Chapter 95: Prophecy, Loyalty!

The territory of the Howling Moon Clan was shrouded in the night.

Russell stood on the rocky platform of Crescent Valley, his cyan mane now streaked with gray.

Graymane Werewolves do not live long, only about fifty years.

Six years had turned this once young chieftain into middle age; his fur was no longer as vibrant as before, but his eyes remained as sharp as knives.

In the valley, the werewolf warriors were resting.

Their bodies bore both old and new wounds—some left by ogres, others from hunting or internal skirmishes.

Russell knew very well that discontent was growing within the clan.

The young challenger, Bristlefire, had publicly questioned his decisions more than once during assemblies, and the old Shaman, over sixty years old, was nearing the end of his life; his mind growing increasingly foggy and chaotic, no longer able to stabilize the clan like before.

A deep wolf howl echoed from afar.

The patrol had returned.

Russell leapt down the valley slope and rushed back to the territory below to communicate with the patrol and understand the situation.

The news they brought back was not optimistic.

The Bonegnaw Clan ogres were still expanding, and it was only a matter of time before they approached Crescent Valley again.

Russell silently exhaled.

He looked up at the night sky as if waiting for something.

The Dragon Lord from six years ago had promised to return, but time was wearing down the clan’s patience, and some members had already forgotten the dragon’s power; different voices were rising within the clan.

Russell took steady steps, patrolling within the territory.

By the fire pit deep inside the territory, several werewolf warriors who had just finished patrol were tearing at the legs of their prey, the dripping fat sizzling on the charcoal.

“Bristlefire provoked the chieftain again today at the training ground.”

A young werewolf warrior spat out bone fragments and lowered his voice, “He scratched half of the battle totem the chieftain carved on the rock wall right in front of everyone.”

Bristlefire, the werewolf nicknamed for his fiery mane, had parents who initially opposed loyalty to dragons but were defeated by Russell himself and transformed into giant wolves.

Therefore, Bristlefire bore a grudge against Russell.

After six more years of growth, this somewhat talented young werewolf had become the strongest warrior of the new generation, no longer hiding his hostility toward the chieftain and aiming to challenge his position.

An old warrior sneered, showing his broken canine teeth.

“Six years ago, Bristlefire was still trembling in fear of the venomous snake, only daring to hide behind his mother. Now he dares to point at the chieftain’s claws.”

“But the chieftain really is getting old,” a female werewolf lowered her voice, her ears twitching cautiously.

“Last time during the bison hunt, the chieftain’s sprint was half a beat slow. If Frostfang hadn’t timely supplemented with spells, the prey would have escaped.”

The fire crackled and popped.

Russell’s figure appeared on the other side; the young warriors shrank their necks, not daring to speak.

Passing by several warriors, Russell seemed to hear nothing and walked straight toward a stone house nestled against the cliff.

Around a bonfire, Bristlefire was sharing a freshly hunted wild boar with three loyal followers.

The fresh meat still steaming was torn into bloody strips by sharp teeth, eaten raw without roasting or cooking. Young werewolf warriors preferred fresh meat.

Bristlefire was a tall and strong werewolf.

Among his blue-gray mane were streaks of red that fluttered like blazing fire in the wind, hence his nickname.

While devouring the fresh meat, Bristlefire’s gaze fell on Chieftain Russell, watching him enter the old Shaman’s house.

“The old man’s prestige is weakening; last time the hunt almost let the prey escape.”

Bristlefire licked the bloodstains on his paws; his fur flickered in the firelight as he said, “His claws aren’t as sharp as mine anymore, and his body isn’t as strong.”

A scarred werewolf whispered, “The chieftain has been going to the Shaman’s house a lot lately. Is he preparing some ritual to strengthen himself?”

Bristlefire slammed a paw against the rock wall, sending fragments falling.

“The Shaman is already incoherent. He can’t grant any strength.”

“At the next full moon festival, I will challenge Russell in front of the entire clan.” He bared his gleaming white fangs. “By then, I will become the new chieftain of the Howling Moon Clan!”

The old Shaman was near death.

Frostfang Belle, Russell’s daughter and the chosen Shaman successor, was still a young and inexperienced Shaman without the old Shaman’s prestige and posed no threat to him.

Bristlefire had made up his mind.

He must replace Russell.

Russell’s paws gently pushed aside the beast skin curtain hanging at the stone house door; a stale mixture of burnt herbs and decay wafted out.

The old Shaman’s house was darker than six years ago.

He curled up on the bed in the corner, his hunched figure almost blending into the shadows.

Beside him sat a slightly smaller female werewolf, her teeth bright white, mane braided into tiny plaits, wearing a necklace of beast bones around her neck.

Frostfang Belle, Russell’s daughter and Shaman heir.

She was patiently grooming the old Shaman’s fur, carefully picking out fleas, but stopped and stepped outside upon seeing her father arrive.

Hearing footsteps, the old Shaman’s cloudy yellow eyes slowly turned; his pupils dimmed and lifeless.

“Russell... you... have come...”

The old Shaman’s voice squeezed out of his wind-ripped skin pouch, slow and hoarse with phlegm.

Russell nodded and silently crouched by the fire pit.

Six years ago, this stone house was the clan’s most sacred place; the old Shaman’s prophecies could precisely predict the arrival time of the rainy season.

Now, only withered brushwood burned in the fire pit, the flames weak and sickly.

“I can’t suppress Bristlefire much longer.”

Russell sighed, exhaustion showing between his brows. “He’s gifted and growing fast, while I’ve passed my peak.”

Bristlefire was ruthless and vindictive, lacking the vision and stature to lead the clan.

As a warrior, he was excellent, but if he became chieftain, it would spell disaster for the Howling Moon Clan. However, the clan revered strength, and if Bristlefire defeated him through formal challenge, Russell could not stop him from ascending.

“It’s... it’s nothing... The Dragon Lord... is about... to arrive.”

A faint smile appeared in the old Shaman’s cloudy eyes.

Russell was momentarily stunned, his eyes brightening with spirit as he asked, “Is this true? Are you certain?”

The old Shaman, like a last flicker of light before extinction, coughed lightly and his voice became clear and continuous.

“My life is nearing its end. Fortunately, perhaps due to the ancestors’ spirits’ protection, I glimpsed a part of the future.”

“What future?”

Russell asked.

The old Shaman did not answer.

The future was never fixed. Revealing prophecy would backfire on the seer and alter the future.

Every seer or Shaman who practiced prophecy was a master of secrecy.

The old Shaman lifted his withered claw, gripping Russell’s arm tightly, and spoke every word clearly: “You must, must follow behind the Dragon Lord! No matter what happens, do not waver in your loyalty! This is the Howling Moon Clan’s most crucial opportunity.”

Russell solemnly nodded, then watched the old Shaman slowly close his eyes.

A feeling of sorrow and melancholy welled up inside him.

This venerable elder was still passing away...

Snore—the old Shaman’s mouth emitted a snoring sound, breaking Russell’s sorrowful mood.

He had merely fallen into a deep sleep, not died.

The old werewolf feared wind and cold; Russell covered him with a quilt.

Boom!

Suddenly, a muffled thunder roared from afar, growing louder.

Like the breath of a giant beast, or the sound of wings shaking the air.

The old Shaman, who had just closed his eyes, suddenly opened them wide again; his eyes no longer cloudy.

Russell, slightly stunned, immediately brightened with excitement.

This rolling thunder sound was meaningless to the cubs born in recent years.

But Russell and the old Shaman both knew it well.

“Help me up!”

The old Shaman braced himself and said.