Chapter 495: Chapter 253: Karlosh, Tears Frozen in the Night_3
The long howl of wolves echoed across the snowstorm-swept ice plains.
The silver-white wolf pack roamed the snow, like flowing cold iron, encircling and interspersing, dividing the herd of deer into manageable parts.
The cubs and weak individuals were bitten and dragged out, becoming dinner for the wolves.
For barbarians, familiar with Winter Wolfs—dangerous Magic Beasts common on the snowy high plains—their presence was nothing new.
Countless ancestral experiences passed down also tell me that these embodiments of the harsh winter’s will, those bloodstained fangs and claws, would be a substantial aid in the forging of my new Battle Skill.
Therefore, using special Tools brought from the tribe and abilities bestowed by my profession, I have been lurking around the wolf pack for a whole month.
Following them hunting, wandering across the snow fields.
I felt I had observed thoroughly enough, but after so many days, all I received were frozen flesh and an increasingly exhausted spirit.
Fortunately, my patience is sufficient, I should be able to endure for many more days.
Perhaps my thankless, clumsy behavior even caught the attention of ancestors above the icy dome.
On the 103rd day of my arrival at Splitfang Highlands, things took a turn.
It was a fluffy patch, strikingly obvious against the white ice plains, a clump of pure, thick blackness that seemed inseparable.
—A young, differently colored Winter Wolf!
This was the first time I saw with my own eyes such a legendary existence.
Even if this sight were expanded to the entire Frost Howl Tribe, it would at most add the aged Priest with a longevity like Frozen Stone.
"Night Mother’s tears..."
I silently recited its name from the tribe’s ancient songs.
Legend tells that the Night Mother— the great goddess ruling over darkness and night, betrayed by her twin sister, shed tears that fell upon this land, transforming into equally dark and mysterious beasts.
I even felt a chill.
After all, such creatures as the black Winter Wolf often symbolize misfortune among the barbarians.
Those who glimpse its presence are destined for a gruesome death amid the darkness and blood.
But soon, inner desire and the longing for a bright and glorious future suppressed my turmoil.
Realizing this could be a turning point in life, I began to observe closely.
This entirely black, differently colored Winter Wolf had an unwelcome childhood.
Its starkly different fur color from the surrounding Wolf Cubs made it an outcast from birth among the pack.
If not for its mother—the strong and powerful leader of the wolf pack, it may have had its neck bitten and broken by malicious peers upon birth, perishing early.
Having been ostracized due to human bloodline in childhood, such similar experiences made me inexplicably sympathetic to it, resulting in my particular attention.
Luckily, the Winter Wolf pack was large enough, and the highland’s relatively abundant prey sufficed to fill every Winter Wolf in the pack.
The little creature survived under its mother’s protection.
That pack leader, with an almost stubborn gentleness, surrounded the Wolf Cub under its belly, using body warmth to dispel the cold.
When the cubs frolicked and tried to jostle the black wolf out, it growled to disperse them, letting the black wolf suckle on the abundant milk first.
And under such care, the naturally smaller, inky young wolf, grew up difficultly in the crevices of ice and shadow.
Perhaps it should be given a name?
This thought lingered in my mind.
After considering for a long time, I decided to call it "Karlosh."
Forgive me for using the tribe’s poetic appellation for the differently colored Winter Wolf, as these characters so aptly express its meaning, I can imagine no better alternative.
Karlosh, tear of the frozen night, ominous shadow.
The records from ancestors are confirmed.
This differently colored Winter Wolf I named "Karlosh" indeed seems to be a symbol of ominousness and death.
Before it fully grew, the largest Winter Wolf pack in its vicinity suffered a devastating blow.
A mature Centipede Demon, on a night howling with snowstorm, attacked the Winter Wolf’s nest.
The harrowing howls of wolves echoed nearly all night.
When I approached again the following morning, the vicinity of the nest was nearly piled with Winter Wolf corpses, with frozen blood saturating the snow.
The pack suffered heavy losses, nearly half of the adult individuals perished in that brutal battle.
As the pack’s leader, Karlosh’s mother, the courageous yet gentle she-wolf, also became just another among the snow’s icy corpses.
Karlosh’s life took a nosedive.
The passing of its wolf mother took away its last foothold in the pack, completely becoming that shadow of ominousness.
More exclusion and silent expulsion, whenever it tried to approach the pack for sharing prey, it was always met with bared white fangs and threatening, warning growls.
And that fur as conspicuous as a banner in the snow made it excluded from the critical hunting for Survival and rendered it hard to participate in the communal group life.
Increasingly isolated.
Finally, after a failed hunting siege, the new leader of the wolf pack expelled Karlosh completely from the Winter Wolfs’ territory.
It stood alone on the howling snow-capped ridge, gazed at the pack, letting out a final prolonged howl that seemed to tear through the soul, then turned and vanished into the pale depths.
Becoming a true Lone Wolf.
At the same time, with the goal of observing Demon behavior to create new Battle Skill, I too must make a choice between the wolf pack and Karlosh.