Blood and Gold Alliance
Since the last bloody war between the Kingdom and the Empire—only seventeen years ago—this was the first time imperial forces had crossed into the Kingdom's territory. At the head of the procession entering Wolfwood City marched Jack Goldfred, accompanied by his two personal bodyguards and fifty mercenary soldiers.
All the mercenaries belonged to the Goldfred Merchant Guild: reliable fighters—at least as reliable as mercenaries could ever be. There was a saying in the Empire:
"Mercenaries are loyal to gold, knights are loyal to noble houses."
Of Jack's two bodyguards, one was the captain of the guild's mercenaries, Gianluigi, a lean, seasoned man whose eyes constantly scanned for danger. The other was the guild's strongest combat slave: Sparta, a bear beastman whose mere presence made the castle guards forget to breathe for a moment.
Upon reaching the castle, the mercenaries remained on standby in the courtyard, while Jack Goldfred was escorted further inside by his two guards. But he was not led to the official noble hall of House Wolfwood—Carla had decided to receive her father in her personal guest room instead. Partly because he was family, and partly because Jack was not an envoy of the Emperor, but an independent imperial representative.
Carla's guest room had recently undergone a complete transformation: it was now arranged for tea gatherings among noble ladies. In the center stood an elegant carved table, flanked by two long, luxurious armchairs fit for a princess. Fresh floral tapestries decorated the walls, and in the corner a porcelain tea set waited—prepared in advance, as if Christina or Floralys might arrive at any moment.
As the guests entered the castle, they were greeted by Noelle, the half‑elf maid. She bowed gracefully as she stepped before the three visitors.
"Welcome to the wolves' den, Lord Goldfred," she said politely, though her voice carried that subtle sharpness unique to her.
Jack smiled and looked her over. "If I'm not mistaken, you must be my grandson's personal maid, Noelle. I've heard much about you."
"Well, well," Noelle replied with an innocent smile. "So we didn't manage to catch all the imperial spies after all?"
Jack burst into hearty laughter. "Over the years I exchanged letters regularly with Lord Bandorn. Rest assured, my dear, I have always been an ally of House Wolfwood. But if you don't mind, matters like these are best discussed elsewhere—and not with a maid."
"Naturally," Noelle nodded. "I'll escort you to Lady Carla's guest room."
As they walked down the corridor, Jack sighed.
"My daughter must be grieving, having to mourn her dear husband."
"The sorrow will be eased by the joy of finally seeing her father again," Noelle replied.
Jack nodded. "Yes… due to the hostile relations between the Empire and the Kingdom, I sadly had no opportunity to see my daughter or my grandson until now."
"It's almost a miracle the Emperor gave his blessing to the union between House Wolfwood and the Goldfred Merchant Guild without protest," Noelle remarked.
"Marriage is expensive," Jack said as he examined the paintings on the wall. "But war is far more costly."
"A shame demons can't be pacified with marriage proposals," Noelle added with a half‑smile.
Jack laughed. "The Emperor would give his most beautiful daughter to the Demon King if he could."
"How many children does the Emperor have?" Noelle asked as she opened the guest room door.
"Many," Jack replied, stepping inside—where a fateful conversation awaited him.
Noelle led the guests to the door of Lady Carla's private guest room. The half‑elf girl knocked gracefully.
"Lady Carla, your father has arrived."
"Come in," came Carla's calm, measured voice from inside.
Noelle opened the door, and the guests stepped into the room. Carla Wolfwood sat in one of the long, elegant armchairs, while Ironclaw, the beast‑girl, lay comfortably beside her with her head resting in Carla's lap. The lady gently stroked the wolf‑girl's head, and Ironclaw's long, shaggy brown tail swayed slowly in contentment.
Behind the chair stood Carla's bodyguard, Jula. The burn scar across his face and his sharp, vigilant gaze immediately drew the visitors' attention. One look was enough to tell he was a hardened Wolf Knight, forged in battles against demons, ready to protect his lady at any moment.
Jack Goldfred stepped toward his daughter, but Carla raised her hand and spoke with cool elegance:
"Take a seat, dear father."
Jack stopped, then smiled—though the smile held more diplomacy than affection. "What, you won't even hug your father after so long? My condolences for your husband's passing."
Carla's expression hardened. "Let's skip the theatrics. I'm curious which of us will miss him more. We both know exactly what roles we play in this world."
Jack sighed, as if he had expected such a reception. "I feared you might resent me. But understand this: as my daughter, you are my most precious treasure, and I have no heir but you."
"You threw your most precious treasure to the wolves rather easily," Carla replied coldly.
"But things turned out for the best for both of us," Jack said, and this time his voice sounded more genuine.
Carla nodded. "At least we agree on that. I don't resent you. Even if you acted with ulterior motives and for your own selfish goals, you still led me to the Goddess's greatest gift."
Jack smiled. "I assume you mean my grandson."
"A word of advice," Carla said, still stroking Ironclaw's head. "Flattery won't get you anywhere with him. You should've seen how he put both the Princess and the Hero in their place."
Jack laughed. "And have you chosen a bride for my dear grandson yet? A Silverwood girl, perhaps? Or maybe the Princess? Even the Hero wouldn't be a bad choice."
Carla's eyes glinted. "There's no shortage of candidates, believe me. But my son is strong. He will choose his own heart's desire."
Jack's gaze shifted to Ironclaw, still resting peacefully in Carla's lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "And this pet in your lap? That must be the infamous Ironclaw. Why doesn't she have a collar?"
"Because love is stronger than any collar," Carla replied calmly.
