The wine table was noisy, there was a constant stream of people coming and going, and the pungent smell of mead continued to spread in the hot and dry air. It ruthlessly shattered the smell of food, and became the sole overlord of the room—just as it had at countless banquets before it.

At the wine table of the wolves, mead is always the theme.

Admittedly, all kinds of cuisine are also indispensable, but it takes time for chefs to bring them out of the kitchen, and there is never a shortage of mead.

Every son of Ruth will learn to make wine, sooner or later, and they will have to inherit the craft.

They would brew this mellow puree that could be used as poison in thick wooden barrels, then throw it into a corner and drink it themselves, or forget about it until a feast began.

Carlil lowered his glass heavily, and the wolf lord Bran Bloodthroat laughed and began to pour him wine, a dark and pungent liquid pouring out of the staggeringly large jug, filling the glass in a few moments.

Carlil nodded at him, thanking him with growls, barks, and continuous laughter.

"Thank you, Wolf Lord."

He didn't shout, and his voice was as soft as usual, but it was very clear in the ear of the bloody throat.

The wolf lord grinned, hammered his chest, and roared loudly: "You like mead, that's enough, instructor!" ”

Actually, I'm afraid it's not just liking.

Carlil smiled, tilted his head, and drank the mead again. This was already his seventy-ninth cup of mead, and even to the wolf lords, the amount of wine was incomprehensible.

Of course, for the wolves, his performance will be a legend that will live on forever. For at least 10 centuries, wolves will talk about it by the fire and mention the name of Karil Lohals.

It doesn't seem bad to be remembered in this way. Carlil thought with a little pleasure.

However, there was one thing he had to admit, he had never drunk so much in his life as he did today. However, even though he had drunk so much, he still did not experience the feeling of being 'drunk'.

The reason why the wolves regard mead as a precious wine is because it is one of the few drinks that can make Astarte feel drunk. It didn't seem to work for him, and no matter how much he drank, he could only taste the toxins, the liquor, and the promethium.

They may look terrible taken together, but together they surprisingly look good.

At least that's the case for him.

Carlil exhaled a scorching breath of air and placed the glass heavily on the long table again.

The twelve wolf lords began to cheer for him, and Bjorn was even better than Jörn, cheering as he walked up to him with a barrel that had been cut open by a sword, and handed him a huge heavy wooden spoon.

At this moment, the lone wolf's beard was open, his eyes were very wide, but his expression was very happy.

Carlil couldn't help but laugh, he shook his head, threw the spoon on the table, picked up the barrel with one hand, tilted his head, and began to drink.

The barrel almost completely obscured his upper body, and a drop of honey slowly dripped down the edge of the barrel, but the barrel rose higher and higher.

The wolf lords raised their right hands and began to tap on the table, and shouted in unison to cheer for him, and Ahriman, who was sitting at the end of the table, kept his head down and wrote hard, not a drop of wine.

It took a full five minutes for the barrel to hit the ground.

Carlil let go of his hand and patted his chest. The tip of the black robe was completely wet with wine, but his face was still pale, and he couldn't see any drunkenness.

Bran Bloodthroat excitedly reached out his hands, grabbed his shoulders, and shouted in Fenris, "Can you still drink?!" ”

"Yes Yes"

"Then go on, instructor! Your name will be sung among the wolves! ”

"In this way?"

"Isn't it good?" Bloodthroat laughed and pointed to Ahriman at the end of the long table. "Our greatest poets have already begun to write! Look, instructor! ”

Carlil laughed dumbly.

It was very relaxing to be around the group, and the wolf owners more or less knew who he was or what he was, but they clearly didn't care about it.

All the sons of Ruth have a very naïve philosophy that allows them to ignore human identity, status, power, etc., and allow them to focus on the 'man' itself.

In other words, they don't care what the truth is hidden behind Carlil Lohals's skin. In this matter, their logic is probably very simple.

The banquet continues to heat up.

Carlil grabbed his glass, stood up politely, and toasted goodbye to the wolf lords - he had something to say to Yago Sevitaleon alone for the time being.

The wolf lords also toasted him goodbye, and Bloody Throat, who sat beside him, was the most reluctant of them all, and he banged on the table and roared, "Then you must come back quickly, instructor!" Don't sit with the wolf cubs, or they'll haunt you! ”

"You think everyone is as fearless as those fools under you?" The other wolf master, Chrom Ryuzhi from the Wolf of the Sun Dalian Star, immediately retorted.

He's a grumpy guy - even among the wolves, he's a standout at it. Bloody Throat scoffed at his words and threw a bone out of the plate in front of his table in disdain.

It spun and struck Krom in the forehead with unmistakable precision, and the Solar Lord immediately roared to his feet and pounced on the Bloody Throat in front of everyone.

His strength and steel boots tore the table apart, and the other wolf lords cursed at once, angry at the loss of food and the faux pas in front of the guests.

The wolves are indeed rough, but that's just the appearance. They are disguised as barbarians, not real barbarians.

But the angry Krom clearly wouldn't listen to anyone's advice, and he was now just about throwing punches. Bloodthroat was about to back down, but he was completely enraged, baring his fangs and wrestling with Krom.

Bjorn watched their battle coldly and shrugged his shoulders at Karil nonchalantly.

"In the old Fenris tradition, the instructor situation will continue to escalate over the next few minutes, and all the wolf owners at this table will be involved in the brawl. Father, I wish they could control themselves. ”

"I don't think it's necessary." Carlil said. He could already tell Bjorn was saying the opposite, and if the wolf really wanted to control the situation, he wouldn't be standing here with a grin.

Bjorn's eyes widened slightly as he said this, and the lone wolf turned his head, looked at him rather unexpectedly, and asked, "Don't you think it's rude for them to do this?" ”

Carlil shook his head, smiled and took another sip of the mead, taking two steps back, dodging the flying splinters of wood like a prophet.

