Chapter 97 Prophecy, Loyalty!
The territory of the Howling Moon Clan was shrouded in night.
Russell stood on the rocky platform in Crescent Valley, his blue mane now mixed with gray.
Greymane werewolves have a short lifespan, only about fifty years.
Six years have turned this once young chief into a middle-aged man. His hair is no longer as shiny as it used to be, but his eyes are still as sharp as knives.
In the valley, the werewolf warriors were resting.
They bore both new and old scars, some left by the ogres, others by marks of hunting and infighting.
Russell was well aware that discontent was growing within the clan.
The young challenger, Manefire, has publicly questioned its decisions at gatherings more than once, while the old shaman, over sixty years old, is nearing the end of his life, his mind is becoming increasingly confused and muddled, and he is no longer as able to stabilize people's hearts as before.
A low howl of wolves echoed from afar.
The patrol team has returned.
Russell leaped and sped down the valley slope back to his territory below, where he spoke with the patrol and gathered information.
The news they brought back was not optimistic.
The Bone-Chewing Clan's ogres continue to expand, and it's anyone's guess when they'll once again approach Crescent Valley.
Russell let out a silent breath.
It looked up at the night sky, as if waiting for something.
The dragon lord from six years ago promised to return, but time is wearing down the clan's patience. Some clansmen have forgotten the dragon's power, and dissenting voices are emerging within the clan.
Russell strode forward, strolling and surveying the territory.
Deep within the territory, by the fire pit, several werewolf warriors who had just finished their patrol were tearing at the leg meat of their prey, the grease dripping onto the embers and sizzling.
"Manefire provoked the chief again at the training ground today."
A young werewolf warrior spat out bone fragments and said in a low voice, "In front of everyone, it scratched half of the triumph totem that the chieftain had carved on the rock wall."
The werewolf nicknamed Manefire was born because his parents opposed his loyalty to the dragons and were defeated by Russell, who then transformed him into a giant wolf.
therefore.
Mane held a grudge against Russell.
After six more years of growth, this somewhat talented werewolf boy became the strongest werewolf warrior of the new generation, no longer hiding his hostility towards the chief and wanting to challenge its position.
The old soldier sneered, revealing his broken canine teeth.
"Six years ago, Manefire was trembling with fear because of the evil snake and only dared to hide behind his mother. Now he dares to point at the chief's claws."
“But the chief is indeed old.” The female werewolf lowered her voice, her ears twitching warily.
“During the last hunt of the rock bull, the chieftain was a beat too slow in his charge. If Frostfang hadn’t cast a spell in time, the prey would have escaped.”
The fire crackled and popped.
Russell appeared on the other side, and the young werewolf warrior shrank back, not daring to reply.
Russell walked past the soldiers as if he hadn't heard anything, heading straight for a stone house nestled against the cliff.
Around a campfire.
Zong Huo and his three trusted men were sharing the wild boar they had just hunted.
The fresh meat, still steaming hot, was torn into bloody chunks by sharp teeth and eaten directly without being grilled or cooked. The young werewolf warriors preferred fresh meat.
Manefire is a tall, strong werewolf.
Its bluish-gray mane is interspersed with some red, and when it flutters in the wind, it looks like a ball of fire, which is the origin of its nickname.
While devouring the fresh meat, Manefire's gaze fell on Chief Russell, watching him walk into the old shaman's house.
"The old man's prestige is waning; he almost let his prey escape during the last hunt."
Manefire licked the bloodstains between its claws, its fur gleaming in the firelight, and said, "Its claws and teeth are no longer as sharp as mine, nor is its body as strong."
The werewolf with a scar on his face whispered, "The chieftain has been going to the shaman's house a lot lately. Is he preparing some kind of ritual to strengthen himself?"
The mane-like fire slammed its claw into the rock face, sending pebbles tumbling down.
"The shaman is already out of his mind and cannot provide any enhancement."
"At the next Full Moon Festival, I will challenge Russell in front of the entire clan." It bared its gleaming white fangs: "Then, I will become the new chieftain of the Howling Moon Clan!"
The old shaman is dying.
Frostfang, the chosen successor to the shaman position, is currently just a novice young shaman. Lacking the prestige of the old shaman, she poses no threat to him.
Zonghuo made up his mind.
Russell must be replaced.
Russell's claws gently parted the animal skin curtain hanging at the entrance of the stone house, and a murky stream of smells mixed with the burnt herbs and decay hit him.
The old shaman's house was darker than it had been six years ago.
It huddled on the bed in the corner of the room, its hunched figure almost blending into the shadows.
Beside them sat a slightly smaller female werewolf with bright white teeth, her mane braided into tiny braids, and a necklace of animal bones around her neck.
Frosttooth Belle, Russell's daughter and also the successor to the shaman.
It was grooming the old shaman's fur and patiently picking out fleas. When it saw its father arrive, it stopped and retreated outside.
Upon hearing footsteps, the old shaman's cloudy yellow eyes slowly moved, his pupils gray and lifeless.
Russell, you've arrived.
The old shaman's voice seemed to be squeezed out of a leaky leather bag; he spoke slowly, with a gurgling sound of phlegm in his throat.
Russell nodded and silently squatted down beside the fire pit.
Six years ago, this stone house was the most sacred place in the clan, and the old shaman's prophecies were accurate to the exact time when the rainy season would arrive.
Now, only withered shrubs remain burning in the hearth, and even the flames seem sickly.
"I can barely suppress my anger."
Russell sighed, a hint of weariness in his eyes, and said, "It's very talented and grows very quickly, while I've already passed my prime."
The Manefire are ferocious and vengeful, and they lack the vision and understanding to lead their tribe.
As a warrior, it is excellent, but if it becomes the chieftain, it will be a disaster for the Howling Moon Clan. However, the Howling Moon Clan reveres the strong, and if Manefire defeats it according to the formal challenge process, it will not be able to stop it from ascending to the position of chieftain.
"No, it's nothing. The Dragon Lord is about to arrive."
A smile appeared in the old shaman's cloudy eyes as he spoke.
Russell paused for a moment, his eyes brightening, and asked, "Is this true? Are you sure?"
As if experiencing a final burst of energy before death, the old shaman coughed lightly, and his voice became clear and continuous.
“My life is coming to an end, but fortunately, perhaps because of the protection of my ancestors, I have glimpsed a little of the future.”
"What future?"
Russell asked.
The old shaman did not answer.
The future is not static. Revealing prophecies will not only backfire on yourself and those who listen to them, but will also affect and change the future.
Every spellcaster or shaman who can perform divination is an excellent cryptic practitioner.
The old shaman raised his withered claws and gripped Russell's arm tightly, saying each word clearly, "You must, you must follow the Dragon Lord! No matter what happens, your loyalty must not waver! This is the most important opportunity for the Howling Moon Clan."
Russell nodded solemnly, and then saw the old shaman slowly close his eyes.
It felt somewhat sad and melancholic.
The venerable elder passed away peacefully, the old shaman's snores interrupting Russell's grief.
It turned out it had just fallen into a deep sleep, not died.
The old werewolf was afraid of the wind and cold, so Russell covered the old shaman with the blankets.
boom!
Suddenly, a muffled rumble of thunder came from afar.
It sounded like the breath of a giant beast, or like the sound of flapping wings.
The old shaman, who had just closed his eyes, suddenly opened them again. His eyes were no longer cloudy. After a slight pause, Russell's expression immediately became excited.
The rumbling sound, like thunder, meant nothing to the cubs born in the last few years.
However, Russell and the old shaman were both very familiar with each other.
"Help me up!"
The old shaman, supporting himself, spoke.
(End of this chapter)
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