That night, the mercenaries guarding the caravan camp were surprised to find that a large number of Wolfgang had suddenly appeared about a hundred yards away from their station. In the dark night, a pair of green eyes that shimmered with hatred were like ghost fires floating in a cemetery, surrounding the entire caravan.

Faced with such a scene, the steward of the caravan at that time was still arrogant and ignorant. He realized that he had nearly a hundred warriors under his command, including many powerful mid-level professionals and precise and sharp crossbowmen, so he was not afraid of Beamon who came to take revenge. After only ordering the guards to prepare for battle, the steward planned to sit back and wait for the wolf riders to obediently come to the door and accept the merciless strangulation of the sword.

Unfortunately, the avengers of Wolfgang did not rush directly into the caravan camp and engage in a face-to-face life-and-death battle with the humans, as the steward expected. Instead, like a ghost, it wandered silently out of the crossbowman's range, staring coldly at everyone and every face in the caravan.

For an hour, two hours, and three hours, the tense defense quickly consumed the body and spirit of the caravan guards, and coupled with the fatigue of the day, some low-level soldiers soon couldn't resist and asked to rest. At this time, the wolf riders gathered around seemed to have quietly retreated first because they couldn't think about it. So the caravan steward, after some consideration, gave the order to rest. Leaving only a few of the Night's Watch warriors, they let the others rest.

Another hour, two hours, three hours passed, and the camp was still as calm as usual. It seems that those wolfgang wolf riders really retreated. As a result, the mid-level warriors who were hidden in the shadows and guarded against the enemy's sneak attack also came out one after another, and each of them dispersed, in order to take advantage of the last little time before dawn to take a good rest and regain his energy.

At this time, the camp of the Dresden caravan was really quiet, only the sound of snoring and dream chatter broke the silence of the night from time to time.

And in the last moments before dawn, and at the height of the night, the green eyes, like fireflies, like stars, like the flames of hell, shone again. Gathered from all directions, with a silent roar that suppressed the heart and lungs and an unforgettable hatred, they rushed towards the fire of the caravan camp.

It is unknown which dutiful night watchman was the first to spot Wolfgang as he approached the camp and shouted a warning to his sleeping companion, but he was destined to be the first to fall tragically under the sword of the wolf cavalry.

There was no mercy, no forgiveness, no sympathy, and when most of the members of the caravan were awakened in a daze by screams and shouts, they were greeted by blood-colored scimitars that were colder than ice and faces that looked extremely hideous from the killing. The lonely head accompanied by scattered limbs, under the edge of the blade, continued to write indecipherable farewells in blood in the deepest of nights. Soon, the spilled blood condensed into frost, covering the ground of the camp like an ice rink.

Compared with the ordinary caravan guys who were slaughtered and had no power to resist, although they were also caught off guard by the sneak attack of the wolf riders, the escort mercenaries still resisted stubbornly with their extraordinary martial arts. However, having lost their unified organization and command in the Vanguards, the human warriors who did not dominate the continent by force soon found their companions falling under the siege of Wolfgang one by one. It's like a fragile sand castle, although it can withstand for a while, but in the end it is swallowed up by the tide of wolf cavalry one by one, leaving no dregs.

Only those seven powerful mid-level professional warriors were like real reefs in the sea, constantly slashing down the surging wolf riders. Perhaps, relying on these powerful warriors, the Dresden caravan may still be able to fight to the death in order to bring the dead back to life.

But sadly, the last stupid decision of the caravan steward ruined everyone's hopes. He asked seven mid-level professionals to protect him and the large number of precious gems he carried with him to quickly break out, while the rest of the caravan remained in place and became the target of Wolfgang's revenge. Although this was strictly immoral and irrational, the orders of the caravan leader were strictly enforced. Seven mid-ranking warriors mounted their horses, surrounded the caravan steward's carriage in the middle, and successfully broke out. And behind them, desolate cries and desperate curses resounded through the wilderness, accompanied by the hoarse murmur of the scimitar slashing through the throat again and again, and finally fell down, finally turning into the cold wind that was cold to the end on the wasteland. …,

It's a pity that the "sacrifice" of all the caravan members did not lead to the final escape of the steward. Over the next three days, Wolfgang showed the world how ordinary low-rank wolf cavalry could bite into pieces and kill powerful teams of mid-rank warriors bit by bit and bite by bite in the vast hurricane wasteland. Even though the Wolf Rider's enemies included an eighth-level knight approaching the round table and a rare seventh-level crossbowman, the final victor was the proud and united Wolfgang.

