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Qianye watched from afar and took in the complete picture of the Sharp Fang tribe into his eyes. There were a dozen or so caves at the base of Green Peak Mountain with a small clear stream snaking past not so far in the distance. There were dozens of wooden houses constructed on the shores, forming a small village.

There was a pack of wargs on the gently sloping grassland, and few would be able to approach the tribal village without being discovered.

Qianye was standing atop a mountaintop hundreds of meters away. He shifted his gaze toward the surroundings and found a path up the mountain not so far from the Sharp Fang Village. There were numerous giant wooden totems erected on each side of the entrance, indicating that this was the territory of the Sharp Fang tribe.

But now, many of their totems were either askew or had fallen to the ground, replaced by a long metallic spear. A flag flying from it displayed the emblem of the vampires, but there was no indication of the specific clan.

There were a number of sinister-looking servspiders lurking around each side of the mountain path. These servspiders were probably kept by Count Stuka and posted here to prevent the Sharp Fang tribe from going up the mountain.

At this moment, there was a young werewolf boy playing with a majestic warg, running back and forth on the meadow. The physique of werewolf children far surpassed that of humans, and they were already comparable to young men by the time they were seven or eight.

And this werewolf boy was even younger than that. He was at most four or five, yet he could actually catch up with an adult warg running at full speed. Chasing after one another, they unknowingly approached the path up the mountain.

A woman suddenly rushed out from one of the wooden houses and shouted loudly toward the little child. It was obvious from her expression that she was extremely anxious.

Qianye couldn’t hear what she was saying from such a distance but noticed that her expression was full of terror as she rushed forward.

On the other side, the young boy stopped and looked back with a vacant look, not knowing that he had already stepped across an invisible boundary.

The warg lowered its body and let out a threatening howl, the hair on its back standing on end.

A hundred or so meters away, one of the originally prostrating servspiders stood up. Its large body was several meters tall and looked as though a small hill had risen up from the ground. The servspider’s long legs moved as if it were moving across the water surface and arrived nearby in the blink of an eye. There, it sprayed out a large spider web from its abdomen, covering up the warg and the young werewolf boy.

The young boy turned back and was still bewildered as to what had happened. The warg roared and pounced on the young boy, hiding him firmly under its body just as the spiderweb landed. The ten-meter web soon enveloped both the boy and the warg.

Green smoke began to rise immediately as the spiderweb fell on the warg—its pelt was rapidly charred and began to break away, revealing patches of squirming flesh. Despite the incessant howls, the warg’s four legs dug in firmly and refused to move in the slightest.

Within moments, the spiderwebs had eroded its strong body and its originally black, glossy pelt had turned dark grey. An aura of death emerged around the warg as its howls lowered to a whimper and finally broke off. The servspider moved over slowly, its terrifying mouth opening and closing continuously. Small holes were formed on the ground as large drops of saliva dripped down.

The wargs raised by the werewolf tribe were only somewhat stronger than ordinary wild beasts. But these servspiders were different—Count Stuka had raised them meticulously for hundreds of years, and each of them was almost equal to a knight in strength. The warg, as well as the greater half of Sharp Fang tribe, was categorized as food in the eyes of this servspider.

The young boy’s mother had rushed over madly at this point. Numerous werewolves had rushed out of the caves and wooden houses in response to her loud cries, and their expressions all changed after seeing the young boy scuttle out from beneath the dead warg. They began charging over with loud roars in a bid to drive the servspider away.

The servspider hesitated ever so slightly—these werewolves were much weaker than itself, but they were superior in number, and it might not be able to handle them once they swarmed over. At this time, three more giant servspiders stood up around the mountain path and walked down step by step.

The four servspiders stood together and began to face off against those of the Sharp Fang tribe.

At this time, the puzzled young boy prodded the warg but received no response. He accidentally touched a floating strand of spider web, and a deep burn mark appeared on the back of his hand. The young boy began to cry out in pain, and his young but penetrative voice echoed throughout the valley.

The cries ignited flames of anger in the werewolves’ hearts. They let out a uniform battle roar and began to advance in formation. The servspiders, on the other hand, were somewhat hesitant and began to edge back slowly.

The anxious mother let out a sudden scream as she charged recklessly toward the young boy inside the spider web. There were dancing spiderwebs all around the place, and it would take only a few strands to end his young life.

Strand after strand of spiderwebs twisted mercilessly around the mother and began to erode her body. However, she just kept on running into the center as though she felt none of the pain. She then grabbed the boy into her arms and retreated along the path she had opened with her body.

The werewolves of the Sharp Fang tribe let out mournful howls because they knew the woman wouldn’t make it.

She finally staggered over the last strand of spider web and glanced delightfully at the child in her arms. The young boy’s hand had already eroded down to the bone but he had survived in the end—as for her own agony, she had long since forgotten it.

It was at this time that a muffled gunshot rang out from the mountains, and a large origin bullet tore through the air. It shot right through the mother’s body as well as the child in her arms, blasting them into two.

