The Tyrant Of The Red Throne

CHAPTER 4 The Predator's Fangs

One hour before the group of boys managed to reach the south gate.

An old woman's piercing scream was instantly cut short by the swing of a dull blade. Blood splattered, soaking Gharok's steel-plated boots.

The pitch-black Beast Man commander didn't even bother looking down at the corpse he had just stepped on. With a bored expression, he wiped the blade of his massive axe using a torn strip of the village flag. All around him, the village of Oakhaven had been reduced to a sea of fire and a literal slaughterhouse.

Gharok let out a slow yawn, showing off rows of razor-sharp fangs that could easily tear right through armor.

"Boring," Gharok growled. He kicked a skull near his foot, shattering it to pieces. "This isn't a war. This is just stepping on an anthill."

He reached into the leather pouch at his waist, pulling out a hexagonal crystal that gave off a faint blue glow. It was a high-tier communication crystal, a luxury item the isolated Lycan race of the north could never possibly own if it weren't for a specific political deal.

Gharok channeled a tiny bit of his mana into it. Instantly, a transparent holographic projection flickered to life right above the crystal. It showed the silhouette of a tall, slender figure draped in a pristine white robe trimmed with gold, sporting a pair of arrogant, pointed ears.

An envoy of the Elven race.

"Reporting in, my lord. The cleansing of the Southern Sector is proceeding right on schedule," Gharok stated. His tone was lowered and incredibly polite, but his narrowed eyes hid a deep, suppressed disgust. "There has been zero meaningful resistance. These rats don't even own iron swords."

The white-robed figure in the hologram completely ignored Gharok's greeting. Instead, the elf raised a silk handkerchief to his nose, acting as if the metallic stench of blood could somehow travel through the communication line and taint his holy air.

"You are working much too slowly, Northern Dog," the Elven envoy's voice sounded incredibly melodic, yet every single note was dripping with the absolute poison of pure arrogance. "That land needs to be completely purified at once. Lord Vael requires empty ground to expand the flow of the Star Mana. Those filthy humans pollute the harmony of nature just by taking a breath."

"As you wish, my lord. We won't leave a single pest alive on this sacred soil," Gharok replied with a tight, stiff smile.

"See to it that you do, and don't let your troops carelessly devour the bodies. We can still grind down those human bones to use as fertilizer for the Sacred Tree. If your cleansing quota is off by even a single head, Lord Vael will personally ensure you pay for the deficit with your own skins."

The hologram snapped off without a single word of goodbye. The crystal's glow faded back to dead glass.

The second the connection dropped, Gharok spat a thick wad of saliva onto the muddy ground. His spit, mixed with chunks of raw game meat, let out a faint sizzle.

"Sacred Tree, my ass," Gharok cursed in a raspy growl. He squeezed the crystal so hard his knuckles turned completely white, though he barely managed to stop himself from crushing it entirely. "Absolute hypocritical bastards. They get to keep their hands perfectly clean holding golden wine goblets, while we're out here forced to clean up their bloody mess. One of these days, I swear I'll turn your guts into a soup broth for my boys."

Even though he was practically boiling with hatred for his temporary masters, Gharok wasn't some brainless monster driven purely by instinct. He was a master tactician. He understood the absolute power hierarchy of Aethelgard perfectly well. Going to war against the Elves right now would be absolute suicide for his entire race. So, for the time being, he had to play the role of the obedient executioner.

Back to the present.

The thick smoke started drifting north, signaling a shift in the night wind. Gharok was sitting on top of a pile of corpses in the village square, chewing on a piece of half-cooked deer meat, when one of his scout soldiers came sprinting over, panting heavily.

"Commander! There's an anomaly in the Eastern Sector!" the brown-furred wolf soldier reported as he dropped to one knee.

"What anomaly? Don't tell me one of these hairless monkeys actually managed to hurt our combat troops with a pitchfork," Gharok sneered lazily.

"N, no, Commander. Grug is dead."