"I'm not going to hold anyone else to the test of what I think of myself, and, honestly. That's not a standard, it's just a paranoia. I know exactly what I've been doing, Björn. So I am glad to walk with the wolf, because you know it too. ”

Bjorn bowed solemnly, but his face was full of smiles: "I thank you for the compliment, my lord. ”

Carlil glanced at him and left the long table with his glass in hand.

As Bjorn had said, the twelve wolf lords would start a scuffle next, and he wasn't going to wait in the eye of the storm.

Now is the most rational and human moment since his recovery, and he must seize this opportunity to deal with something he has not had a chance to deal with in the past, otherwise, who knows if there will be such a good opportunity?

Carlil silently held his glass, like a ghost through the many long tables.

During this time, the blood and broken teeth from the punches and kicks flew and fell behind him, the cold broth was pressed to someone's face with a wooden bowl, the bones of the empty wine glasses continued to roll on the carpet, and the bones left over from the food were thrown everywhere, and the howls were incessant, and the singing was the same.

In the midst of this chaotic but surprisingly harmonious scene, Carlil finds his purpose. What he didn't expect was that Yago Sevitaleone was surrounded by wolves without any sense of disobedience.

"Who's going to be next?!"

Sevita asked as she reached out and pulled a wolf from the ground. The man had a blue nose and swollen face, and his left hand was hanging crookedly on his chest, obviously suffering a minor injury, but his face was full of joy.

"I remember this trick!" He shouted. "I know what I'm wrong and I'm going to change it, Sevita! Next time you won't knock me out like that! ”

"you."

Sevita glared at him, then smiled softly. He patted him on the shoulder, shoved him back into the pack, and then raised his arms and began calling out to the next challenger.

"Who else wants to learn something new from your Uncle Sevita?" He asked, the smile on his face turning into a caustic sneer.

The wolves cheered loudly, and a brave man stepped out of it, and Carlil was rather surprised to find that it was an acquaintance.

Ragnar Ray raised his right hand and slammed it into his chest, silently but solemnly expressing his desire to challenge. Many hands immediately began to push him, and someone shouted loudly.

"You're not qualified enough, Bloodclaw! Go back and drink milk with your fellow Bloodclaws, this is the temple of warriors! ”

"I'm already a warrior!"

Ragnar roared and glared at the man, wild and showed no sign of being tamed. The pushing intensified, the stronger his struggle became, and the wolves fell silent.

A tall, fur-clad wolf grunted and scratched his cheek and turned to Sevita with a gesture.

"What do you say.? Do you think he's qualified? ”

"None of you are qualified, and so is he, but he is a warrior." Sevita said.

He smiled and beckoned to Ragnar, "Come on, Ragnar Thunder Fist." ”

The young Bloodpaw was slightly startled, and the wolves pushed him in front of Sevita. He quickly calmed down and asked, "Do you remember me?" ”

"My memory is not bad enough to forget someone I've just met."

"But you remember my name."

"What's so hard about Astarte?"

"It's different." Ragnar roared and repeated, already raising his fists, looking stubborn and serious.

"You remember me." He repeated. "And I'll keep that in mind."

Hearing his words, Sevita instantly turned his smile into an arrogant chin as he raised his chin and cast a disdainful glance at the young Bloodclaw.

"If that's what you think, then you're not even inadequate." He said coldly. "Come now, Bloodclaw."

Over the next half-minute, Sevita completely dismembered the fledgling Ragnar's fighting skills in a brutal manner, dodging all of Ragnar's attacks without even raising his hands once.

The wolves began to laugh loudly, and Ragnar gritted his teeth, feeling a heartfelt shame as his blood surged. The wildness in Ruth's veins began to revive, and he completely mastered the bloody claws that were still unable to fully control this 'gift'.

He roared and lunged at Sevita in a desperate stance, only to be punched in the face in the air and stopped with precision.

Ragnar landed heavily, blood splattering, and he lay on the ground for a few moments before getting up again, his face already full of frustration but not receiving any ridicule, and the wolves fell silent at this moment.

Sevita reached out and pulled him up.

"First of all, treat the enemy with cruelty and all your might."

He calmly reached out and tapped the wolf's head emblem on Ragnar's shoulder armor with his sharp claws.

"Secondly, you have a solid foundation, but you can't fully control yourself yet. In other words, you're still too young, Ragnar Ray. You need a baptism of war, and the grinding of blood. ”

He sneered and kicked Ragnar back into the pack, and they began howling again. And this time, the shoving is gone. They affectionately rubbed Ragnar's head, led him to a long table, and began to pull him to drink.

Acceptance was quietly accomplished, but it would be some time before Bloodclaw could truly shake off the name.

Sevita saw this very clearly, he had dealt with wolves many times in the past 10,000 years, and it was not the first time he had 'close encounter' with them like this

He raised his hands in enjoyment, intending to give up on teaching something more, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a ghostly shadow.

He immediately lowered his hand.

"Go on." Carlil said, holding his glass.

The sound suddenly fell silent, and no one spoke again.

The wolves looked at the black-robed man who 'suddenly' appeared beside them in amazement, confused by the dysfunctional sense of perception and smell.

All they knew was that Carlil was drinking with the wolf lords, but they didn't know who he was, and their faces were full of confusion at the moment—until Sevita took the initiative to speak.

"That's the end of the sparring." He said. "I've got something to do and I'm going to leave for a while."

"And what about your share of wine?" One of the wolves asked.

"Keep it for me." Sevita said through gritted teeth. "Whoever dares to touch me will chop off his hand, understand?"

He walked over to Carlil and strolled with him to the edge of the hall.

(End of chapter)