Chapter 90

90
90
Third Person’s POV
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“In wartime, we don’t harm civilians or kill prisoners,” Ulrik’s silver–moss green pupils suddenly glowed red, his wolf tail trembling violently beneath his armor.
“This is the pact we signed with the Western Tribes. Before Bloodscar Border, I told you countless times, and you swore you’d remember.”
He roared in fury, veins bulging on his forehead like twisted worms.
“Now you tell me what have you actually remembered? You’ve not only tortured prisoners but also massacred civilians. Do you even deserve to call yourself a werewolf warrior?”
Velda was terrified by his ferocious expression, tears streaming down.
She sobbed, “But I did sign the treaty and establish the border. Lycan Erasmus is pleased. Only a thousand or so Western Tribes‘ wolves died. Am I really that evil ? ”
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She wiped her tears, her voice rising in self–righteousness. “Go to Bloodscar Border and ask if they’d sacrifice themselves for peace. I bet many would.”
Ulrik’s wolf claws burst forth, leaving deep marks in the bedside.
His cedar pheromones, mixed with blood, erupted. “Would you? Would you sacrifice yourself for so–called peace?”
“If you would, why were you cursing earlier? Isn’t that the price you should pay? Those you’ve killed are dead. Are you unwilling to atone with your life? Then go!”
“I…” Velda was speechless, at a loss to retort.
Ulrik pressed on, his eyes blazing with anger and despair. “Did you ask the slaughtered wolves if they agreed with you?”
He leaned on the bed, utterly drained and broken.
Velda cried, whimpering, “Even if I’m at fault, I did establish the border.”
“Established the border?”
Ulrik’s throat emitted a howl, his cedar pheromones tinged with sulfur. “You think bathing your war robe in civilian blood is an achievement? The tortured prisoners‘ spirits accuse you before the Moon Goddess!”
His claws pierced the bed, splitting the edge. “In the Bloodscar Battle, my uncle covered your retreat and lost his arm. Yet you stayed behind, brewing wolfsbane soup to torment surrendered prisoners!”
“Ulrik, what are you doing? You’re scaring me. I’ve suffered so much, and you berate me instead of comforting me.”
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Ulrik watched her tears mix with blood, creating a pitiful sight.
But he felt no pity, only disgust.
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“Do you know all the wolves under your command, except the dozen captured, are dead? The survivors had their glands torn out. And you…”
He trailed off, his face a mix of shame and indescribable pain.
Velda stopped crying, stunned for a moment, then realized what he implied.
She hastily explained, “They didn’t touch me, Ulrik. I swear.”
When Ulrik stayed silent, Velda grew frantic.
Her pupils shrank to dangerous slits in the moonlight, and her temporary mark erupted with sulfur- scented pheromones.
Her palm slammed on the table, wolf claws carving five grooves. “They hurt me, but they didn’t violate me! Can’t you smell no strange wolves in my pheromones?”
Ulrik’s cedar pheromones, laced with a blizzard–like dominance, swept over her.
His expression was grim. “What’s there to explain? Aren’t you ashamed enough?”
“Do you not trust me?” Velda’s wolf ears pierced her hair.
A wolf growl rumbled in her throat.
She ripped open her bloodied leather collar, revealing her clavicle scarred by enemy claws. “See this scar? If they’d truly violated me, my wolf would’ve gone insane!”
Ulrik let out a mirthless laugh, his eyes brimming with sarcasm. “Trust you? When have you ever told me the truth? Every time I asked about Bloodscar Border, you dodged, saying Solanke withdrew because Lance was coming. You hid even this from me. How can I trust you now?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Velda said, clearly agitated and almost unhinged.
“You kept telling me not to harm civilians, but I saw them hiding in houses. We had to gain something. I only killed some villagers. The Western Tribes have killed how many of our wolves?”
Ulrik took several deep breaths, striving to calm himself. “What was our purpose in Snowdeer Town?”
“To destroy the food warehouse,” Velda replied without hesitation.