Gharok stopped chewing. His eyes locked sharply onto the soldier. "Grug? That idiot who was just screaming about wanting to eat a human baby?"

"Yes, sir. We found him dead near the ruins of a wooden cabin. His head was almost completely severed, but, there were no weapons around him. And absolutely no signs of a struggle."

Gharok's boredom evaporated instantly. His predator instincts flared to life. He stood up, grabbing his massive axe. "Take me there."

A few minutes later, Gharok stood in front of the ruined Jecoriah family cabin. Lying dead at his feet was Grug.

Gharok crouched down, completely ignoring the sickening smell of blood overwhelming his wolf-like nose. He examined the wound on his soldier's neck with the precision of a surgeon.

"His throat is destroyed from the front straight through to the back," Gharok muttered, his eyes narrowing as he measured the diameter of the wound. "It's incredibly clean. This wasn't a slash. This was a high-speed projectile puncture."

"Did the humans have a heavy crossbow, Commander?" the soldier next to him asked, trembling as he watched his superior analyze the corpse.

Gharok didn't answer right away. His hand wiped the edge of the wound on Grug's neck. There were no wood splinters. No iron rust. He brought his fingers close to his nose, sniffing the scent lingering around the injury.

His eyes went wide for a fraction of a second, before a massive, terrifying smirk formed on his face.

"No iron," Gharok hissed in absolute amazement. "Just the smell of iron, the smell of blood."

Gharok stood up and began inspecting the area around the ruins. His eyes caught sight of a massive teak wood beam that had been thrown way too far from where it logically should have fallen. He kicked the wooden beam. It easily weighed hundreds of pounds.

"Some malnourished monkey living in a thatched cabin couldn't possibly have the physical strength to throw a beam this heavy. Even a standard Lycan would need both hands to lift it," Gharok analyzed. His brain was working at an incredible speed. "Grug was stabbed with something made of pure, solidified blood. Either the enemy's corpse evaporated, or the culprit is still alive and their weapon simply vanished."

"Are, are you saying the human used magic, Commander?" The soldier went completely pale. In this world, magic was the absolute domain of the higher races. Humans were the absolute bottom of the barrel, slaves with zero mana affinity.

"Not just magic," Gharok corrected, his eyes now gleaming with a deadly thrill. "This is an anomaly. The laws of nature are being torn apart. If those white-robed Elves find out there's a human out here killing our soldiers with blood magic, our contract value will be completely ruined."

Gharok stepped forward, his nose sniffing the ground. Amidst the heavy smell of smoke and charred meat, his razor-sharp sense of smell picked up the faint scent of panicked sweat and fresh human blood moving away.

"Fascinating. Incredibly fascinating," Gharok chuckled softly. It was a very dry laugh, filled with a sort of intellectual brutality. "They used the wind direction and the barn smoke to cover their tracks. These aren't just rats running around blindly. These are rats that can actually think."

"What should we do, Commander? Surround the village?"

"This village is already dead. Those clever rats are already outside the wooden perimeter. They're heading south, straight toward the border forest," Gharok decided instantly, leaving absolutely no room for doubt.

He turned his head toward the ranks of his soldiers who were still partying in the main square.

"Shut this cheap party down!" Gharok roared with enough force to literally shake the ground. The entire Beast Man army instantly fell dead silent, staring at their commander in pure terror.

Gharok rested his massive axe on his shoulder, walking toward the south gate with steady, heavy steps. "To hell with the Elves and their sacred little plans. Tonight, I'm leading the hunt myself. There's an anomaly out there that I need to tear apart with my own two hands."

He stopped right in front of a massive steel cage being dragged by four soldiers. Inside the cage, a dark mass thrashed around violently, accompanied by a double-layered growl and dripping acid that hissed as it melted the cage floor.

Gharok smiled, flashing his fangs, which were chattering with dark anticipation.

"Release the Night-Stalker," Gharok ordered coldly. "Bring me the magic user's head, dead or alive.”