It was not until half a year later that the remains of the missing Dresden caravan members were occasionally found in the wilderness by other passing caravans. In addition to a terrifying Jingguan built of hundreds of blood-stained heads, the only thing that survived was the specially embalmed skinned corpse that had fallen from the branches of a dead poplar tree in front of the Jingguan. It was later confirmed that the skinless corpse was indeed the steward of the caravan. At the same time, on the back of the corpse, there is also a line of specially cut claw marks.

And this inscription, which later resounded throughout the Hurricane Wasteland, became Wolfgang's "best gift" to all caravans:

We are not bloodthirsty, but we are not tolerant.

Without resistance, without fleeing, without even screaming at the end of their lives, all human bodies were slumped and even sluggish as the tide of wolf riders quickly crossed the deadly bands of big-eared barbarian thieves and rushed into the crumbling defensive circle of the Tulip Chamber of Commerce. As if completely crushed by fear, the members of the caravan just silently watched as the oncoming wolf cavalry raised their scimitars in their hands, and then waited silently, waiting for the other party to swing their swords and bid them farewell to this bottomless nightmare.

In less than two minutes, all fifty-three people, including the caravan steward, fell under the wolf rider's scimitar. And all the while, even those human beings were almost as weak as newborn lambs, but they could not arouse even the slightest hesitation or sympathy from the wolf cavalry, but instead made most of Wolfgang's eyes rise with a deep disdain and contempt.

"Humph! These humans are truly pitiful, worse than the wild asses on the barren beach. It is inconceivable that our ancestors were defeated and expelled by such a weak enemy. ”

Seeing that there was no longer a single enemy standing under the four fields, the werewolf Margaret casually shook the golden scimitar in her hand and said in a loud voice of disdain. Immediately, strings of blood flew out like rain lines along the blood groove on the golden knife, and the delicate surface of the knife like a golden mirror immediately regained its brightness and cleanliness.

"That's because the opponents we have encountered today are nothing more than traffickers who are not interested in force. But if humanity is despised because of this, Miss Margaret, I have to say that such an idea is shallow and dangerous. The old werewolf quietly followed behind the female werewolf, looking at the wolf cavalry who had already begun to examine the corpse and make necessary repairs, and said slowly.

"Hehe, am I not right, old Crow?" Margaret didn't have any discoloration or displeasure at the old werewolf's somewhat mean rebuttal, but asked with great interest.

"It seems that your teacher has not done his duty." The old werewolf turned his slightly dim cloudy eyes, glanced at the female werewolf, and said, "Regardless of the 'Battle of the Continental Overlords' thousands of years ago, or the first, second, and third 'Punic Wars' after that, which one was not the one that used the power of Krulord to defeat the human kingdom and recover the occupied homeland. But what about the result? Failure, failure, and failure. Miss Margaret, do you think that the valiant warriors of the United Kingdom have been repeatedly defeated by a group of cowards? At this, the old werewolf raised his voice slightly, but then he lowered down again, and returned to a cold calm. …,

"I'm sorry, old Crow, but I'm being thin." As if she couldn't stand the old werewolf's plain but steely gaze, the female werewolf slowly lowered her head and bowed deeply to the other party.

"Miss Margaret, you don't have to." The old werewolf shook his head, and then pointed to the dead body and caravan belongings from Zhou: "What are you going to do next?" ”

"Let Hines stay here with his men to supervise Big Ears cleaning up the battlefield. We'll go around somewhere else. The werewolf thought for a moment and said.

"Where to go?"

"Sandos River! Before I came out of the wolf's den, I heard Uncle Giggart say that a human caravan was about to return from Bracada. But it is ridiculous that some other humans have sent out information through guò agents, willing to pay to invite thieves to rob. Hehe, it's full of ridiculous joy! ”

"There's nothing special about that, knowing that humans themselves are a race that is good at and keen on infighting. It can be said that the total number of human beings who have died in all foreign wars is probably less than a fraction of the number of people killed by their cannibalism. The old werewolf said lightly, but then changed his words: "However, the matter of this caravan, it seems that the upper echelons have agreed to hand it over to the 'Savage Totem' to deal with." We put our hand over again, and it didn't seem appropriate. ”

"It doesn't matter. I'm just going to see how those gruff and disgusting ogres do their work. And maybe, the S of the savage totem still need our Wolfgang to help! As she spoke, Margaret smiled, her eyes full of cunning.

"It's fine." This time, the old werewolf did not say anything against it again, but nodded in approval of the female werewolf's decision.