Qianye frowned in the distance. A frosty killing intent emerged in the depths of his eyes as he grabbed the Eagleshot from his back with his right hand.

The werewolves of the Sharp Fang tribe were just as furious. Some young werewolves even transformed and assumed a combat stance, while other activated their origin power blades and charged up their guns.

Seeing that a battle could break out at any moment, an aged wolf howl came through from one of the caves above. The angry werewolves finally calmed down somewhat and turned back to look in that direction.

An elderly werewolf appeared from one of the caves. He was so old that he could no longer stand straight and had to move slowly using a tree branch as a walking stick.

An arachne charged down from the mountain path at the same time. There was an origin assault rifle in his hand with its origin array still glowing—apparently, he was the one who had killed the boy and mother with a single shot.

This arachne was already a baron and not too far from becoming a viscount. As such, he was able to view the hundreds of assembled werewolves as though they were nothing. He calmly walked past the servspiders and scanned the werewolves with cold eyes. “What? Do you want to challenge the count’s authority?”

The werewolves didn’t shrink back and only stared fixedly at the arachne while emitting deep growls.

A vicious glint filled the arachne’s eyes as he pointed at the mountain path below and roared, “I’ve warned you before that anyone who steps into this forbidden area will be killed! What? Are you not satisfied?”

“But he’s only a child who knows nothing! Even if he entered the forbidden zone by mistake, it’s only a couple of steps!” a young werewolf cried loudly and charged to the front, immediately stirring a burst of response from his tribesmen.

“Even one step means death, not to mention a couple of them! And whoever dares to question the count’s order shall die!” The arachne erupted with ferocity, and the assault rifle in his hand rumbled once more, opening up a large hole in the young werewolf’s chest.

The large wound penetrated his entire chest—the place where his heart should’ve been had already disappeared along with the surrounding flesh and bones. The young werewolf soon collapsed with a loud thud.

The werewolves were sent into an uproar once again. Meanwhile, the arachne let out a sinister laugh and shouted, “Whoever dares question His Excellency’s order will meet the same fate! It’s no big deal even if we wipe out all of you smelly dogs. Do you want to try? A bunch of useless garbage!”

“We have Schiller and he’s already joined the Summit of Peaks!” someone shouted from among the crowd.

“Right! We must let Schiller speak out for us!”

“Even the count won’t be willing to fight the Summit of Peaks, right?”

There werewolves’ hopes were ignited once again, but apparently, the Summit of Peak’s name failed to intimidate this arachne. The baron laughed out loud and said, “Go and bring out that little wolf bastard. I’ll let you know whether or not the arachne fear the Summit of Peaks!”

Qianye watched all of this with a frown. Although his hand was already gripping the Eagleshot tightly, he hadn’t pulled the trigger all this time.

At this time and moment, he still had no intention to meddle with the conflict between the werewolves and the arachne. Qianye had indeed promised William that he would treat the werewolves as well as the situation allowed it, but this didn’t signify an alliance. It was merely a limited neutrality and would, at most, mean a mutual exchange of assistance.

There was a vast difference in opinion among the werewolves, just like how the White Claw tribe had treated William back at the Tulip Bazaar. Although Sharp Claw tribe deserved sympathy and Schiller had also promised Qianye their commitment, it was still unknown just how effective this promise was.

As Qianye saw it, he definitely wouldn’t interfere rashly if the Sharp Fang tribe itself didn’t rebel. Moreover, he would still wipe them out mercilessly if the tribe wasn’t willing to swear allegiance after he occupied the region.

That was because Qianye’s foremost responsibility was for the soldiers who followed him, the friends who had allied with him, and the civilians living in his territory—not the other races who, despite deserving of sympathy, could potentially turn into enemies at any given time.

This was war—a war between Daybreak and Evernight. There might be a tiny bit of warmth amidst the conflict, but it must be built atop the foundations of victory.

Only the victors had the right to pity the weak.

“Enough!” An aged voice rang out. The werewolves opened up a path as the elderly werewolf had finally arrived at the scene, displaying the elder’s incomparable prestige in the tribe.

There werewolf elder’s eyes swept across the werewolves to his side and said indifferently, “What are you lot doing? Are you trying to rebel against His Excellency the Count?”

The werewolves lowered their heads and slowly lowered their weapons. Count Stuka’s ruthlessness and terror had long since seeped into the depths of their hearts. Every now and then, there would be news of certain tribes being wiped out because they were bold enough to rebel.

Sharp Fang tribe wasn’t the only one within Count Stuka’s territory, and neither were they the strongest. Sharp Fang tribe would surely be exterminated if they somehow angered Stuka. That was precisely why they had to endure even though their ancestral sacred place had been expropriated.

The werewolf elder arrived before the arachne, steadied his trembling body, and said, “Sire, this is just a misunderstanding. The ones who mistakenly entered the forbidden zone are already dead. Can you stop here?”