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Chapter 130 Crags and Chains
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2025-12-27 19:43:49The Howling Crags were not a battlefield. They were a meat grinder.
The Volgarians had not been idle. They’d learned from their defeat at the capital. No longer just sabers and stubborn fury, they came with industry. Their front lines advanced behind clanking, wheeled shields of iron. Their guns were not the long, elegant rifles of Ardian marksmen, but shorter, brutal things that spat clouds of shrapnel. And from their rear lines, with a terrifying whoomp, came the high-arcing fire—iron spheres launched from catapult-like tubes on carts, packed with gunpowder and scrap that rained down in devastating, indiscriminate bursts. (Think naval mortar bombardments, but on land.)
But Kael Rennar had not led an army of the past.
The Ardian forces, dug into the scree and rock of th
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The dawn after the attack revealed a strange and chilling tableau.The Ardian camp was in ruins—tents slashed, supply wagons overturned, smoldering fires scattered like fallen stars. The air was thick with moans of pain, the clatter of panicked salvage, and a pervasive, humiliated silence. But as the sergeants took stock, a baffling report filtered up to the remaining officers.No one was dead.Dozens were injured—bones broken, deep gashes from claws that seemed deliberately placed to maim rather than eviscerate, concussions from brutal blows. But not a single throat had been torn out. Not a single body was left to cool in the dawn. The wolves had moved with surgical, terrifying precision, neutralizing the army’s strength and spirit without taking a life. It was not an assault; it was a demonstration. A message written in pain and fear.The message itself was found nailed to the splintered post of Kael Rennar’s command tent. It was written on cured hide in a stark, c
Bound to The Enemy of My Mate Chapter 130 Crags and Chains
The Howling Crags were not a battlefield. They were a meat grinder.The Volgarians had not been idle. They’d learned from their defeat at the capital. No longer just sabers and stubborn fury, they came with industry. Their front lines advanced behind clanking, wheeled shields of iron. Their guns were not the long, elegant rifles of Ardian marksmen, but shorter, brutal things that spat clouds of shrapnel. And from their rear lines, with a terrifying whoomp, came the high-arcing fire—iron spheres launched from catapult-like tubes on carts, packed with gunpowder and scrap that rained down in devastating, indiscriminate bursts. (Think naval mortar bombardments, but on land.)But Kael Rennar had not led an army of the past.The Ardian forces, dug into the scree and rock of th
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