Translator: AnubisTL
Rainwater dripped from Glack the hyena-man's coarse animal-hide cloak.
He crouched atop the crooked wooden watchtower, his soaked fur clinging to his skin, making him itch all over. He scratched at the fleas on his neck, caught one, and popped it into his mouth. Then he narrowed his red-glowing eyes, gazing out at the muddy wasteland stretching before him.
"Damn this rainy season," the hyena-man muttered, a guttural growl of discontent rumbling in his throat.
This was the territory of the Redeye Clan: Howling Crag.
The settlement was a haphazard mix of natural rock caves and crude wooden shacks.
Hyena-men were poor builders but skilled raiders. Skewered on crooked wooden stakes were the wind-dried heads of their prey—some beasts, others the unlucky victims of passing merchant caravans.
There were even a few hyena-man heads among them, those of traitors or cowards executed by the warlord.
Glack was a sentry. His task was simple: watch for approaching ferocious beasts, demonic creatures, or signs of other monster clans. If he spotted any, he would blow his bone whistle to alert his comrades.
But today, something else had caught his eye.
A flicker of movement in the distant rain curtain—something moving, gone in an instant.
It narrowed its eyes, its reddish-brown pupils contracting to slits in the dim light as it strained to see through the rain. The downpour blurred its vision, leaving it with only a hazy view of the desolate wilderness and swaying shrubs.
Finding no suspicious targets, it indifferently withdrew its gaze, yawning and resuming its listless watch.
A sudden, piercing cackle erupted from below.
Glancing down, it saw several hyena-men dragging a deer carcass toward the rocky cave. As they walked, they tore chunks of flesh from the carcass with their claws and stuffed them into their mouths. Their fur was stained with mud and blood, and saliva mixed with rainwater dripped from their fangs.
"Hey, Glack!"
One of the hyena-men looked up and called out, his voice raspy like sandpaper: "Come down and eat! No one would dare approach Howling Crag in this weather anyway!"
Glack hesitated.
Howling Crag stood on high ground, easily defended and difficult to attack. Its perimeter was ringed with spiked traps and deep pits, the bottoms of which were lined with sharpened, poison-tipped wooden stakes.
Unless danger came from the sky, there was little need for vigilance.
The sentry tower was cold and Glack was hungry, but he knew the consequences of abandoning his post. Just last month, a lazy sentry who had fallen asleep was personally torn in half by Warlord Bloodtooth, and his corpse still hung drying on a stake to the east.
"No thanks. You guys enjoy."
It shook its head, forcing itself to keep staring into the rain.
In hyena-man society, the law of the jungle reigned supreme: the strong devoured the weak.
The hyena warlord known as Bloodtooth, absolute ruler of the Redeye Clan, maintained his authority through violence and terror.
Glack had personally witnessed Bloodtooth tear out an enemy's throat with his teeth, then claw out the victim's heart and devour it before the entire hyena-man horde.
Devouring a comrade's heart.
Even to the savage hyena-men, this was a horrifying act.
The Rotclaw Priest represented another kind of power.
Glack's gaze drifted involuntarily toward the depths of the cavern, where faint, guttural chanting and the acrid stench of burning flesh drifted from the shadows.
As a priest, Rotclaw rarely appeared before ordinary hyena-men. He always lurked in the darkest corners, slitting the throats of captives with his dagger and smearing their blood onto bone shards etched with runes.
Rumor had it that he could curse enemies with wounds that would never heal, and even briefly resurrect dead hyena-men to continue fighting—at the cost of their souls' eternal torment.
The memory of that ghastly scene sent a shiver down Glack's spine.
He loathed Rotclaw, but he feared defying him even more.
Every hyena-man knew that offending the priest was far more disastrous than angering the warlord.
At least Bloodtooth would grant you a swift death, while Rotclaw's curse would leave you howling in agony for three days and nights before you finally succumbed.
