Rising from the Ashes (Andrew) novel Chapter 3103

The implication was clear. Nyx did not fully trust Knox to face werewolves head-on for the first time. With her by his side, any sudden danger could be dealt with immediately.

Knox did not underestimate the situation, and together with Nyx, he charged toward the fortress. Meanwhile, Andrew remained at the rear and did not rush to make a move.

From the moment they arrived, a pitch-black, terrifying aura from the far end of the fortress had already caught his attention.

Since the other party had not moved, Andrew saw no reason to act first. Although there were thousands of werewolves swarming the fortress, they could be easily killed. After all, they were no match for him.

What he truly needed to face was the werewolf progenitor currently hidden among the werewolf army on that side of the fortress.

It was not a Werewolf Lord or a Werewolf Prince, but a being at the progenitor level.

This alone showed just how much commotion had been caused inside the Highland Tribe's forbidden ground earlier.

Step by step, Andrew slowly began climbing up the fortress.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fortress, upon the darkened earth, countless werewolf troops stretched as far as the eye could see. At this moment, they had all transformed into bloodthirsty beasts with glowing red eyes.

A restless, violent tension hung over the entire werewolf army.

Many young werewolves, craving slaughter and flesh, had grown irritable and were roaring continuously while attacking their own companions.

The Werewolf Prince, Edmund, who commanded them, had not transformed and still maintained his tall human form. On his gleaming bald head was a tattoo that ran from his forehead to the back of his skull. He wore a shiny black trench coat, black leather pants, and black leather shoes.

His chest was completely bare, revealing only dark chest hair and bulging muscles.

"Progenitor, the boys can't wait any longer. When can we launch a full assault?"

Edmund's own temper was flaring as he turned to ask the short old man behind him.

The old man's height only reached Edmund's chest. His entire body was shriveled, with just a few sparse gray hairs on his head. He looked like he was on death's door.

However, his eyes were amber-colored, and the cruelty and savagery within them made even Edmund afraid to meet his gaze.

Ragnar Marrock, the Third Werewolf Progenitor and pure-blooded offspring of the first progenitor, Fenrir. He showed no reaction to Edmund's urging, his amber eyes simply stared viciously at the fortress, pondering who knew what.

Edmund let out a roar and swept his large hand toward the fortress. Instantly, countless werewolves charged forward recklessly, launching a full-scale assault on the mountain fortress.

The black tide of fury looked like it would smash the fortress to pieces.

The two werewolves who had roared at Ragnar earlier had just turned and rushed two steps forward when they let out agonized screams, their whimpers filled with overwhelming terror.

Ragnar had reached out from behind and grabbed both werewolves by their necks. With his tiny, shriveled body, he easily lifted the two massive werewolves that weighed over a thousand pounds each.

Then, with a gentle squeeze, the two young werewolves died for their earlier offense, dead beyond any doubt.

Ragnar wore an indescribable smile that sent chills down the spine. He hunched his body slightly and followed the other werewolves, beginning his charge.

However, in just two steps, he crossed over thousands of feet and shot straight up to the fortress.

What greeted him was a massive blade of energy, cleaving straight down toward his head.

Ragnar's expression turned vicious as he snarled, "You are asking for it!"