Chapter 121: The Wolf's Challenge (Patreon)

From the perspectives of the players Andrew and Caleb, the entire world's aesthetic changed the moment these uninvited guests arrived.

As the giants, clad in grey-blue power armor draped with animal pelts, strode into the training ground, a stream of numbers flashed wildly across Andrew's combat power detector, almost blinding him.

"Holy crap!" Andrew yelped. "Space Marines! Every single one of them has a combat rating in the triple digits! The leader's already broken into four digits! The version update hasn't even dropped yet—where did Commander Robert find monsters like these?"

Caleb lowered his voice.

"And judging by their expressions... they're not here for a friendly visit."

Andrew glanced around uneasily.

"Do we even have anything worth challenging?"

"Aren't we the challenge?" Caleb sighed. "I think we're about to get beaten up."

Fortunately, the nightmare scenario the two imagined—a pack of triple-digit Space Marines rushing them all at once—never happened.

The Space Wolves had no intention of swarming them. Instead, their Wolf Lord selected a single warrior.

After all, they bore no personal grudge against Perditia's Helldivers Legion or the Martyrs Battle Group. Even the savage sons of Fenris respected a warrior's honor and the traditions of single combat.

The chosen warrior, Orkearis Rivers, stepped forward.

Thud.

His armored boots struck the ground with crushing weight, and an almost predatory aura spread from his towering frame.

The cheers, whistles, and wolf-like howls rising from every corner of the arena made one thing perfectly clear.

This duel was inevitable.

Caleb nudged Andrew with his elbow.

"Brother, your dream's finally come true. A real fight against an actual powerhouse."

Andrew immediately shook his head.

"A priceless opportunity like this should go to my beloved younger brother." He spoke with complete sincerity. "Respecting the elderly and caring for the young is one of our people's finest virtues. As your elder, I must lead by example."

Caleb snorted.

"Haven't you heard the story of Kong Rong giving away the larger pears? As the younger brother, I should naturally offer this 'pear' to you first."

Andrew suddenly grabbed his stomach, his face twisting dramatically.

"Oh no... I don't feel so good. I think I need medical leave immediately. The honor of our battle group... rests on your shoulders."

"What kind of illness does an Astartes even get?" Caleb asked flatly.

Without changing expression, Andrew answered with a single word.

"Chancroid."

"..."

Several seconds passed.

Finally, Caleb ground out,

"...You're unbelievable."

With a resigned sigh, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. His joints answered with a series of sharp pops.

Amid thunderous cheers, Caleb walked alone toward the center of the training ground to meet the Space Wolf from Fenris.

"If I have to fight... then I'll fight."

Taking a slow breath, he heard the soft hum of his power armor's circulation system. Dragon Flame energy gathered gradually within his fists as he settled into his stance.

Across from him, Orkearis Rivers silently watched.

The atmosphere between them grew colder.

The noise of the crowd seemed to fade into the distance until only their breathing and the faint creak of power armor remained.

Caleb expected the next moment to explode into a clash of steel and overwhelming force.

Instead—

KRRRSHHHHH!

A burst of deafening static echoed across the arena, like an ancient loudspeaker suddenly coming to life.

Then an overly energetic voice boomed overhead.

"ALRIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS YOUR OLD PAL, COHEN!"

Caleb nearly stumbled.

"What kind of lunatic installs a commentator?!" he thought. "And why does he sound like he's broadcasting from a cheap sports channel?"

"We can now observe two magnificent Space Marines locked in a tense standoff!" Cohen declared with theatrical enthusiasm.

"Let's begin with the contestant on the left!"

"Dressed in black power armor... the 999th successor to the legendary Dragon Flame Fist! A martial genius who has mastered both hardness and softness! Representing the Helldivers Legion..."

"CALEEEEEEB!!"

The audience erupted.

Players cheered wildly.

Caleb covered his face internally.

Stop making up ridiculous titles!

Where did '999th successor' even come from? And who remembers all that? Put this much effort into something useful!

"And now..." Cohen continued dramatically.

"Our contestant on the right!"

Rivers understood the cue.

He lifted his chin proudly.

"Orkearis Rivers."

"...An elite warrior forged by the frozen winds of Fenris! Tempered through a thousand battles! The son of the wolf world itself..."

"ORKEARIS RIVERS!"

Caleb blinked.

"...Hold on."

"Why does he get a normal introduction?"

"Are you afraid he'll cut you in half if you give him a nickname?"

"The favoritism is ridiculous."

"So!" Cohen shouted.

"Which of these mighty warriors shall claim today's glory?"

A brief pause followed.

Then his voice suddenly accelerated into auctioneer speed.

"But first, dear audience! Don't forget to visit our mobile food stall! Introducing the brand-new Battlefield Flatbread! Made from premium rat meat and carefully selected dried cockroaches! Four times the protein of beef! Crispy! Chicken-flavored! One hundred times better than nutrient paste!"

"Buy one today and receive a complimentary cup of filtered water!"

"Thank you for your patronage!"

Caleb was speechless.

"So the commentary exists purely to sell advertisements?"

"You really were born to do business..."

Then something clicked.

"...Wait."

"Did he just say his name was Cohen?"

Across the arena, Rivers had clearly run out of patience.

He planted his chainsword against the ground with a heavy clang.

"Enough."

"Let's begin."

"Very well!" Cohen replied immediately.

"Our contestants are eager to get started, so we'll skip ahead to the traditional pre-match trash talk!"

"Contestant Caleb—any final words for your opponent?"

Caleb took a slow breath.

The absurdity faded from his mind.

Only the duel remained.

He looked straight into Rivers' eyes.

"I can tell you're strong."

"If this were merely a spar..."

"I wouldn't beat you."

Rivers smirked.

"So you've surrendered before we've even started, recruit?"

Caleb slowly shook his head.

"I said I wouldn't beat you in a normal spar."

His voice sharpened.

"But..."

"I don't intend to lose."

"So I'll be fighting at full strength."

"If I accidentally cripple you..."

"...I'll apologize afterward."

Silence.

The entire arena froze.

Then the stadium erupted.

"My goodness!" Cohen roared.

"Can we consider this the ultimate declaration of war from Contestant Caleb?!"

"That's the spirit!"

"Beat him!"

"Kill him!"

The crowd exploded into frenzied cheers.

The Space Wolves answered with deafening howls.

"Rivers!"

"Show him the bite of Fenris!"

At the center of it all, Rivers stared at Caleb for several long seconds.

Then he smiled.

The grin widened until rows of sharp white fangs gleamed beneath his helmet—like a wolf baring its teeth before the hunt.

A deep growl rumbled from his chest.

"Very well..."

"It seems this recruit requires discipline."

"I'll personally teach you how a veteran earns respect."