The Devouring Knight-Chapter 50 - 49: Three Howls, One Silence

Snarling masses of muscle and fangs leapt over the wooden barricades, landing amidst the goblin ranks with crushing force. The dire wolves followed next—larger, faster, and dripping with fury.

But the captains were already moving.

"Shield wall! Form up—left flank, tighten the line!" barked Krivex, loosing a quick shot into a wolf’s eye before dropping his bow and drawing his short blade. "No gaps! They break the line, they break us!"

Soldiers scrambled—but moved with practiced discipline. Their shields locked. Spears braced. The dire wolves slammed into the formation—but this time, they didn’t scatter the goblins. They were met with iron tips and locked resolve.

"Push! Hold, then push!" Gorrak bellowed, his hammer already stained red. He brought it down on a wolf’s skull with a crunch. "Don’t just swing—drive them back! Make them bleed for every step!"

"Reinforce the right flank! You two, go—support the wall breach!" Aren yelled, slashing his spear in a tight arc. "You trained for this—this is just another drill with fangs!"

He parried a leaping wolf and kicked it aside before thrusting deep into its chest.

"Gobo1, Gobo2! Rotate squads—let the tired fall back! Stay sharp, dammit!" Takkar’s voice rang out as he smashed a dire wolf’s knee from the side, toppling it into a tangle of waiting spears.

"Javelins, now! Launch a volley on my mark—three, two, one—throw!" Vakk ordered. Spears arced through the air and rained down onto the next charging wave. Howls of pain filled the air.

Steel clashed with fang as the dire wolves swarmed.

Aren twisted his spear, deflecting a wolf’s jaws just inches from a soldier’s throat. With one swift motion, he spun the haft and thrust it deep beneath the beast’s chin.

"Don’t worry," he muttered to the trembling goblin behind him, flicking blood from the tip. "If you die, I’ll make sure your boots go to someone braver."

The goblin gave a startled grunt—but held the line.

Not far away, Krivex stood atop the ruined scaffolding of the wall, eyes narrowed. His bow was drawn, but he didn’t shoot yet.

Three wolves darted in the shadows below—unpredictable, zigzagging.

Krivex exhaled.

His frown deepened.

’Wait for it...’

The biggest one leapt.

’Now.’

Twhip. The arrow split the air, landing clean between the beast’s eyes before it touched the ground. A second shot followed—then a third. Each one perfect. Clean. Silent.

He reached for more arrows, murmuring under his breath, "Too many targets. Not enough arrows. Just another day."

In the thick of it all, Takkar let out a guttural roar as two dire wolves circled him.

Then a third.

He grinned.

"Good! Three is better!" he howled, eyes gleaming with wild glee.

His twin axes swung outward like a storm. One wolf tried to dodge—too late. Another went for his leg—only to be kicked back with a knee like an iron club.

"Come, pups! Let me dance in your blood!"

He laughed madly as he spun again, axes carving brutal arcs through fang and fur.

From atop the wall, Krivex shot a glance toward the berserking kobold and sighed. novelbuddy-cσ๓

"Why is it always the loud ones who live the longest?"

The goblins, kobolds, and mixed units moved like parts of a machine—drilled, hardened. The captains surged among them, never staying in one place for long, checking ranks, calling orders, rallying faltering lines.

And amidst it all, Krivex roared above the din.

"No fear! You’ve trained for this! Let the wolves feel OUR bite!"

A cheer rose.

The wolves kept coming—but their rhythm was faltering. The dire wolves, once terrifying, were now being surrounded and isolated. Each attack met with focused retaliation. Each breakthrough swiftly patched by discipline and grit.

...

In a shadowed stretch of forest near the village wall, Skitz crouched low behind a crooked log, fingers wrapped around a small, dark sphere etched with his Detonation Seal.

"Come on," he muttered, eyes scanning the brush. "Take the bait."

A snap of undergrowth. Then heavy paws thundered through the soil like distant war drums. A low growl curled through the trees.

And then—it emerged.

The Alpha Dire Wolf.

It loomed larger than any beast Skitz had faced, its massive frame rippling with muscle under a coat of ashen fur streaked with iron gray. Its eyes, a glowing yellow, locked onto him with primal hunger.

Skitz smiled. "I was hoping you’d be ugly."

The wolf charged.

He hurled the bomb mid-sprint. The small orb spun through the air, struck the dirt just ahead of the beast’s leap—

BOOM.

The forest shuddered. Bark exploded. Leaves scattered. The Alpha was hurled sideways into a tree, crashing down in a heap of fur and smoke.

Unconscious. Just as planned.

Skitz strode forward, brushing soot from his shoulder. "Not time to kill you yet," he muttered, drawing a blade. "Wasting your essence now would be stupid."

He swiftly bound its limbs with his Blackbind skill, slung the battered creature over his shoulder with a grunt, and leapt over the village wall. The gathered soldiers stared as he landed and dumped the wolf at their feet.