Jack snorted. "Imprinting, huh? Beastfolk loyalty for life. Impressive to tame such a powerful specimen. As expected of my grandson. But speaking of him… where is Andras?"
"He's doing his daily training," Carla said. "He'll come by if he has time."
Jack's expression darkened. "I'm his grandfather. He can train anytime. I would've preferred if he valued our first meeting more than some training."
Carla slowly rose to her feet, her gaze turning as cold as winter wind. "If you stood before the Demon King, would you say the same to him? You are Jack Goldfred. Do you think he would care? He would crush you like an ant. And you'd be lucky if he killed you quickly. If he took his time… that would be far less pleasant."
Jack fell silent.
Carla continued, "My son is a mage who does not fear standing against the Demon King. On what basis do you think you are more important than his daily training?"
Jack finally raised his hands in surrender. "I didn't come to argue. I'm a merchant, not a warrior. I can't understand how heroes think. Fine. Let him train. I don't mind. What's delayed is not lost. We'll meet eventually."
The unspoken tension lingered in the air for several long minutes.
Carla and Jack continued talking for nearly an hour—sometimes with cool diplomacy, sometimes with the sharp familiarity of family—before Young Wolf finally arrived at the guest room. The moment he stepped inside, Ironclaw leapt from Carla's lap and, in a single bound, wrapped herself around her master's neck. Andras walked across the room with the beast‑girl hanging off him like an oversized, shaggy‑tailed scarf.
"Sit in the armchair, Ironclaw," Andras said as he tried to peel her off.
"But then you have to pet me, Master!" the wolf‑girl pleaded, already hopping into the chair.
The armchair creaked loudly, as if protesting her enthusiasm.
Andras finally turned to his grandfather and shook his hand.
"So you're the other grandfather—the one who's still alive, I assume."
Jack grinned broadly. "At last, I get to meet you, my dear grandson."
"Yeah, it was about time you dragged your old ass over here," Andras replied without the slightest hesitation.
Jack raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "My condolences for what happened to your father."
"If he'd spent half as much time training as he did with the black market, he'd still be alive," Andras said with a shrug. "Money's not much use to him now that he's dead."
"Perhaps not to him," Jack noted. "But to you, yes."
"I'm not getting involved with the black market," Andras shot back. "If you want to bother someone about that, go annoy my mother and Master Florian."
Jack laughed. "I know, I know—you're more of the hero type."
"What hero?" Andras scoffed. "The strong are strong in every world."
Jack leaned back in the armchair and interlaced his fingers. "Speaking of strong fighters… In my city, we hold a Gladiator Tournament every four years. The city is run by the four major merchant guilds. Naturally, one of them is the Goldfred Merchant Guild—so I'm one of the city's leaders."
Andras nodded. "Let me guess. The tournament is coming up."
"Yes," Jack confirmed. "It's held in the last month of summer—so in one month."
"Who won last time?" Andras asked.
"Four years ago, the Dolermo family's gladiator became champion. A lion beastman. The Emperor personally bought him afterward. This year, my strongest fighter is Sparta"—he gestured toward the bear beastman—"a bear beastman and the guild's most powerful combat slave."
Andras examined Sparta. The bear beastman stood motionless like a statue, yet his presence filled the room with the weight of a mountain.
"Judging by his stance, he's probably earth‑element," Andras remarked.
Jack's eyes widened. "Impressive. You can tell someone's magical element just from their presence?"
Andras shrugged. "I am a mage, after all."
Though in his mind, he added:
"Well… I also checked his stats with my magic eye."
But he kept that part to himself.
Jack fell silent for a moment, then leaned forward in his chair as if preparing to present a particularly important business proposal.
"I see," he said slowly. "Well… it's not that I don't trust my best combat slave. However, according to my spies, the Fernandez Merchant Guild has acquired a rather exceptional fighter. A snow‑wolf beast‑girl from the Frost Dragon Highlands."
Andras's eyes lit up. "Now that sounds interesting. Let me guess—you want to secure your chances at the Gladiator Tournament, and for that you need Ironclaw."
Jack smiled. "It serves both our interests if we win the tournament."
Andras turned to Ironclaw, who was still sitting in the armchair, wagging her tail eagerly at the mere mention of battle.
"Ironclaw, do you want to fight strong opponents?"
The wolf‑girl's eyes sparkled. "I'll tear them all apart!"
"Then it's settled," Andras said.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "And what if the beast‑girl had said no?"
"The strong crave battle," Andras replied. "They don't fear challenges like this."
Jack nodded with satisfaction. "Good to hear. Ironclaw and Sparta together already give us a very reassuring chance at victory."
"Does this special snow‑wolf girl have a name?" Andras asked.
"Iceclaw," Jack answered.
"Iceclaw, huh?" Andras repeated with a grin. "Sounds like an exciting fight. So: Goldfred, Dolermo, Fernandez… and who's the fourth guild?"
"The Williamsky Merchant Guild," Jack said.
"Do we know anything about their fighters?" Andras asked.
Jack nodded. "The Dolermo family's trump card is once again a lion beastman. His name is Lyonidas. The Williamsky family's strongest combat slave is a bull beastman named Barkhorn."
Andras leaned back and crossed his arms. "What about the rules?"
"There aren't many," Jack replied. "All four merchant guilds send four combat slaves into the arena at the same time. One big battle royale with sixteen fighters total. Each fighter may use one weapon—assuming a beastman even needs a weapon."
Andras laughed. "Yeah, Ironclaw uses her own claws. Hahaha!"
The beast‑girl straightened proudly and flashed her long, razor‑sharp claws—the same claws that had already sent countless enemies to the afterlife.