《The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters》


 Blurb & Echo

    Blurb


    I go by many names: Richter von Deutschland, Archduke of Germany,Empire''sHeart,theStorm Wolf.


    I have stood in the corner, not knowing what to think, watching the other wolves play together.


    I have sat under the night sky, gazing across the vast sea, feeling the waves splash against my shoes.


    I have lain in an endless expanse of silver, letting the snowflakes melt on my nose.


    I have hidden in the empty library, tasting the gentlest whispers.


    I have grasped the stars in my hands, standing atop a tower with no end.


    I have commanded storms, tearing hundreds of massive starships to pieces, bringing a long interplanetary war to an end.


    I have wandered through the silent void, finding my place in the world through extreme loneliness.


    But... I have not always known what I truly am.


    If I close my eyes, the most vivid image that comes to mind is the time I was constantly called a "."


    I suppose these are just fragments of many facets.


    To clearly explain who I am, I must begin from the very star,or perhaps the end.


    So, let me tell you my story...


    Echo: This could be a beginning, and also an end.


    My vision was a bit blurred, but I could vaguely see several collapsing spheres of flame and dark red droplets reflecting the flickering firelight, floating around.


    It''s so cold.


    The damp, cold sensation on my skin made me certain that I had lost enough blood to soak almost all of my fur. Bit by bit, it continued to flow slowly but steadily.


    Is there anyone here?


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    I tried to move or speak, but quickly realized I was too weak to accomplish either.


    It''s just me.


    Suddenly, I reflexively started coughing, but even this final dying instinct sounded so powerless. I was about to choke on my own blood.


    Is this what the end looks like?


    The burning sensation in my lungs did not lessen, but I could no longer even maintain basic reflexes, resigning myself to the sound of my own labored breathing. As my body relaxed again, I decided to let everything go, to drift freely in the eternal void, and not continue to struggle in vain. After all, I had fought so hard all my life, but it seemed I had never truly accomplished anything significant, except for satisfying my childish whims.


    In the end, I was still alone.


    But at that moment, there seemed to be a sound coming from a very distant place. What was it? It seemed to be calling someone... Who? That was... my name. The name bestowed upon me amid shame and disdain, why does it sound so... so...


    "...Richter!" he called out hoarsely, but to me, it sounded like a distant echo from the other end of the universe.


    Oh, you''re still here. I thought I had abandoned you too.


    This was probably just my imagination or some kind of near-death hallucination, but I seemed to feel the most genuine warmth and the most fervent emotions from his embrace.


    My mind cleared a bit, and a warm current surged through my body, like an untamed, roaring tide, demanding reality to submit to its will. He was trying to heal me... What an incredible power, to defy death and deny causality with sheer persistence.


    I couldn''t help but smile wryly, thinking about how countless people feared and cursed me under the title "Storm Wolf," and how I had once been compared to a star in strength... Have you ever heard the roar of a black hole?


    I took a breath to steady myself, but then a pain that felt like it was tearing all my organs apart surged through me, turning the warm current into scalding plasma, making me boil from the inside.


    I didn''t hear my own screams, only the lingering echoes moaning in the void.


    "Didn''t I tell you..." I said, panting and avoiding large movements, "...not to mess around without professional knowledge?" I forced a smile, not wanting to blame him too harshly, and swallowed back the blood rising in my throat, suppressing the accompanying pain and spasms.


    He murmured something like an apology, but I couldn''t hear it clearly, just as I could no longer see him clearly. But I knew I would never forget this face... and the details of this face that only appeared during our moments alone.


    As the energy flow disappeared, I quickly felt the last warmth of my life continue to drain from my broken body, drifting me inevitably toward the end.


    In the final moment, what should I say as a farewell?


    Or should I use this remaining strength for a farewell?


    Am I doing this to comfort him, or to comfort myself?


    I had come so far, overcome so many challenges and difficulties, and yet my pride still refused to let go?


    I had made so many mistakes, made so many people cry, only to disappoint more people, wasn''t that enough?


