Chapter 87 – Reflections of a Wolf
Shadows Behind Victory
More than a week had passed since Eisenwald's return to the marshes. Life slowly resumed its rhythm. Fields were tilled again, the small market bustled with barter, and Falkenrath's forges once more burned with the fire of iron.
To the villagers, it seemed as though the war had been a storm that had passed. Yet for Fenrir, the battlefield lingered in every breath. His nights were haunted by the clash of steel, the screams of falling soldiers, and the eyes of Count Valgaard at the moment his blade struck him down.
He stood upon the watchtower of his manor, staring westward toward where the great battle had taken place. Mist clung to the marshes, cold and heavy, but his thoughts were far away, upon fields covered with corpses.
"I slew a Count… but the war was still lost. That is the truth of this world. One personal victory does not change the tide of armies."
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Heavy footsteps approached. Viktor Redmane climbed the tower, saluting before standing at Fenrir's side.
"You're still thinking of the war, Baron?"
Fenrir's gaze remained fixed on the mist. "I saw the Marquis' generals… Magnus Varholt, Reinhart Solberg, Ulrich Falken, Erika Von Sturm. They commanded tens of thousands as if they were their own limbs. And me? I moved only three thousand."
Viktor folded his arms. "Three thousand who came home. That is what sets you apart. Many lords lost far more. Some were erased completely. You turned the smallest into wolves."
Fenrir exhaled sharply, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "But that is still not enough. To challenge this world, I must surpass them. Magnus Varholt's aura was nearly a thousand. His stamina beyond a thousand. I am not even one-tenth of that."
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Fenrir's mind replayed the duel with Count Valgaard. He remembered the crushing weight of each blow, the searing pain in his wounds, the near death he had faced.
"If not for my last spark of will, I would have fallen. And Valgaard was only a Count. What of a Duke? A Marquis? The Emperor himself?"
His fist tightened, nails digging into his palm.
"To reach that height… it will take time. And more blood."
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That night, Elena brought him a bowl of steaming broth. She placed it upon the table in his chamber and studied him with weary eyes.
"Fenrir… your thoughts are distant. Tell me, what troubles you?"
Fenrir lowered his gaze. "I realized how small I am. That war showed me. Compared to the generals, compared to the Marquis, I am still a child. I am far from strong enough."
Elena laid a hand on his cheek. "Strength is not only aura and steel. Your father always believed—the true strength of a leader lies in those who choose to walk beside him."
Her words pierced deep. Fenrir bowed his head, silent. She's right… I am not just a warrior. I am a leader.
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The next morning, Fenrir assembled his soldiers in the courtyard. Over two thousand stood, many with bandages, some limping, yet their eyes burned with loyalty.
He stood before them, cloak stirring in the wind. His voice rang out, firm as iron:
"You have seen with your own eyes how vast the world is. We were the smallest army among tens of thousands, yet we stood. We returned. That was no accident. That is because you are wolves, not sheep."
A roar answered him. Men wept openly, gripping their weapons tighter. The ember of pride flickered back into flame.
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Later, in the strategy room, Fenrir unfurled a vast map of the Luminaria Empire. His eyes traced the great names: Marquis Helbrecht, Marquis Reindhart, the Dukes, and above them all, Emperor Aurelius V.
Then he lowered his gaze to a tiny dot—Eisenwald, a speck in the marshes barely worthy of ink.
"To climb higher… I must march from this dot to the entire world."
He drew lines with crimson ink, connecting Eisenwald to cities of trade, mines of wealth, and military routes.
"Eisenwald will become the center of strength. Not just soldiers, but a fang the world cannot ignore."
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That night, Fenrir stood before the monument of the fallen. The names carved upon the stone glowed faintly in the moonlight.
"My brothers… you fell for Eisenwald's future. I will not stop until your blood is repaid with greatness. I swear, your names will be remembered when this world kneels before the Crimson Wolf."
A faint aura of molten crimson shimmered around him—not rage, but resolve.
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He returned to the watchtower once more, gazing at the moon reflected upon the marshes.
"I am small compared to them… but a wolf that keeps hunting grows into a king of the forest. One day, I will sit on the highest throne. No Marquis, no Duke, not even the Emperor himself will stop me."
The night wind carried his vow like a wolf's howl into the dark.
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