[Leif's POV – The Aftermath of an Unwanted Promotion]
If someone had told me that my day would start with hunting dinner and end with adopting a wolf army, I'd have laughed, hurled a frying pan at their face, and gone back to nursing my beer. But here I was—standing in the middle of a frostbitten forest, clutching my cloak like some half-baked hero, while a crimson wolf the size of a cottage had just declared me its master.
And the worst part? Alvar—Mr. Shines-Brighter-Than-the-Sun—was standing there, arms crossed, looking at me like I'd just set the royal archives on fire.
"Are you quite finished collecting strays?" he asked, each word sharp enough to cut ice.
I threw my hands up. "Excuse me? I didn't collect anything! They just—look, I don't control this. Wolves apparently think I'm running a soup kitchen."
Alvar pinched the bridge of his nose like he was praying to some god for patience.
"Leif," he said, voice dangerously calm, "this isn't a joke. Do you have any idea what it means to have a Crimson Pack of wolves pledge loyalty to you?"
"No," I snapped. "Do you have any idea what it means to almost die for dinner? Because I was just trying to make a way for my beers and goods. And now suddenly I'm… what? A wolf magnet?"
Alvar groaned, glaring at me like I was the most exhausting man alive. "This is serious. The Crimson Pack is one of the deadliest predators in the northern wilds. They are vicious, cunning, and strong enough to wipe out an entire territory in a night. If they—"
NUDGE!
NUDGE!
I jerked forward, blinking. Something massive had just shoved me from behind. Slowly, I turned around.
One of the Crimson wolves—towering, muscle-packed, and terrifying—was… wagging its tail. Then it leaned down and gave my shoulder the gentlest nudge, as if saying hey buddy.
"Uh," I said eloquently.
LICK.
A smaller crimson wolf (still the size of a pony, mind you) leaned in and licked my hand like an overgrown puppy. Another one pressed its enormous head against my chest, rumbling softly.
"Oh. My. Gods," I whispered, eyes wide. "They're… cute?"
"Cute?" Alvar nearly choked. "They are apex predators, Leif! They—"
But I wasn't listening anymore. My brain short-circuited. My survival instincts? Gone. Replaced with pure, blinding adoration.
"Oh, my precious little murder muffins!" I cooed, hugging the one nearest to me. "Look at your fluffy ears! I'm sorry for hurting your friend earlier; I didn't mean it! You're all so perfect—YES, YES, WHO'S A GOOD KILLER WOLF?"
The entire pack seemed to melt. Whines, soft nudges, tails wagging like a storm. They rubbed their faces against me, one giant paw gently resting on my shoulder, another pressing its nose to my cheek. I was drowning in fur and warmth.
"Alright!" I threw my arms wide, nearly slipping on the snow but too high on endorphins to care. "LISTEN UP! FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, YOU ARE MINE! MY PACK! MY BABIES! MY FLUFFY ARMAGEDDON!"
The forest echoed with a deep, synchronized HOOOOOWL, like an army answering their king.
Alvar just stared at me like he was watching the world unravel.
Then a shout rang out behind us.
"MY LORD!"
We all turned. Baron Sigurd stood frozen at the treeline, face pale, mouth hanging open. His wooden sword thudded to the ground as he dropped to his knees.
"By the gods," he breathed, voice trembling, "you… you've tamed the Crimson Wolves. The untamable pack! All hail Lord Leif, Master of the Crimson Fang!"
The servants and chefs behind him followed suit, kneeling with wide-eyed reverence.
I grinned, still buried under an avalanche of wagging tails and slobber. "Best trip. Ever."
***
[ThorenVald Mansion—Later]
I slid off the back of the massive crimson wolf like some kind of exhausted, frostbitten royalty, landing on the ground with a graceless thump.
"Yaaawwwnnnn…" I stretched my arms wide, my spine cracking like old wood. "Saints above, I feel like going straight to bed. Somebody wake me up when the world stops being weird."
The pack followed me, their glowing eyes fixed on me like I was the moon itself. They padded behind me, flanking my every move, tails swishing, breath misting in the cold air. When I turned toward my house, I stopped short.