    With blurred vision, I met Luther''s brown eyes. He might have been crying, but I didn''t see disappointment. What I saw was... my own blue eyes looking back at me, like a pale blue dot in the vast darkness of space.


    That reminded me of many things.


    "Time is running out," I said, mustering all my remaining strength, knowing this was the last time I would expand my mind. "There are still many things to do." I tried to laugh lightly, closing my eyes to save a bit of energy. After all, I couldn''t see anymore.


    He responded with a gentle squeeze of my hand, understanding my meaning, and expanded his mind, accepting me.


    I was grateful to be fully aware that at this moment, I was not alone.


    Our minds fused, the endless void of the universe contracted to a single point, and then, with a brilliance that existed only at the dawn of the world, all the deepest cries of the soul blossomed.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.1

    Mongrel: Grey in pure white


    I suddenly sat up in bed, struggling to catch my breath. I threw aside the soaked blanket and stared at the sweat stains on the sheets below me. Everything was sticky--the pillow, the mattress, and all the fur on my body.


    I sighed, glanced around the room, and then focused my senses to feel the vibrations beneath the world''s surface.


    The other wolves in the dormitory emitted steady, rhythmic pulses, a sign of deep sleep. A few had sharp, jagged spikes mixed in, probably having nightmares. But everyone was still asleep.


    After confirming this, I carefully got out of bed, changed the sheets, grabbed clean clothes, and headed to the shower room.


    Due to the various strange things that always seem to happen to me, I developed many nearly obsessive habits to cope. I always go to bed after everyone else is asleep and wake up before anyone else does. Any slight noise can wake me up.


    Frequent vivid dreams are the least of my worries, even though I forget most of them shortly after waking. The feeling, however, always lingers. It''s as if there''s a hollow spot in my chest, something that should be there but isn''t, and the emptiness never goes away.


    But today''s scenario seemed new. I''m not entirely sure, as I''ll probably forget it soon enough. I never understand how my subconscious forms these images I''ve never seen before. Other times, the dreams that wake me up are the most real--entangled memories from the past.


    "...This is your responsibility! Grey will not tolerate this insult!" a voice roared, the anger in the words making the air vibrate.


    "Snow isn''t a faction where you can dump whatever you want," another voice replied impatiently, as if explaining a simple concept with great effort, causing a low growl from the other.


    "He is ''white,'' I think that explains everything! Not to mention your filthy..."


    "Watch your words, or they''ll be your last," I could hear the gritting of teeth. "That bitch..."


    "You''ve got some nerve..." growls and the sound of a scuffle.


    "Enough," an older voice said, stopping the argument. "Snow will keep the pup, and that settles it." The voice was firm and unchallengeable. "No faction is to speak of this again."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Various murmurs of agreement buzzed, forming a chorus of low whispers. One word was repeated many times, spat out like something dirty.


    I sighed, pulling myself from the memory.


    When I began to speak, the first word I understood was " ". Everyone always gave me a disdainful sideways glance, muttering the word just loud enough for me to hear. Occasionally, they would say it to my face, depending on their mood.


    It never bothered me much; loneliness is just a state one gets used to. At least, that''s what I told myself.


    Even though the sun wasn''t up yet, I perked my ears and sniffed the air, confirming the shower room was empty--no scents, no sounds, no traces, just some vibrations from a small insect on the wall.


    After a quick shower, I gathered the remaining water on my fur into my hands, forming a stream that flowed from my fingertips into the drain. I''ve always been able to do this, like some instinctual way to dry off. Over the years, I''ve become more proficient, making the process faster.


    I decided early on not to mention these abilities to anyone--the pack doesn''t favor those who stand out too much. Even without these near-supernatural skills, I was already different enough.


    Using the communal dryers would attract unwanted attention with their noisy motors, something I definitely didn''t need more of.


    After changing into clean clothes, I washed my sweat-soaked sheets and other items in the sink, wrung them out, shook them to avoid wrinkles, and then went to the balcony. I pulled out the drying rack I had found earlier, letting the morning sun dry the still-damp fabric.