Glack knew the two leaders were far from harmonious. Bloodtooth considered Rotclaw's rituals too slow, while Rotclaw deemed Bloodtooth reckless and mindless. Yet, despite their differences, they jointly ruled the Redeye Clan, securing the hyena-men a foothold in the vast wilderness.
The rain intensified, and Glack hunched its shoulders, pulling its cloak tighter.
The hyena-man culture had no concept of "loyalty," only "obedience to the strong."
Glack felt no particular respect for either Bloodtooth or Rotclaw, but it understood perfectly well that on Howling Crag, the weak either obeyed or became decorations on wooden stakes. This principle held true across the wider wilderness as well.
It glanced again at the empty horizon.
"Looks like nothing's happening today either."
Before the words had fully left its mouth, a dark shadow streaked across the clouds, moving so fast it seemed like an illusion.
Glack's fur bristled instantly, and a primal terror gripped its heart. It tried to blow its bone whistle, but its claws froze mid-air, and only a faint whimper escaped its throat.
The creature reappeared, this time closer and without concealing itself.
The creature—the dragon—hovered above Howling Crag.
Rain cascaded down its layered scales, flowing along the grooves to gather into silver droplets at the tips of its claws. It hung motionless, neither attacking nor roaring, its gaze sweeping calmly over the territory below. An indescribable aura of power and oppression radiated from its form—serene yet menacing.
At the sight of the dragonkind, Glack's limbs began to tremble uncontrollably.
He had faced ferocious beasts and powerful demonic creatures before, but never had he experienced such paralyzing fear.
His stomach churned, his teeth chattered uncontrollably, and even his tail stiffened like a frozen rope.
Born with an innate sensitivity to danger, Glack possessed the keenest senses in the entire Redeye Clan, making him their sentinel. Now, every nerve in his body screamed in alarm.
Run!
But he couldn't move.
Dead legs! Move! Move!
Glack screamed inwardly, but his legs felt like lead, frozen into statues, refusing to obey his commands. In the throes of terror, torn between his mind and body, the hyena-man's eyes rolled back, and he fainted.
Garos blinked, noticing the hyena-man sentinel's loss of composure.
"Scared to death? No, more likely fainted."
He radiated dragon might to announce his arrival, instilling fear and terror in most hyena-men of the Redeye Clan. Yet few actually fainted outright.
Sometimes, a duller perception can be a blessing.
For instance, not fully grasping the sheer danger and horror of the dragon before them.
The hyena-man sentinel fainted precisely because its senses were too sharp.
At the heart of Howling Crag lay a cavern, half natural and half artificially carved into a multi-tiered structure.
Hyena-men swarmed from the cavern's depths, their backs hunched, muscles taut, red eyes gleaming through the rain, and saliva mixed with fear dripping from their fangs.
Garos could smell the stench carried on the wind: rotting meat, rancid animal oil, and the hyena-men's distinctive musky odor.
The hyena-men wore looted iron armor and wielded spiked clubs and other weapons. Some of the larger ones bore equipment etched with alchemical runes, indicating superior craftsmanship.
Several burly hyena-men gripped grappling hooks, but they didn't make any rash moves, their eyes warily fixed on Garos.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the rocky cavern.
The copper ring in Hyena Warlord Bloodtooth's ear gleamed crimson in the rain as he puffed out his chest, displaying the jagged scar that bisected his torso—proof of his having torn a petrifying lizard apart with his bare hands.
He strode toward Garos, stopping beneath him, and spoke with deferential respect: "Noble giant dragon, why have you graced our humble Howling Crag with your presence?"
By nature, hyena-men revered and followed powerful dragons.
The key word was powerful.
If a weak dragon dared to trespass, they wouldn't hesitate to kill it, using its blood in rituals to strengthen their clan.
The hyena warlord measured Garos's size with a sidelong glance.
Though his physique was undeniably formidable, a dragon body less than eight meters long was hardly exceptional. After all, the Redeye Clan had hunted demonic beasts exceeding ten meters in length.
As he waited for Garos's reply, Bloodtooth's eyes flickered, his spine straightening slightly as a different idea took root in his mind.
(End of the Chapter)
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