Chapter 92
Chloe's POV
When I walked out of my father's room, my legs felt like they were filled with lead.
Father's last words cut like a dull blade, slicing through my chest again and again. He'd said it with such certainty, as if my failure was already written into fate.
I leaned against the hallway wall and took several deep breaths.
My wrist still throbbed—a reminder from my fight with Jordan. I'd won that battle, but looking back now, it was nothing but luck. Jordan had underestimated me, and I'd just fought desperately.
But the hunting trial would be different.
I'd be facing Connor—one of Thunder Canyon's finest warriors, the future Alpha heir. When he hunted, he was ruthless and precise, never missing. To surpass him in this trial?
I clenched my jaw and pushed away the voices of self-doubt.
I needed help.
---
Grace lived in the Beta district on the eastern side of the pack, an area of tidy wooden cabins—simpler than our Alpha residence but far more respectable than the commoner quarters. Her father was my father's military advisor, and her mother managed the pack's herbal supplies.
When I knocked on her door, Grace was sitting by the window reading. Seeing me, her eyes widened in surprise.
"Chloe? What are you doing here?" She set down her book and opened the door. "God, why is your wrist so swollen?"
"It's nothing." I walked into her room and sat on the bed. "I need you to help me think of something."
Grace poured me a cup of water and sat across from me. "Think of what?"
I took a deep breath and told her about the bet I'd made with Alpha Tyler.
Grace listened in silence for a long while, then suddenly shot to her feet.
"Are you insane?!" Her voice jumped an octave. "Connor is so powerful—he'll definitely hunt the fiercest beasts! Brown bears! Mountain lions! Maybe even..." She paused, lowering her voice. "Maybe even that legendary 'Bloodthirsty Beast'!"
I frowned. "Bloodthirsty Beast?"
"You haven't heard?" Grace leaned closer, a trace of fear in her eyes. "Deep in Thunder Canyon, they say there's a massive creature, twice the size of a normal brown bear, pitch black with blood-red eyes. It's killed several trainee warriors. Even Betas don't dare enter its territory easily. That's what everyone says."
My heart sank. If Connor really went after that level of prey...
"So now you understand, right?" Grace sighed and sat back down. "You have no chance of winning. Unless..."
"Unless what?"
Grace hesitated, then said tentatively, "Unless you work something out with Connor, get him to deliberately hunt smaller prey and go easy on you. After all, you're his sister—he can't really watch you go to your death, can he?"
I smiled bitterly and shook my head.
"Connor would never do that," I said with certainty. "Even if I begged him to spar with me a few times to help improve my combat skills, he probably wouldn't agree."
Grace opened her mouth to say something, but in the end just sighed.
---
But I went anyway.
I stood outside Connor's door, holding a box of dried meat—his favorite food, which I'd specially gotten from the kitchen.
I took a deep breath and knocked.
"Come in." Connor's cold voice came from inside.
I pushed the door open. Connor sat at his desk with a map of Thunder Canyon spread before him. Without looking up, he said flatly, "What is it?"
"I..." I walked up to him and set the dried meat on the table. "I want to ask you for a favor."
Before I could finish, Connor lifted his head.
He glanced at me, then at the box of dried meat, mockery flashing in his eyes.
"The hunting trial is a warrior's honor," he said, his tone calm as if stating fact. "I won't play along with your act."
"I'm not asking you to act!" I quickly explained. "I just want you to spar with me a few times, help me improve my combat skills. During the trial, you don't have to hold back—I won't expect you to go easy. I just want—"
"Want what?" Connor interrupted. He stood up, looking down at me. "Want to prove you're no worse than men? Want to prove Father was wrong?"
He turned around, his back to me.
"What good does self-deceptive effort do?" His voice was cold as ice. "You're a woman—you should be learning healing and herbology, tending the wounded, supporting warriors. You think because your pathetic skills managed to take down Jordan, that proves something?"
He turned back, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Delusional."
In that instant, I felt like I'd been punched in the chest.
I opened my mouth to say something, but my throat felt blocked, unable to make a sound.
Connor sat back down, picked up the map, and stopped looking at me.
"Get out."
I stood there, stunned for several seconds, then turned and left. The hallway was quiet, only my footsteps echoing. I bit my lip, forcing back the heat in my eyes, and hurried back to my room.
---
Grace was still waiting for me.
When she saw me enter with that defeated look on my face, she immediately understood.
"He refused?"
I nodded and sat on the bed, burying my face in my hands.
Grace sat beside me, gently patting my shoulder.
"The whole Lightning Pack's prejudice runs too deep," she said softly. "If you really want to improve yourself, you can't rely on them. You need..." She paused. "You should probably find a private instructor."
I lifted my head and looked at her.
"A private instructor?"
Grace nodded. "Right. Some rogue wolves—they may not have packs, but they have rich combat experience. If you could find one willing to teach you..."
My eyes lit up. "You're right!"
---
The Lightning Pack's marketplace was located at the edge of our territory, near the entrance to Thunder Canyon. It was divided into two areas: one was the local wolves' trading district, neat and orderly, selling everyday goods and food; the other was the rogues' detention zone, partitioned into an extremely small area, cordoned off with wooden fences and rope.
Rogue wolves had no pack protection and were viewed as the lowest class.
They suffered prejudice and discrimination, but precisely because of years of wandering, they somehow lived with vibrant color in that cramped detention zone.
I wove through alleyways, and just as I was approaching the rogue marketplace, I heard shouting in the distance.
I quickened my pace and pushed into the crowd.
A large group of warriors had gathered at the detention zone boundary. Behind them stood a newly built wooden structure, constructed like a fighting gym.
A familiar voice rang out from the crowd—I recognized it immediately. That good-for-nothing bastard Jordan again.
Leveraging his father's authority and influence, he'd been oppressing the detention zone wolves ruthlessly.
I squeezed to the front and saw Jordan confronting a young boy. The boy looked about my age, with black hair and brown eyes, a lean build, but an unusually determined gaze.
"You shouldn't be teaching she-wolves combat techniques!" Jordan pointed at the wooden building, shouting.
"There's no such rule in the detention zone regulations," the boy replied calmly.
Jordan flushed with anger. "What about this building then? The detention zone rules clearly state you can't cross the boundary and construct buildings!"
The boy pointed at the boundary line on the ground—drawn with white lime powder. "We haven't crossed it."
Jordan sneered. He picked up a bamboo pole, walked forward about ten steps, and casually drew a new boundary line on the ground.
"How about now?" He looked at the boy provocatively. "You're over the line. Tear it down!"
Jordan's cronies were about to rush forward. The rogues on the detention zone side were also agitated. The atmosphere between both sides grew tense.
The boy stepped forward, blocking the wooden building.
"I challenge you!" he shouted.
The crowd instantly fell silent.
Jordan narrowed his eyes, a sinister smile curling at his lips. "Fine."
He rolled his wrists, his gaze full of contempt.
The humiliation of being defeated by me earlier had nowhere to vent—now he could take it out on this boy.
"Let's make this quick," Jordan looked up at the sky, where dark clouds had already gathered low. "Don't let the rain get me wet."