One thing Connor hadn’t imagined was that the Frostholm Pack would be able to thwart the Nimbria Pack’s sudden attack. The attack had been so well planned and organized. Every step they took had been meticulously calculated, and every weakness of the Frostholm Pack had been carefully mapped out. But the reality of the battlefield told a different story.
Connor stood on a small hill and surveyed the battlefield, unable to contain his shock at the tragic sight before him. His troops, known for their cruelty and ferocity, were forced to retreat in defeat. The remaining warriors of the Nimbria Pack moved quickly to find cover from the relentless onslaught of the Frostholm Pack. The cries of pain from the wounded echoed in the air, fueling his growing rage.
Connor’s earlier vision, just before the warriors of the Nimbria Pack launched their sudden attack, had been of an easy victory. He had imagined the warriors of the Frostholm Pack overwhelmed, cornered, and finally surrendering to the superior strength of the Nimbria Pack. But the reality before him was far from what he had expected.
The attack that Connor thought would be the decisive blow proved insufficient to shake the Frostholm Pack’s defenses. Ironically, the Frostholm Pack still managed to hold the frontier, albeit with great difficulty. Now he was forced to swallow the bitter truth that the Nimbria Pack warriors he had always been proud of were fleeing the battlefield.
Connor clenched his fists, trying to contain the boiling rage that coursed through his veins. A plan that was supposed to guarantee victory had turned into a disaster. Worse, he realized that this was only the beginning of what was to come. The defeat was not only a loss on the battlefield, but also a severe blow to his reputation and that of the Nimbria Pack.
Connor’s pride was wounded. His chest burned with anger. He had underestimated the strength of the Frostholm Pack. But he vowed that this situation would not last long. Soon he would turn the tide.
“What about the rest of the warriors?” Connor asked his Beta, Marcus Spencer. He turned slightly, revealing a visibly distraught expression. “Tell me they can still be counted on.”
Marcus appeared tense, then nodded, though with obvious hesitation. “They are wounded, but their spirit is not broken. But we’ve lost many of our best warriors, Alpha. Those who remain are hiding in the Eresca Valley. Now they need time to recover, both physically and mentally.”
Connor’s brow furrowed. His anger grew with every word that came out of Marcus’ mouth. He knew only too well what this defeat would mean-not only the loss of soldiers, but also a decline in morale and confidence within the pack.
Connor growled. “We have no time to recover,” he said emphatically, ignoring the shame of seeing his once-proud warriors now hiding in the Eresca Valley to save themselves. “Every second that passes only gives the Frostholm Pack a greater advantage. So, we must rise again immediately, and this time make sure we win.”
As a Beta who had served faithfully for years, Marcus was well aware of Connor’s ambitious and merciless nature. And when it came to the Frostholm Pack, Connor was always on fire. Connor saw the Frostholm Pack as an opportunity to make the Nimbria Pack more powerful. Controlling the Frostholm Pack meant controlling a lot of wealth and power, which would certainly make the Nimbria Pack more respected by other packs.
Connor’s desire to conquer the Frostholm Pack had become a blind obsession, and Marcus was well aware of it. He suppressed the urge to speak up, knowing that it would be useless to explain to Connor that another attack would be detrimental. Connor’s will was absolute and had to be fulfilled regardless of the risks.
Marcus had to admit, however reluctantly, that Connor did not care about the condition of the warriors. The only thing Connor cared about was the complete destruction of the Frostholm Pack. Connor’s obsession became more and more uncontrollable.
“Remember, Marcus,” Connor raised a hand and pointed directly at Marcus. “There is no room for error. We will move quickly and give them no time to regroup. I don’t care how many casualties it takes. The important thing is that the Frostholm Pack must be destroyed.”
Marcus nodded helplessly. He could only resign himself as he said, “Understood, Alpha. I will contact Ronan immediately. We will prepare the troops and a new strategy.”
“Good,” Connor said and patted Marcus on the shoulder several times. He looked at Marcus with a piercing look, almost like a threat. “I expect good news from you soon, Marcus.”
Marcus lowered his head slightly, feeling the weight of Connor’s sharp gaze. His shoulders shivered and his body tensed under Connor’s undeniable firmness. Every word Connor spoke was an intimidation that left him powerless. He nodded. “Yes, Alpha.”
The conversation ended and Marcus hurried away. He quickly left to devise a new plan, leaving Connor alone to be overcome by waves of emotion once again.
Connor’s face hardened into a grim expression. His clenched fist turned his knuckles white, and his nails nearly pierced the skin of his palm.
Connor could not calm himself. His mind was constantly troubled by the shame of defeat and his wounded pride. So, he began to think of various plans for revenge. By any means necessary, he would ensure that the Frostholm Pack was not only defeated, but utterly destroyed. He would show no mercy, no pity.
There would be no room for doubt. No room for mistakes. Connor would prove to all the packs, to the world, that the Nimbria Pack was the strongest under his leadership.
Connor vowed that last night would be the last time that the Nimbria Pack would suffer defeat. Their next attack would surely succeed. Therefore, he promised the Frostholm Pack a painful end. “You will be crushed beneath my feet. I will make you kneel and beg for mercy that you will never receive.”
*