Chapter 295: The Army of Beasts
The wind on the ridge didn't howl; it whispered. It carried the scent of wet fur, pine needles, and the copper tang of blood.
I stood next to Leon, looking down at the natural amphitheater of the valley floor. The Iron-Horse lay in the center, a dark, metallic scar against the pristine white of the tundra. It was motionless, silent, and covered in a layer of frost so thick it looked like it had been there for centuries.
But it wasn't the train that made my blood run cold.
It was the sea of grey surrounding it.
"Dear God," Leon whispered, his grip tightening on the handle of the [Breaker's Hammer]. "There are... hundreds."
He wasn't exaggerating.
The siege lines were drawn with military precision.
The innermost circle consisted of [Frost Wolves]—massive, pony-sized beasts with fur like steel wire. They sat on their haunches, facing the train, motionless as statues.
