Chapter 26 Wilderness

The snow fell heavily, blanketing the dense forest leading to the old gold mine. Cold winds tore through the air, carrying the haunting howls of wolves that prowled in the shadows. Marek, towering in his thick, fur-lined armor, strode at the front of his unit, his spear resting across his broad shoulders. He glanced at the sky, darkening as dusk approached, the winds biting at their faces.

"Stay sharp," he ordered, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes scanned the treeline, his instincts sharper than ever since Martin had taught them the body-strengthening technique. "The wolves are growing bolder."

Behind him marched twenty soldiers, all seasoned men, their bodies now hardened by the magic that flowed through their veins. They moved effortlessly through the snow, their breath fogging in the icy air. Among them were a few notable faces—Cyril, a wiry man with quick reflexes and a sharp tongue, and Gregor, a hulking brute whose size was matched only by his strength. Cyril had been a scout in the northern territories, quick on his feet and good with a knife, while Gregor had earned his reputation as an unstoppable force with his battle-axe.

"Wolves again?" Cyril muttered under his breath, fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "I'd rather face a pack of bandits. At least they scream."

Gregor grunted from behind, a grim smile spreading across his scarred face. "Wolves are less predictable. Makes it more fun."

Marek's ears caught the faintest sound, a low growl blending with the wind. "Quiet," he hissed, raising a fist. The group halted instantly, their senses heightened by the technique, picking up the danger before it struck.

A blood-chilling howl split the air, and from the shadows, the first wolf leaped—a massive black beast with glowing amber eyes. It lunged straight for Marek. In one fluid motion, he spun his spear and met the wolf mid-air, driving the steel tip through its ribs. The creature yelped and fell lifeless into the snow, its dark blood staining the ground.

"Here they come!" Marek bellowed, readying his spear for the next wave.

The forest came alive with movement as more wolves, a dozen or more, emerged from the trees, their eyes burning with hunger. Their snarls echoed through the clearing as they charged, surrounding the soldiers in a flurry of fur and fangs.

"Form up!" Gregor shouted, hefting his battle-axe with both hands. The soldiers snapped into position, creating a ring of steel as the wolves closed in.

The first wave hit hard. Cyril, faster than most, sidestepped a lunging wolf and slashed its throat with precision, the beast collapsing at his feet. "Too slow," he quipped, darting toward the next target. A second wolf snapped at his heels, but he ducked and rolled, slicing its hind legs with his dagger before finishing it off with a quick stab to the heart.

Gregor, on the other hand, fought like a berserker. A hulking wolf twice the size of the others barreled toward him, but Gregor was ready. He brought his axe down in a devastating arc, cleaving through the wolf's skull. "Come on then!" he roared, as two more wolves charged him. He swung his axe in a wide arc, sending one wolf flying into the trees while the other was split in two with a bone-crunching blow.

Marek fought with the precision of a seasoned warrior. Another wolf leaped at him from the side, and he twisted his body, bringing his spear around in a deadly sweep. The sharpened steel sliced through the beast's neck in a single, clean motion. Blood sprayed, but Marek didn't pause—he was already moving to the next target. His muscles surged with power, his blows faster and deadlier than ever before.

"Stay in formation!" Marek barked, his eyes darting around the battlefield. Despite the wolves' ferocity, the soldiers were holding their ground. A group of three soldiers fought back-to-back, their swords flashing as they cut down any wolf foolish enough to attack. The technique had made them faster, more agile, and the wolves couldn't keep up.

Suddenly, a piercing howl cut through the chaos, and from the treeline, the alpha emerged. It was larger than the others, its fur as black as midnight, and its eyes gleamed with a cold intelligence. It locked eyes with Marek, then sprinted toward him with terrifying speed.

"Marek!" Gregor shouted, but Marek didn't flinch.

The alpha leaped, its jaws wide, aiming for Marek's throat. In a blur, Marek dropped his spear and caught the beast mid-air with his bare hands. The force of the wolf's attack was immense, but Marek's body had been strengthened beyond human limits. His muscles surged with power as he gripped the wolf's throat, snarling as he twisted with brutal force.

The crack of bones snapping echoed through the clearing, and the alpha fell limp in Marek's grip. He tossed the massive beast aside like a rag doll, breathing heavily but victorious.

The remaining wolves, seeing their leader fall, hesitated. It was all the soldiers needed. They surged forward, cutting down the last of the pack with ruthless efficiency. Cyril darted forward, slashing at the retreating wolves, while Gregor's heavy axe cleaved through the final stragglers.

Within moments, it was over. The clearing was silent except for the labored breaths of the soldiers. The snow around them was stained red with blood, the bodies of the wolves lying motionless in the frost.

Marek planted his spear in the ground and surveyed the carnage. "We're not here for sport," he growled. "These beasts are only the beginning. We're closing in on the mine, and there will be more than wolves waiting for us."

Gregor hefted his axe onto his shoulder and grinned, his face splattered with blood. "Then we'll deal with them too."

Cyril wiped his dagger on his sleeve, casting a glance at the treeline. "Less bandits, fewer wolves... I don't like it. Something's clearing this area before us."

Marek nodded grimly. "Which means someone—or something—is waiting."

He gestured to the soldiers to move out, and they began their march again, deeper into the wilderness.