Because apparently, my front yard had been turned into a wolf convention.
They surrounded my entire home, sitting, lying, sniffing, and growling at shadows like little overprotective murder puppies.
"Huh." I rubbed my chin. "They… uh… look like they need a bigger place. Or maybe a castle."
Baron Sigurd stepped forward. He bowed slightly, but his voice carried the excitement of a man who'd just witnessed a miracle. "My lord, if I may… with your permission, we would allow them to roam freely around the territory."
"Are you insane?" Alvar cut in, striding forward, his black hair catching what little sun there was. His tone was sharp enough to cut steel. "These are crimson wolves, not oversized house dogs! The villagers will panic if they see them prowling about."
"Not necessarily, my lord," another voice interrupted smoothly. It was Captain Haldor, Alvar's trusted knight—tall, stoic, with a permanent 'I-saw-this-coming' look.
He stepped closer, bowing slightly before continuing, "What Baron Sigurd says holds merit. The territory has been suffering raids—bandits, poachers, and even the occasional spy and there are not enough knights too. But if word spreads that Lord Leif commands a Crimson Pack? No one would dare cross this border. These wolves could turn the weakest point into an impenetrable fortress."
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Good point. Alright, decision made. My babies are not living in cages. They can roam freely, nap where they want, chase squirrels, and terrify bandits to their heart's content. If they want to howl at the moon like they own the place? Let them. But… we'll need the villagers to understand that these big fluffy nightmares are on our side."
Then I puffed my chest, saying, "Because this, gentlemen, is the dawn of a new era: Lord Leif and his Crimson Babies."
The wolves howled on cue, a sound so deep it shook the trees and probably made a few birds file complaints.
Baron Sigurd's face lit up as though I'd handed him the keys to a kingdom. He slammed a fist over his chest. "As you command, my lord! I'll make the announcement myself!"
Then, out of nowhere, Captain Haldor practically lit up like a festival lantern. His eyes sparkled so hard I thought he'd blind someone. "My lord… may I… may I lead them? I can train them, organize patrol routes, and set rotations. I'll even polish their claws if I must!"
I blinked, taken aback by his enthusiasm. "Uh… Haldor, you're the captain of the Ragnulfsson House. How can you just—"
"I CAN RESIGN," he declared with a fervor usually reserved for love confessions. "I will leave everything! My sword, my title, my ancestral duties—just let me lead them!"
Alvar actually choked. "What?! Are you betraying me?!"
I raised my hands, chuckling nervously, "Hahaha… whoa, whoa, calm down, Captain Sparkles. I dare not poach the captain of House Ragnulfsson. I enjoy breathing, thank you."
Haldor's shoulders slumped like a scolded puppy. Then, with the most heartbreaking hope, he asked, "Can I at least lead them while I'm stationed here? Just… temporary command? Please?"
I looked at Alvar because this was clearly above my pay grade. "Uh… if your lord doesn't mind?"
The captain turned those puppy eyes—no, wolf cub eyes—on Alvar, and for a moment, I saw an alpha warrior visibly losing a battle against cuteness.
Alvar sighed and muttered, "Fine. But only while you're here."
Haldor practically vibrated. "YES, MY LORD! I WON'T LET YOU DOWN!"
"Great," I said, watching him bounce like an overexcited puppy. "Just keep the villagers calm, Captain, and make sure no one tries to ride them into town like some medieval parade. And make sure they don't eat the chickens. We need eggs for dinner."
"Understood, my lord."
Haldor saluted like I'd just knighted him, and I couldn't help but smirk. For now, at least, my crimson babies had found themselves a temporary captain.
"Good." I turned toward the door, rubbing my eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I desperately need a nap."
Then, like a shadow cutting through sunlight, Alvar's voice sliced into the air.
"WAIT!" he said, his tone colder than the northern wind. "We need to Talk."
I blinked.
"AH. SURE."
Except nothing about Alvar looked friendly. His stare was so sharp it could've shaved ice. Any warmth from the cheering wolves and bouncing captain evaporated instantly.
Great. I thought I was going to nap. Instead, I'm about to have a brain-freezing heart-to-heart with the coldest man alive.