"The Lord will be pleased with this," he said simply and smiled.

But then—a deep, bone-rattling howl pierced the night.

Skitz turned. From beyond the eastern wall, he could sense it—twin shadows dancing in torchlight, the unmistakable rhythm of fang against spear, of survival on a knife’s edge.

"My Lord..."

Without another word, he sprinted. Branches whipped past as he tore through the underbrush, sword drawn, heart pounding. The clearing ahead opened like a stage lit by firelight.

There he was.

Lumberling.

Pinned against a tree. One Alpha had him locked, fangs inches from his face. Lumberling held his spear crosswise, straining against the crushing bite. Blood seeped from his shoulder—deep and dark.

The second wolf lunged from behind, claws tearing into bark as it sought an opening.

Skitz’s breath caught. "Hold on, my Lord," he hissed.

He darted to the side, moving to flank.

Lumberling twisted, shifting his weight and shoving the larger wolf just enough to roll free. His armor tore as he ducked under snapping jaws, spun low, and drove the butt of his spear into the second Alpha’s ribs.

The beast yelped, staggered—but didn’t fall.

Too fast. Too smart. These weren’t just beasts. They were born of blood and dominance. Pack lords—apex predators who hunted together.

Lumberling backed toward the wall, limping slightly now. His breathing came sharp and quick. Another strike. His spear clanged against fangs, sparks dancing in the dark. The second wolf darted behind him once more.

Its jaws opened wide.

Skitz didn’t think. He threw his sword—not at the wolves, but at Lumberling’s feet.

Lumberling didn’t miss a beat. In one fluid motion, he kicked the sword into the air, caught it mid-spin, and swept it in a wide arc—forcing both Alpha wolves to recoil just long enough for him to reclaim his spear with both hands.

Skitz burst into the clearing.

The wolves turned toward him, nostrils flaring as the scent of scorched fur reached them—sharp, unmistakable. Skitz didn’t say a word. He simply raised his palm, letting the stench speak for itself.

Recognition flickered in the Alphas’ eyes.

It was the scent of their fallen kin—the third Alpha Dire Wolf.

One of them whimpered, torn between vengeance and survival.

The larger Alpha growled, not in rage—but in warning. It wasn’t fear in its eyes. It was calculation.

Then they made their choice.

"Awooooo!"

A deep, commanding howl ripped through the forest.

It was the Alpha’s signal.

In an instant, the wolves attacking the village turned away. Dozens of paws pounded the earth as they vanished into the trees, leaving only silence and the corpses of their dead behind.

The last of the wolves withdrew into the darkness.

But not the Alpha.

One remained.

It stood at the edge of the tree line, just beyond the reach of torchlight, its fur slicked with blood—some its own, most not. The moon caught its eyes: not feral, but calculating. It wasn’t running. Not yet.

Lumberling limped forward, blood drying on his armor, spear still clutched in his shaking hands.

Then he saw it—just for a moment.

Three younger wolves darted past the Alpha’s flanks, yipping and snarling. Disorganized. Desperate. One tripped and fell, another turned back to help.

The Alpha didn’t move.

It didn’t growl. It didn’t command.

But the others reacted anyway.

The fallen wolf tried to rise—too slow. A blur of motion. The Alpha struck it down with a savage bite and shoved its carcass into the path behind it.

A barrier. A distraction.

Arrows from the wall thudded into the sacrifice.

And in the chaos, the Alpha vanished.

Lumberling stepped forward, panting. His vision blurred from pain, but before the beast disappeared completely into the trees, it paused just once.

And looked back.

Not like an animal. Not like a beast.

But like a rival.

Their eyes met across the dark, smoky divide. No snarl. No roar. Just a promise.

Next time.

Then it was gone.

Hours passed—or maybe only minutes. Time blurred when drenched in blood and breath and fury.

Eventually, the howls faded. No more shapes in the tree line. The forest had swallowed its monsters once more.

As the wolves retreated, silence swept the battlefield—but it wasn’t relief. It was the eye of the storm. Lumberling stood panting, blood trailing down his leg, eyes fixed on the trees where the Alphas vanished. He knew this was not their last encounter. Far from it.

Behind him, goblin medics were already running out with makeshift stretchers. The dead were being counted. The living looked to the forest—and waited.

"It’s over," Skitz muttered. "For now."

Lumberling nodded, then stepped toward a fallen soldier. He knelt, placing a hand gently over the goblin’s chest. No breath. He moved on—checking another. This one groaned.

"Zarn!" Lumberling called out. "We’ve got wounded!"

Zarn rushed over with bandages. Skitz began directing the cleanup, voice low and sharp.

"Move the dead to the pyre pit. Secure the perimeter. And someone bring water—these bastards bit deep."

The fires still burned on the walls, casting flickering light over the village. The goblins stood amid the carnage, silent but upright.

They had survived. But the cost had only begun to be counted.

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