    I''ve tried, but I can''t control external liquids like I can with the water on my fur, not even those on my clothes. Maybe it needs more practice, or maybe there''s a specific rule? Until I figure it out, hand-washing and sun-drying my clothes has become a daily routine--the washing machine could never just simply wash my clothes.


    Enjoying the warm morning sunlight, I jumped up and grabbed a metal rod extending from the wall. I smiled, swinging my body and tail to adjust my position, gripping the rod tightly to avoid falling.


    A few years ago, I couldn''t reach it. Back then, I could only jump and hope to grow tall enough to grab it. They say it''s an effective way to grow taller, something about gravity.


    I wasn''t sure I believed it, but it''s good to have hope. Being the shortest among my peers, even though my growth spurt isn''t over, feels a bit off. Mostly, it''s a way to entertain myself, especially when no other wolves want to play with me. Learning how to play alone becomes an important skill.


    When my arms ached unbearably and began to tremble, I let go and dropped back to the ground. Shaking out my hands to restore blood flow, I looked at my calloused paws, thinking it might make gripping easier.


    Glancing at the sun''s position, I checked the time and then took down the mostly dry clothes and sheets, hiding the drying rack in its inconspicuous spot. I returned to the room and put everything away.


    I moved quietly, and by the time I closed the bedroom door behind me, no one had noticed.


    So far, so good.


    Leaning against the cold wall, I took a deep breath, listening carefully and planning my route to the cafeteria for breakfast. I heard footsteps; a few early risers were already awake. I sighed inwardly, accepting the start of another challenging day.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.2

    "Mountains Andalusia." I had given up on finding any pattern to the food synthesizer, so I randomly picked the first word that popped into my head each day. It became a sort of grim amusement.


    The food synthesizer in the cafeteria gave me... a plate of toast crusts.


    I shrugged. At least there was a small dish of something that looked like jam on the side. Since the base organic materials for food printing were the same, it didn''t really matter what the synthesizer made. The differences were only in texture and appearance, things that affect appetite but not nutrition.


    I had wondered if this was some kind of joke targeted at me, but my years of being bullied had taught me that bullies weren''t this patient. It was just another of the strange occurrences that seemed to happen around me. Compared to being able to dry myself off with a thought, this didn''t seem that odd--after all, who really understands the workings of food synthesizers or washing machines?


    I chose a corner seat and picked up a dry, hard crust, dipping it into the red jam. Let''s be optimistic--it might actually be jam.


    I sniffed it, but there was no real scent. Just as I was about to take a bite, a slap on the back of my head almost sent the crust into my nose.


    "Sorry..." said two passing wolves in mocking tones. "...mutt." They coughed the word out as if trying to hide it, but I was sure everyone in the cafeteria heard.


    I ignored the eyes waiting for a reaction and the cruel whispers. I was certain that one day, I would leave the Senate, unlike most wolves who spent their entire lives here. So, this would all end someday, as long as I was patient.


    I just wished the food synthesizer could give me something I could eat quickly. But life never gave me easy options. Skipping lunch was a regular occurrence, so if I didn''t want to be hungry until evening, I had to endure the less crowded morning times.


    Before I finished the tough and dry crusts, I encountered two more instances of harassment. At least today, no one tried to pour some liquid on me. Ah, spoke too soon.


    I felt the bubbling pink liquid splash onto my face. But I hadn''t tried to avoid it--I lacked the motivation. It wouldn''t change anything anyway.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Amid the laughter, I closed my left eye, listening to the sound of my clothes and fur on the left side soaking up the liquid, gathering at the tips of my fur and then dripping onto the floor.


    Life never gave simple options, right?


    At the washbasin in the shower room, I hung up my washed clothes and looked at myself in the mirror.


    Snow-white fur paired with eyes as blue as a cloudless sky. White fur and blue eyes were the standard look for all Snow faction wolves--I even had a black nose. I knew some Snows were mocked for having pink or spotted noses.


