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Overall, Icewind retained the form of a wolf, albeit magnified to an enormous size, towering above a regular riding wolf by a head. Its fur was snowy white with a metallic sheen akin to silver. Its ferocious appearance was accentuated by its uneven fangs, especially the thick, curved white horn on its forehead, which identified it as a magical beast.

"Yee... Icewind, you may look majestic now, but where did all that extra weight come from? Were you filled with ice cubes when you grew from a foot to eight feet in length?"

Seemingly lacking sustenance, Icewind pounced on the Beamon meat, devouring it raw or cooked without discrimination. Only after consuming more flesh than its own body volume did it finally show some restraint, gently holding the Beamon paw I had set aside for it, savoring it slowly and contentedly.

With Icewind's needs attended to, I collected the Beamon's skin, bones, and claws, reboxed the Grand Yin Illusionary Demon Banner, and left the valley.

The path we took into the valley was indeed shorter but perilous, making it impossible to traverse with a large load. However, having hunted multiple times, I was well-prepared. I had arranged pack animals on another trail, albeit one that was nearly 100 miles longer and with slower beasts. Nevertheless, it was still the best option available.

Finally, we emerged from the mountains, and Icewind, now enlarged, and I both felt a sense of relief. After all, this hunt had brought us more than just prey. Just as we were about to return to the village, Icewind lifted his head, listening intently. I, too, caught a faint howl in the wind, one that only a werewolf could discern – a call for help from a werewolf in peril.

By "certain werewolves," I meant those werewolf youths who had learned my martial arts over the years. During my adventures, I had visited numerous werewolf tribes and, with the aim of establishing my own school, had taken on many disciples, teaching them various skills. It seemed that werewolves were indeed well-suited for external martial arts; almost all my werewolf disciples eventually mastered the Iron Body Skill up to the sixth level or higher, with some even reaching the ninth. The Bone-Crushing Claws and Heart-Shattering Palm also came easily to them.

Aside from these three techniques, there was another skill that all disciples were required to learn – the Azure Sea Roar.

In my previous life, my master was proficient in music and had created the Azure Sea Tide Rises Melody. He once sought to pass this masterpiece on to one of his disciples, but alas, musical talent is even more reliant on innate ability than other disciplines. After countless attempts that frightened and killed the seagulls around Peach Blossom Island, my master finally gave up in frustration.

Unexpectedly, however, this failure led to a stroke of genius. Through the collective wisdom of my fellow disciples, we developed the practical skill known as the Azure Sea Roar. This technique didn't have the power to defeat enemies, but it allowed us to project our voices across miles of calm sea, making communication during fishing trips incredibly convenient. Later, when my wife and I wandered the lands, we used this skill to stay in touch. When she was blinded, she called out to me using the Azure Sea Roar.

Living as a Werewolf, I possess an innate talent for howling. It seems that we can emit and receive sounds that elude human ears. The disciples utilize the 'Azure Sea Roar' to communicate across vast plains, ensuring mutual protection from a hundred miles away.

Now, the distress call isn't coming from my home, Blizzard Village, but rather from the other side, eighty miles distant, at Glacier Village. Due to its proximity to smuggling routes, it has grown into a significantly larger settlement with a population exceeding two hundred. For them to seek aid, a severe crisis must have arisen.

I immediately discard everything and mount Ice Wind, pointing in the direction of the call. "Ice Wind, hurry!"

Before its growth spurt, Ice Wind was already incredibly swift; otherwise, it wouldn't have dared to serve as bait in the Evernight Mountains. Having evolved, its strength has multiplied, and carrying me, it runs even faster than before.

In less than half an hour, we near Glacier Village. From a high ridge, I survey the area, eager to discover what creature could pose a threat to a Werewolf village.

Not far away, Icefall Village had been entirely seized, and one could only imagine the fate of its inhabitants. Yet, as I beheld the multitude of green figures wandering amidst the ruins, I could barely believe my own eyes – the conquerors of Icefall Village were none other than... Half-Orcs!

Half-orcs, despite their name, bear no blood relation to orcs. They are the indigenous inhabitants of the Half-orc Wastelands, characterized by their green skin, towering heights exceeding two meters, burly builds, and grotesque features, complete with protruding fangs that give them a fiercely menacing appearance. In reality, these creatures are lazy and greedy, bullies who cower before true strength, possessing immense physical power yet never bothering to hone any martial skills. They lack a unified society and seldom engage in agriculture or herding. What sustains their existence is a staggering reproductive capability that leaves even the rat-kin astounded, an insatiable appetite for consuming almost anything, and a constitution that seems immune to illness.

A substantial number of Orcs scatter across the wilderness, dwelling in lairs and organized into tribes. Only the female Orcs possess knowledge of cultivating a few crops. The majority of their kind are fervent in plundering and slaying one another, considering anything from grains to weeds, tree bark, rats, and even the corpses of their own kind as sustenance. Those Orcs dwelling near the borders of both Beastmen and human territories are more cunning. They steal livestock, pilfer grains from fields and granaries, and have even been known to prey on children.

Thus, every year, the various tribes would launch specific raids on the orc lairs, slaughtering most of the adult orcs and leaving only a few as slaves. However, by the following year, a large number of orcs would migrate to the borders again, establishing new lairs.

Orcs, though physically robust, lacked weapons beyond crude clubs, had no martial arts skills, no military training, and equally lacked the courage to fight unless vastly outnumbering their opponents. When confronted with a formidable orcish army, they would instantly scatter in panic. They believed that the death of their comrades only meant more food for the survivors.

Normally, for an army of Half-Ogres to muster the courage to assault a pack of Werewolves, they would need to outnumber them by at least thirty times. Given the number of elders and children in the village, it would take no less than five thousand Half-Ogres to mount such an attack, and that many wouldn't gather without a unifying force. Before they could even mobilize, internal conflicts over food would erupt among them.

Moreover, the Werewolf settlement was not an undefended area. Relying on their defensive structures, they could hold out for at least twelve hours. Yet, with only two thousand Half-Ogres present, the village was completely razed within an hour of calling for help. There wasn't even time to raise the distress signal. This year, due to the heightened warfare in the west, many Wolf Riders were called away, weakening the village's defenses. Still, I had seven or eight disciples there, each of them no less skilled than regular Wolf Riders. What could have caused the situation to deteriorate so catastrophically?