Chapter 238 Investigating Northfang

Chapter 238 Investigating Northfang
Chapter 238

DARIUS

Marcus and I sat in my father's old study at Mooncrest, staring at the map spread across the desk.

Northfang territory was marked in red. The territory was very dangerous, hostile, off-limits to outsiders.

"This is insane," I said quietly. "We're talking about infiltrating enemy territory. It's illegal. Very dangerous. Likely suicidal."

Marcus's jaw was set, his eyes hard. "We're out of options. Every lead points to Northfang. If we want answers—if we want to save those children—we need to go there ourselves."

I knew he was right.

But that didn't make the decision any easier.

"The best possible way to make this happen is to disguise ourselves as rogue traders," I said, thinking aloud. "We dirty our clothes, rough up our appearances. Make ourselves look like the kind of wolves who travel between territories doing questionable business."

Marcus nodded slowly. "It's the best course of action. Northfang sees plenty of traders—weapons dealers, information brokers, smugglers. We'll blend in if we play it right."

"We can't use cars," I continued. "Too traceable. We use horses to get close, sell them at the next town, then continue on foot."

"Agreed," Marcus said.

We spent the next hour preparing.

I changed into worn, dirty clothes that had seen better days.

Marcus did the same, adding tears to his shirt and smudging dirt across his face.

We looked like we'd been travelling rough for weeks.

Before we left, I went to find Torren.

He was in his workspace, organizing medical supplies.

"I need a favour," I said without preamble.

Torren looked up and his eyes widened at my appearance. "What kind of favour?"

"Marcus and I are going to Northfang territory," I explained quietly. "I need something to mask our scent. And I need you to not mention this to Ravenna."

Torren's eyes widened. "You're doing what?"

"We don't have a choice," I replied. "We need answers, and Northfang is where they are."

Torren was quiet for a long moment.

Then he moved to a cabinet and pulled out several small vials. "These are scent-masking oils. Apply them every few hours. They'll suppress your wolf scent and make you smell like a common rogue."

He handed them to me. "And I won't tell Ravenna. But you need to come back alive, or she'll kill me."

"I will," I promised. "One more thing, can you have Theodore patrol the edge of our territory with warriors? In case of emergency."

Torren nodded. "I'll arrange it. Be careful, Darius."



We rode out on horseback at dawn.

The journey to Northfang territory took two days.

We sold the horses at a small trading post in neutral territory, as planned, and continued on foot.

The closer we got to Northfang, the more tense I became.

My wolf was restless, sensing danger, urging me to turn back but I kept moving forward.

Finally, we reached the border.

A checkpoint manned by three large, scarred guards blocked the path.

They looked us over with suspicion, their hands resting on weapons.

"State your business," one of them growled.

I kept my expression neutral, my posture relaxed. "We're traders looking to do business in Northfang."

The guard's eyes narrowed. "What kind of business?"

"Weapons," Marcus replied smoothly. "We heard Northfang has the best quality silver blades in the region."

The guards exchanged glances.

One of them stepped closer, sniffing the air around us.

I held my breath, praying Torren's oils would hold.

After what felt like an eternity, the guard stepped back. "Papers?"

We handed over forged documents Marcus had acquired from one of his contacts.

The guards examined them carefully, looking for any sign of deception.

My heart was pounding, but I kept my face calm.

Finally, the lead guard handed the papers back. "You're allowed in. But cause any trouble, and you're dead. Understood?"

"Understood," I replied.

They stepped aside, and we walked through the checkpoint into Northfang territory.



Northfang was brutal.

The buildings were fortified like military installations. There were stone walls, reinforced doors, guard towers at every corner.

Warriors were training in open courtyards, their hand-to-hand combat less sport and more survival training.

They fought viciously, without mercy, aiming to maim and kill.

The wolves we passed looked half-starved and desperate, their eyes hollow.

This pack operated entirely on fear and strength.

The weak were culled. The strong survived.

Marcus and I posed as traders interested in buying weapons.

We wandered through the market area, asking subtle questions, listening carefully to gossip.

"Excuse me," Marcus said to a weapon seller. "I heard Northfang has been expanding lately. Is that true?"

The seller, a grizzled old wolf with a missing eye, grunted. "Expanding? More like preparing."

"Preparing for what?" I asked casually.

The seller looked around, then leaned in closer. "War. Northfang's been mobilizing for months now. Warriors training around the clock. You should see the weapons stockpiles. They're enough to arm a thousand wolves, maybe more."

My blood ran cold, but I kept my expression neutral. "That's impressive. Must take serious resources."

"Oh, they've got resources," the seller said. "And allies with Redfire, Shadowclaw, Ironpaw, all working together."

Marcus and I exchanged a quick glance.

An alliance of multiple packs, all preparing for war.

Against whom? Against Mooncrest? Against Ravenna?

"Interesting," Marcus said. "Mind if we look around more?"

The seller shrugged. "Suit yourselves."



We continued exploring, gathering information piece by piece.

Then, as we passed near the main compound, we heard screaming.

Children's voices, high and terrified, coming from somewhere underground.

My entire body went rigid.

Marcus grabbed my arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. "Don't," he whispered urgently.

I forced myself to keep walking, even though every instinct screamed at me to rush toward those voices.

We found a trader near the compound—a gossipy man selling medical supplies.

Marcus struck up a conversation, keeping his tone light and curious.

"What's with all the noise coming from the compound?" Marcus asked. "Sounds like children screaming."

The trader glanced toward the building, unconcerned. "Oh, that. They've got the kidnapped students down in the dungeons."

My hands clenched into fists, but I forced them to relax.

"Students?" Marcus pressed. "From where?"

"That supernatural academy," the trader replied. "Grabbed a bunch of wolf kids over the past few weeks. Some are still alive. Others..." He shrugged. "Well, you know how interrogations go."

"They're torturing children?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

The trader looked at me strangely. "Of course. How else are they supposed to send a message?"

I had to physically restrain myself from attacking him right there.

Marcus's grip on my arm tightened painfully. "Thank you for the information," he said quickly, pulling me away.

When we were out of earshot, Marcus turned to me, his face pale but determined.

"We're outnumbered a hundred to one," he said quietly. "If we try to rescue them now, we die. And then no one knows the truth about what's happening here."

I knew he was right.

But knowing those children were suffering just metres away and not being able to help them was agony.

"We gather evidence," Marcus continued. "Photos. Documents. Everything we can. Then we get out and bring back an army."

I nodded, swallowing the rage and helplessness. "Alright. Let's get what we came for."



We spent the next several hours carefully documenting everything we could.

I took photos with a small camera Marcus had brought—pictures of the weapons stockpiles, the training grounds, the fortifications.

Marcus overheard conversations and memorized names, locations, supply routes.

We learned that Northfang was working with at least three other packs: Redfire, Shadowclaw, and Ironpaw.

A full alliance, all preparing for a coordinated war.

The scale of it was terrifying.

This wasn't just a few rogues kidnapping students.

This was a planned military operation.

As we were preparing to leave, making our way back toward the border checkpoint, someone called out.

"Wait!"

I turned to see a warrior staring at me, his eyes narrowing.

Recognition dawned on his face. "Wait—that's Richard Pike's son!"

My heart stopped.

Alarms blared across the compound akmlst immediately.

"Run!" Marcus shouted.

And we ran.