    Even though I looked the same on the outside, I, like everyone else, could tell at a glance that I was different.


    I grabbed my tail, searching through the tip until I found a small tuft of gray fur. Plucking them out one by one was painful, and they always grew back gray, but I still gritted my teeth and pulled them out, flushing them down the basin.


    The only good thing was that the gray fur was only at the tip of my tail.


    I looked at myself in the mirror again, half my fur still pink and wet, perfectly illustrating my image--a mutt. I focused on the faucet, cupping water in my hand, and a thought crossed my mind.


    I guided the water through my fur, dissolving and diluting the dirt, then letting it flow back into the sink.


    Wow, I actually managed it. I couldn''t help but smile at the pure white wolf in the mirror.


    I sensed a familiar presence approaching. Oh no, it''s him. The last person I wanted to see right now.


    "Are you going to let them do this to you?" Piqsirpoq''s voice was harsh, his arms crossed and his nose wrinkled, baring his fangs slightly.


    "I don''t think I have much of a choice..." I muttered, putting on my still-dripping shirt and starting to button it. I didn''t dare call him brother, knowing he wouldn''t allow it.


    "Why won''t you defend yourself?" He was in front of me in an instant, gripping my open collar and pinning me to the shower wall. I felt the cold tile against my back.


    "I don''t want to be like them..." I whispered, ears drooping and eyes averting his gaze.


    "So you''d rather be weak?" His voice rose as he grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him, my tail curling between my legs.


    "I''m not weak..." I mumbled, ears flat against my head.


    "Yes, you are. This is exactly what weakness looks like!" he shouted, fur bristling. I tried not to focus on his exposed fangs, but he brought his face close to mine. "Pathetic."


    He released me and stepped back, his icy eyes glaring down at me, as blue a frozen lake.


    I finished buttoning my shirt and straightened it, still staring at the floor.


    "No one wants you because you''re so useless." With that, Piqsirpoq turned and swinging his tail sharply to the left as he left the shower room.


    After making sure he was gone, I returned to the sink, wiped some water on my head and trying to perk my ears back up. I rubbed my eyes and sniffled. While tidying my fur, I wondered what others saw when they looked at this blue-eyed, white-furred wolf.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.3

    The air conditioning in the lecture hall made the temperature and humidity quite comfortable, though the vibrations it generated were somewhat distracting. Therefore, I chose a front-row corner seat, as far from the air conditioner as possible.


    The seats fanned out from the central podium, rising in height as they moved away from the center. This arrangement always reminded me of the design of ancient Greek theaters. It was said that to protect the young wolves'' eyes, the lecture halls were not equipped with electronic light-emitting screens.


    I glanced up at the projection screen and then at the students in the back of the hall, many of whom were propping their chins with one hand while scrolling through their personal terminals with the other.


    "Classical geneticists noted that the principles of segregation and independent assortment could not explain all the variations in trait frequencies between parent and offspring. It wasn''t until the advent of epigenetics that there was another significant leap forward in the field..."


    A small paper ball hit my ear and then rolled to the side, joining several other paper balls on the floor.


    Sometimes, their persistence amazed me.


    "...Inheritance that does not involve changes to the genetic code! Who could have imagined, the golden rule..." Master Faurik''s voice trailed off as I looked up from my book to see a wolf raising his right hand, his tail held high.


    "Yes, Aptur?" Faurik raised an eyebrow, clearly curious why a usually uninterested wolf was suddenly so enthusiastic.


    "Master," Aptur''s mock respectful tone almost made me gag, and he even lowered his ears. "So, what kind of inheritance do mutt have?"


    I didn''t even bother rolling my eyes. Could they show a bit of logic and creativity?


    "What?" The elderly wolf clearly didn''t understand Aptur''s implication, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at the white wolf feigning innocence. By now, most of the students in the hall had given up stifling their laughter, beating their thighs or desks in uproar.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Academic masters often had this problem, too immersed in their own world to notice the changes around them.


