With the decision made, the entire temporary camp began to operate with astonishing efficiency, like a precision war machine with its springs tightened.
Hask, that war beast who never knew the meaning of "fatigue," immediately threw himself into the heavy and trivial logistics coordination work with an attitude of absolute, unquestionable obedience.
He directed the remaining tribesmen to dismantle the tents and pack the supplies.
He and the equally reliable Barton stood like two unshakable black iron towers, arranging the camp's evacuation in an orderly and flawless manner.
Barton led a team to clear the snow and obstacles from the return route; the two worked seamlessly together—one inside, one outside; one static, one dynamic—keeping the camp, which might have otherwise fallen into chaos, in perfect order.
Meanwhile, Colin was inside the massive tent that symbolized absolute power, making his final preparations before the expedition.
Three hundred newly recruited Snow Giant Wolf cavalrymen had already assembled on the snowfield outside the tent, which was illuminated golden by the morning light!
They were dressed in uniform, lightweight leather armor, clutching standard Wolf Fang spears in their hands, the spear tips glinting with a cold light in the morning sun. The Snow Giant Wolves beneath them held their heads high, their heavy breaths forming clouds of white mist in the freezing air, while their eyes burned with the same restlessness and fanaticism as their masters.
Every one of their faces was filled with a mixture of excitement, nervousness, and a fanatical, bloodthirsty craving for the first real war that was about to begin!
They were no longer the numb slaves who had been whipped like walking corpses in the Northern Mine!
They were the first true Snow Giant Wolf cavalry under Colin's command!
Although they had only been training with their respective Snow Giant Wolf partners for less than a week, although the weapons in their hands were merely the most basic standard Wolf Fang spears mass-produced by the dwarf Gerber's smithy, and although they wore only lightweight leather armor—
Yet, when they straddled the backs of those wild and powerful Snow Giant Wolves, and when they felt the surging power of destruction emanating from their formidable partners beneath them, an unprecedented sense of confidence and pride, enough to make their souls tremble, instantly flooded every cell in their bodies!
It was as if they had rediscovered the honor and dignity belonging to the wolf race, which had long been completely extinguished by endless enslavement and torture!
And those thirteen Wolf Guards, armed to the teeth and as silent as death itself, stood like thirteen sharp, cold blades drawn from their scabbards, surrounding Colin's massive tent.
They wore lightweight iron-studded leather armor, war blades with a faint, eerie gleam at their waists, and repeating crossbows filled with short bolts on their backs. Every movement was as steady as a mountain, their eyes as cold as eternal ice, and their bodies exuded a thick scent of blood—the aura of death accumulated from countless life-and-death battles.
They were the soul and the spearhead of this young, vibrant, emerging army!
They would use the cold killing techniques honed thru countless baptisms of blood and fire to tear open a bloody path to victory and glory for these rookies who were stepping onto the battlefield for the first time!
The last one to be brought out was the werewolf youth who had been imprisoned for several days.
He was brought before Colin, held by his arms on either side by two tall Boar-folk warriors.
He had been changed into a clean, thick leather garment that, while a bit large, was enough to withstand the bitter cold.
On his face, the wounds that had originally been filled with grime and bloodstains had been carefully cleaned, revealing a delicate face that, while sallow from long-term malnutrition, was filled with the stubbornness and unruliness of a lone wolf of the wilderness.
He was no longer as hostile and angry as he had been a few days ago.
He just lowered his head quietly, his pitch-black eyes, like the deepest obsidian, staring fixedly at the snow beneath his feet, which had been trampled into a mess by countless giant Wolf Claws and heavy combat boots.
His fingers curled unconsciously, his nails digging deep into his palms, betraying the turmoil in his heart—there was fear, confusion, and a hint of curiosity that even he himself had not noticed.
No one knew what he was thinking.
Colin walked slowly out of the tent.
He had long since changed into a set of iron-studded leather armor that shimmered with a cold metallic luster, custom-made for him by the dwarf Gerber himself!
It was a piece of killing art filled with a simple yet violent esthetic!
The streamlined design perfectly conformed to his vigorous body, which was full of explosive power. Every joint was designed just right, ensuring te was the leader of the "Residual Bone" tribe, which had long since reached the brink of extinction.