Chapter 1386: The Last Of The Ironfang

Just outside the castle walls stood a vast, seemingly endless garden. It wasn’t unusual, most castles throughout the country had grand courts filled with hedges, blooming plants, and twisting paths. The castle in Ruin City was no different.

But if one ventured further beyond the walls, they’d come across something else, ruins. Crumbling stone, broken pillars, and the remnants of ancient walls littered the landscape. Deep underground, sealed-off entrances led to areas long declared off-limits to the public, even during the city’s peak when it relied heavily on tourism.

Today, however, that forgotten place was beginning to stir again.

A quiet but significant meeting was underway, led by Galark. Several large crates sat stacked around him, being carefully unloaded by members of the pack. Scattered across the area, more than a hundred werewolves stood in small groups, murmuring among themselves.

The conversation was a mix of tension and speculation, some talked about recent events, others whispered about what the future might hold.

Galark tried not to pay too much attention. At times, the things he overheard from his own kind disturbed him.

Some spoke openly about dominating humans, about ushering in a new era where werewolves would walk freely among the public, feared and obeyed. Others, especially the original members of the pack, still clung to a different dream. One of freedom, not control. A dream of no longer needing to hide, no longer living shackled by fear, of simply existing as they were meant to.

It was frustrating.

Werewolves had to restrain their power. Hide their claws. Meanwhile, the vampires were allowed to build entire cities, forming a society all their own.

As Galark stood deep in thought, someone stepped out from the crowd.

He was smaller in stature, around five foot seven, but as he walked toward Galark, many around him moved aside, some even offering respectful nods.

“That’s Slit, right?” one of the werewolves whispered.

“Never seen him before,” another replied.

“Oh, you must be from the outer gardens,” someone added. “Slit’s based closer to the castle. This might be your first time seeing him.”

“Really? I saw Luzen during that fight with the Altered Hunters. He was moving like a blur across the battlefield. Weren’t all the Ironfangs involved?”

“I heard Slit was ordered to stay back at the castle. Lupus didn’t want to risk the base being hit while he was gone. Even if it was empty, the castle’s a symbol. If it falls, morale drops hard.”

As Slit approached, it was hard not to notice the twin daggers strapped to his back, The Eclipse Blades, powerful weapons gifted directly by the Dark Guild.

“I recognize those crates,” Slit said, eyeing the stacked containers. “They’re from the Dark Guild, aren’t they? More gifts? Gotta say, the last batch was… impressive.”

“You’re right,” Galark replied. “The new gear isn’t on the same level as what you and Luzen received, but they’re still powerful. I called the Ironfangs here to help distribute them, choose who’s worthy, who’s talented enough to use them right.”

Slit paused. His expression darkened slightly.

“The rest of us Ironfangs, huh?” he said quietly. “Doesn’t feel like there’s many of us left anymore.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Slit and Luzen were among the last well-known Ironfangs still active, each of them having received the most specialized items the Dark Guild had to offer. Their names carried weight, even among other werewolves.

“I’m still here too,” a voice chimed in as a figure approached.

The man who arrived looked like the polar opposite of Slit. Tall and slender, his face was mostly hidden behind a sleek black mask, with only his sharp eyes visible to those around him.

“Ghost,” Galark greeted. “Didn’t think you’d show. You usually avoid gatherings like this.”

Almost as if on cue, a fourth figure landed in front of them with a clean somersault, bending his knees before rising to full height. His hair was wild as always, and his grin careless.

“Luzen,” Galark muttered, unable to hide his smirk.

And just like that, all three remaining Ironfangs were present, the strongest warriors in Lupus’s group. Ylva, despite her immense power, wasn’t officially part of the Ironfangs. As for Galark himself… his strength was reserved for survival, not battle. He’d fight only if absolutely necessary.

‘Ylva mentioned having a replacement ready for one of the Ironfangs… but I’m not sure how much we can rely on that. We took a hit fighting the Altered Hunters, but if we combine forces with the Howlers… especially with what’s inside those crates… we might just shift the balance,’ Galark thought.

“Now that you’re all here,” Galark said aloud, addressing them, “I want you three to help distribute the items inside these crates. Learn how to use them. Master them. We’ll have better creations eventually, but they’ll still be based on what we have now.”

He paused, his tone firm. “So I’m asking you, the Ironfangs, choose who these tools are best suited for. Pick warriors who will make the most of them.”

The three listened quietly. Unlike with Ylva, they followed Galark’s words without question. One by one, they moved toward the crates and began to inspect the contents.

Excitement started to ripple through the crowd of werewolves. New weapons. New hope. The tension in the air began to shift… until the ground trembled.

At first, it was subtle, just a shiver beneath their feet.

Then it grew stronger.

A deep rumble echoed across the area, shaking the nearby castle walls. Dust fell from high arches. Stone cracked along the garden paths.

The tremors weren’t from above. They were coming from underground.

Members of the Lupus Pack, more in tune with the land than any outsider could be, instantly sensed the danger.

*****

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