    Faurik scanned the noisy lecture hall, his gaze finally landing on me, his slightly widened eyes showing a look of realization.


    Ah yes, welcome to my world.


    "Aptur!" The master scolded the young wolf angrily, beginning a lecture that was drowned out by the rowdy laughter in the hall. I couldn''t hear a word he was saying, only seeing Aptur''s deliberately lowered ears and the slowly swaying high-held tail. I was sure he shot me a sidelong glance, grinning and baring the tips of his canines.


    I turned my attention back to the content in my book, trying to escape the meaningless noise and continue my reading. Fortunately, that was easy; their pitiful whispers were no more distracting than the air conditioner''s hum.


    "Richter." The master called out to me as I packed up my things in the nearly empty lecture hall.


    "Master?" I asked submissively, lowering my eyes and ears.


    The old wolf walked over to me, opening his mouth slightly but hesitating to speak. Most of his white fur had lost its luster, looking a bit... scruffy against his flannel plaid shirt. But I knew those deep gray-blue eyes always shone with a wise light.


    "Your last report was very well done," the master said, clearly changing the topic. "The essence of taxonomic nomenclature." I noticed the master''s slight smile.


    "Thank you." I scratched my ear unconsciously, feeling a bit embarrassed by the compliment.


    "I think you have great potential." He continued with that faint smile. "Tell me, what do you think about museums?"


    "Master?" I sensed the possible direction of this conversation but was too surprised to organize my thoughts properly.


    "I showed your report to my colleague at Oceanus Procellarum University. He found it very interesting." The master tilted his head, seemingly amused by my reaction. "He hasn''t taken on students for many years, but who knows, a smart and promising intern..." He emphasized the last few words.


    "The Lunar?" I couldn''t suppress my excitement, raising my voice as my tail and ears stood straight up. Realizing my gaffe, I quickly scanned the lecture hall with my mind, relieved to find only the two of us there.


    "You still have three years of basic education, right?" The master chuckled at my reaction. "Think it over carefully and use this time to further develop yourself."


    "Thank you!" I jumped up, almost hugging the old wolf, causing him to raise an eyebrow. "Ahem... I mean, I won''t let you down, Master." I controlled myself, lowered my gaze and ears, and tried to speak calmly.


    Master Faurik patted my arm encouragingly, then left the lecture hall with a slight wag of his tail.


    Suddenly, I noticed a strange feeling I had never experienced before.


    It was a cool breeze blowing past my calves.


    I turned to look back, only to see my white tail swaying rapidly, the fur at the tip brushing against the desks with a swishing sound.


    In the empty lecture hall, I immersed myself in this rhythmic sound, sharing such a foreign emotion with myself.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.4

    My mood was so good that even during the evening training session, my tail couldn''t help but lightly sway.


    "Focus, you ignorant pups!" Master Qana, our swordsmanship instructor, shouted as usual, spitting as he spoke. "Half of you will serve in the Praetorian Guards in the future. If you can''t even hold a sword properly, don''t you dare say I taught you anything!" He slapped the back of the head of a wolf I didn''t know, then adjusted his stance.


    The training sessions were for the entire faction, so every Snow who hadn''t finished their basic education, would be present. I didn''t need to focus on disturbance of Piqsirpoq''s vibration to know that he was still in a bad mood.


    "You must master at least one ''real'' melee weapon. If all you can handle is a pulse spear, you''ll spend your life as wall decorations!" Master Qana walked past me, adjusting a few others'' stances. "Only real melee weapons can become an extension of your body. One day, this will make all the difference, so remember it!"


    Slash, thrust, parry, and block, we practiced these movements and stances over and over. Qana had said we must make these reactions instinctual, something we''d remember even in our dreams. I think I''ve actually dreamed about it a few times.


    "Feel the direction of the air, the shift in your center of gravity, and the vibration hidden in all living things." That last sentence made one of my ears perk up. Had he ever said that before? "Practicing basic stances cannot replace actual demonstrations, but if you can''t even hold your stance while standing still, how will you manage in a fight where there''s no room for error?" I heard a loud slap and a small whimper. "I''m talking about you, Trapper!"


