Chapter 2: The Past of That Year

Layla is the only daughter of her father, and from a young age, she was raised to be a strong warrior. Therefore, her presence is felt in any battles of the Western tribe. 

A powerful, alluring, and determined she-wolf, that's how everyone acknowledges her. Moreover, Layla possesses a beautifully crafted face, with glossy black hair tied neatly behind her, and a set of animal-skin armor that makes her a dazzling hero admired by all.

Certainly, no one would have expected such a noble wolf, like an angel from above, to end up in such a filthy state.

Layla leans against the wall, her once bright blue eyes now soulless. Her beautiful hair is now crudely cut and sticky with blood. The lush red lips that once invited kisses are now dry and cracked. The charming face that attracted so many looks is now bruised and dirty.

Her entire being emits a foul, putrid odor.

How long have they kept her captive?

She doesn't know anymore. In this dark and damp place, sunlight is a luxury.

Layla stares blankly at her hands.

Her once strong hands, which tore apart her prey, are now broken and clawless. She feels the lack of her sharp teeth, and she tries to open her mouth to say something, but the pain from the unhealed wounds makes her recoil.

Those damn creatures not only broke her fangs and claws but also cut off her tongue.

Layla hates.

She hates the traitors.

She hates herself for being now like a broken doll, lacking even the strength for revenge.

Her lifeless gaze drifts to her little finger, where a wooden ring given by the betrayer is worn. Layla angrily grabs the chain binding one of her arms. She uses her head to violently pull it, causing the arm with the ring to move. It's pulled up, then thrown down. Layla repeats this action, as if trying to vent her hatred, paying no attention to her mouth gradually filling with thick, viscous fluid or the pain from the chain hitting her head against the wall, causing it to bleed.

Layla knows what she's doing is meaningless. But she just wants to release the hatred within her, even though the more she does, the more she looks like a puppet with a broken string desperately holding onto her thread of fate.

The most unbearable thing is the waiting. The echoing footsteps of two people break the silence in the dark.

Layla immediately stops her foolish actions. She can't give those people the opportunity to humiliate her even more.

In anticipation, the figures of a man and a woman gradually appear. It's Leon and Anna.

As soon as they see her, those despicable men and women laugh as if watching an interesting play. The lascivious she-wolf holds Leon's hand, her voice, sweet as if devoid of any backbone, sends shivers through every cell of Layla: "My love, why has the most beautiful beauty of the Western tribe become like this?"

Anna's innocent face wrinkles, as if the question asked is something she has suspected for a long time, incomprehensible.

The treacherous man seems to enjoy Anna's disgusting appearance. He laughs brightly, his doting face responding to the words of the she-wolf beside him. "Because she's foolish and useless."

The gentle tone of that statement makes Layla's heart ache. Once, Leon was just a wolf abandoned by his family, left outside the edge of the forest. She and her father brought him home, took him to Phelan's house for treatment, as he was the healer of their wolf tribe. She taught him hunting tricks, how to fight with everything he had.

Leon glanced at her and said with resentment, "A perpetrator seizing what doesn't belong to him. It's just karma!"

At that time, he was predicted to be her mate. Layla had some affection for the useless guy she taught and took in. But she was also a future tribal leader with mature thoughts. She made it clear to him that as long as Leon didn't want it, she was willing to cut off her own gland, an organ that wolves use to create offspring together. It releases hormones that attract each other, increasing the reproductive rate. But Leon said he was willing to do it for love.

Now, she's the one forcing him to become her mate.

She is indeed blind to value this garbage relationship of vengeance and gratitude!

"Ah, ah, ah. Ah, ah, ah!"

Layla is furious, wanting to curse at them. However, the sound that comes out of her is just syllables.

Because she no longer has a tongue.

Anna, upon witnessing this scene, gracefully covers her mouth, her sarcastic tone fueling Layla's growing resentment. "Layla, don't bother talking; no one understands anyway."

After saying that, Anna approaches, her smooth, white hand touching Layla's chin. Her detestable voice becomes low, "A hybrid like you should only bark like a mutt and live in a dirty swamp."

Immediately, Layla uses her restrained arm to wrap around Anna's neck, then uses all her remaining strength to pull the disgusting she-wolf down to the filthy floor.

Even though Layla has lost much of her strength, it's not the turn for a pampered creature, living in comfort, to bully her!

However, having been tortured for an unknown duration, Layla's strength and reflexes have diminished. So, before she could strike the garbage under the floor, she was hit by a powerful force against the wall.

The strong impact causes Layla to endure additional injuries, spitting out another mouthful of blood.

Her buzzing mind can barely hear the angry shouts to the point where she might lose her hearing.

"Damn it! How dare you hit Anna!"

Ha. Too touching. He standing up as a hero to save the beauty for the sake of love. Layla smirks, contemptuously spitting a blood-stained saliva at his feet.

Seemingly, this action seriously irritates Leon. He has shed all semblance of calmness, the former tenderness, to become a wild beast relying on violence.

He relentlessly delivers powerful blows to her head, her body, every inch of her flesh.

Does Layla feel pain?

Yes, she does.

But she doesn't cry, she doesn't moan, not a sound. Instead, she laughs. Layla's laughter blends with Leon's furious curses. All these sounds merge into a dissonant symphony in the dark prison.

The ultimate despair is the echo of laughter.

...

After that violent visit to the brutal prison, the frequency of Layla's beatings and tortures increases, while her moments of consciousness decrease.

Layla still tries to endure, waiting for a chance to escape.

"SHIT!"

Due to her increasingly blurry consciousness, she often hits herself. Because she knows that only pain can keep her alert. Layla doesn't hope to wait for an opportunity and then find herself unable to open her eyes. However, this action is like drinking poison to quench her thirst. She can't sustain this state for much longer.

Clumsy footsteps!

The sound of footsteps entering once again urges Layla to heighten her alertness; she needs to be vigilant.

In the cold darkness, the figure of a man gradually appears, accompanied by an aura of danger. It's Leon.

Today, this man doesn't seem normal. Layla tightens her body, hoping she can resist the cruel whip strikes in time, so it can't harm her vulnerable spots. This is also the reason she has survived until now.

Leon's face is stern, his brown eyes staring directly at her. Just as Layla thinks he's about to throw a powerful punch, she is caught off guard as Leon slowly sits down, gripping her chin and grinding his teeth, saying, "Do you feel privileged?"

Layla furrows her brows, looking at the man in front of her, every muscle in her body tense with caution.

He seems not to need her answer. His other strong, rugged hand quickly seizes her tail. This action startles Layla!

Although her tribe has trained her tail, so it's no longer a deadly weakness in combat. Suddenly being grabbed like this is still not good.

She narrows her eyes, her gaze filled with the intention to kill the demon wolf in front of her.

Leon cruelly laughs, leaning close to her ear, his voice full of disdain, "You are worthless now. Die!"

Layla is shocked by the sudden words; she hasn't had a chance to avoid this suddenly insane man. Before she could react, a powerful force strikes her against the wall.

The intense shock makes Layla endure more injuries, and once again, she spits out a mouthful of blood.

The man laughs loudly, holding a dirty, blood-stained tail in his hand, his face gleefully watching every expression on her face. He says, "Phelan has found Baron's treasure. You can die now!"

Then he pulls out the wooden stick by his side, thrusting it forcefully into her chest.

Layla can't resist the entire process, the tearing pain ripping through her body, every sense in her freezing. She can feel her meager blood being drained slowly. A drowsiness slowly creeps in.

Before her eyes close completely, Layla looks at her murderer, who is going mad with satisfaction, and she wants to laugh again.

Numbness.