Chapter 5: The Battle of the Full Moon Night

After the day Layla heard the news that the Western territory had changed hands, time seemed to fly by, and before she knew it, the night of the full moon had arrived.

She lay on Bridget's shoulder, appearing lazy but her eyes vigilantly observing her surroundings.

Groups of fierce werewolves were seriously patrolling their territory. This tense atmosphere reminded Layla of rumors about this cold land.

Unlike the peaceful Western territories, during the full moon, the Western werewolves held noisy festivals. At these times, single werewolves sought partners for passionate, fiery nights.

Indeed, the Western tribe was unrestrained and lacked self-control. Hence, her father, the tribe leader Baron, had repeatedly warned his subordinates. He said: "We are warriors, our duty is to stay alert, not to indulge in desires."

Her father constantly trained the werewolf warriors, rotating them between guarding and hunting duties.

However, in the eyes of the elders of the tribe, her father's efforts seemed futile. They argued that the Western territory was inherently peaceful and that enjoying life was more important than living in constant fear.

Of course, not many shared this foolish thought, but ironically, these were the influential members of the tribe.

Layla's eyes were cold. If she could regain her strength, she was determined to make the traitors pay!

In stark contrast to the tranquil Western lands, the North was a cold and dangerous place. Here, the beasts were extremely ferocious, making it akin to offering oneself to wild animals if one entered the Northern forests unprepared. Hence, everyone, from children to the elderly, was meticulously trained.

Layla had heard from various sources that the full moon nights here were not as peaceful as in the West, but the specifics remained unknown to her. It seemed that the Northern tribe had hidden their secrets well.

Currently, she saw the warriors around her in a state of high alert. Perhaps, something dangerous was about to happen on this full moon night?

She frowned, thinking that...

Her gaze shifted to the ever-serious yet beautiful face beside her.

...perhaps she needed to find a way to escape his watchful eyes.

"Leader!" A harsh voice suddenly called out. Layla turned towards the sound.

It was an elderly man, his face covered in thick beard and exuding a cold aura, clearly a seasoned warrior.

Bridget had been quietly observing the little wolf on his shoulder, amused by its curious, child-like behavior towards the world around it. Intriguing.

When the little wolf glanced at him, he quickly averted his gaze, puzzled by his own actions.

"What's the situation?" he asked as his thoughts were interrupted by the call.

The bearded man replied solemnly, "Sir, all teams have been assigned their areas!"

Bridget nodded, "Keep a close watch. No mistakes."

"Understood, leader!"

After watching his loyal subordinate leave, Bridget glanced at the little wolf on his shoulder and said, "Stay in the cave today, don't come out."

After speaking, Bridget shook his head, muttering to himself about talking to a creature that couldn't understand him. Perhaps the recent stress of battle was affecting him.

He decided to take the little wolf around the tribe for a final check, then leave it in Clara's care.

He sighed, attributing his unusual behavior to the recent tensions.

…

As night fell and the moonlight began to illuminate everything, Layla sat by the window, gazing at the gentle moonlight.

She listened to the sounds around her. The silence was unnerving, not even the sound of insects could be heard. This quietness made her heart race, sensing the calm before the storm.

Turning around, she saw Clara also tense and alert. Remembering the seriousness of the day... perhaps something dangerous was about to attack?

Just then, a distant horn sounded, echoing through the area.

Following that, Layla heard the sound of heavy footsteps. The noise was dense and heavy. She tensed up.

It was starting.

…

Bridget and his warriors tensed up, each werewolf ready for battle, gripping their weapons tightly, silently waiting for the approaching threat.

Boom! Boom!

The sound of trees falling in the distance, the heavy footsteps growing clearer.

A werewolf on the tribe's watchtower strained to see the source of the noise. His already tense face turned pale. He shouted a warning: "Mutated snow mountain goats!!!”

Bridget stared intently in the direction of the noise, estimating the number of creatures approaching. As the heavy steps came within five hundred meters, he shouted, "Attack!!!”

The members of the Northern tribe immediately sprang into action. They used their primitive bows and arrows for long-range attacks, simultaneously determining the range of the mutated animals. As soon as a roar of pain was heard, the remaining warriors quickly charged into battle.

Fortunately for them, this time the attackers were only mutated snow mountain goats, which normally gather in herds and are not aggressive. However, during the full moon, their thick white fur becomes hard and bristles like spikes.

Especially on full moon nights, these herbivores seek out the werewolf territories to attack. They are a nuisance, but compared to other ferocious beasts, they are just ordinary animals.

Although the attackers weren't particularly dangerous, facing a charging herd was not something to be taken lightly. After all, anything can happen on the battlefield.

Once Bridget identified his targets, he dashed to attack the mutated animals, leaving a trail of blood wherever he passed. He was so fast that no one could see his figure clearly.

The pungent smell of blood intensified the golden hue in his eyes, making him even more ruthless. Initially, it took three slashes to kill his prey, but gradually, a mere pass by him was enough to bring down the mutated goats.

Those around him shuddered at the sight. This was why, despite more than half of the tribe disagreeing with him, none dared to oppose or say anything that might make him relinquish his position as leader.

Because Bridget was a madman. Blood drove him crazy.

Every battle he fought was a matter of life and death. He was not afraid to die.

You might defeat the strong, but you'll never win against someone who doesn't fear death.

Life is the most precious measure, for it can only be used once.