to them. But telling the truth wasn’t an option either. ‘You are all going to die today’ wasn’t something he wanted to ever voice aloud.

He momentarily turned into mist and slipped inside a crack in the walls. There, he had previously found a spot that was big enough for him to fit. It would be his hiding spot. If he got lucky, he might catch another Pureblood unaware. In that cramped space, Ash waited, fiddling with his bone knives as he awaited the coming battle.