    Still, only those of commander rank and above would be assigned swords, which meant most of us would spend our lives wielding pulse spears.


    And why would making a weapon an extension of your body be so crucial? I used to think it was just Master Qana''s interpretation, but after he mentioned the vibrations of living things, I started to reconsider his teachings.


    But this has little to do with me. I never planned to make a living swinging a sword. It might be odd for a wolf to think this way, but I''ve always been uncomfortable with rigid hierarchical structures. I''ve never adapted to them. If I knew I had to spend half my life in the Imperial Guard, I''d probably kill myself quickly--unless I accidentally killed someone else first from frustration--maybe I am an oddity after all, I thought.


    Thankfully, my future was clear, and it definitely wouldn''t be among the pack, not even within the Empire. Why waste any energy worrying about such trivial matters?


    Thinking about the opportunity Master Faurik mentioned, my tail wagged a bit more vigorously.


    "''Sea Ice,'' starting stance!" Qana''s command snapped me out of my thoughts, and I lowered the sword I had been holding, gripping the hilt with both hands naturally, letting the tip point to the ground.


    The training swords were standardized, not customized for the user, available in only a few lengths, and were almost identical to real swords except they weren''t sharpened. After several hours, every wolf was drenched in sweat, especially the younger ones.


    Having practiced since I was nine, these six years had ingrained some habits in me. I wasn''t particularly exhausted. But when we finally got a break, I, like everyone else, gratefully panted for air, though I kept my tongue in my mouth.


    Ten minutes later, Qana began pairing us for sparring demonstrations. As usual, no one wanted to be paired with me. I didn''t mind this at all because Qana would always spar with me personally.


    I don''t mind mastering a skill; I just hate being confined within a certain framework.


    A scream from nearby drew everyone''s attention, making all the gray wolves perk up their ears and look in the direction of the sound.


    I did the same, feeling somewhat awkward. I slowly lowered my ears, adjusting my stance uncomfortably.


    "Piqsirpoq!" Qana shouted angrily. "How many times have I told you this is practice? If you have so much energy, the dust in the storeroom won''t clean itself!"


    It seemed my brother had injured someone again. This was probably the only situation where we both ended up equally unwelcome.


    "Piqsirpoq seems to be getting angrier lately."


    "After all, there''s only a year left until the Selection. It''s normal to be nervous."


    "That guy with his tail always up gets nervous? That''s hilarious!"


    "Shh, if he hears you, someone''s going to get it again..."


    Whispers and murmurs of speculation and rumors spread around me.


    I actually had almost no interaction with Piqsirpoq. Most of what I knew about him came from overheard conversations.


    Brave, decisive, clever, though a bit hot-tempered, he was still an outstanding leader--essentially embodying all the qualities highly valued by the wolves.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    According to most rumors, it was certain that Piqsirpoq would be a candidate for the Elector next year from the Snow. Some even said he would not only become an Elector but also eventually sit on the Imperial throne.


    Oh, and there were some odd gossip pieces, more admiration or curiosity-driven. Like how he was incredibly disciplined, eating the same simple porridge for every meal, never changing for years, like some kind of ascetic monk. Or how he would sneak off to meditate in a mysterious posture late at night to rest his soul and train his body.


    But other than occasionally showing up to teach me a lesson when he thought I''d dishonored our "half" bloodline and these evening training sessions, we had no real interaction.


    I shook my head, trying to clear away the cluttered thoughts.


    As if I would care.


    "... Pair up with Richter." Hearing those fateful words, I felt like I''d been struck by lightning. My ears, tail, and fur all stood on end, and all the wolves turned to look at me.


    With an overly loud growl and grumbling, Piqsirpoq gripped his sword hilt in reverse, his face full of murderous intent as he approached me.


    The surrounding wolves all took a step back in unison, creating a small space around us.


    My ears flattened against my head, and I felt the tickling sensation of my curled-up tail touching my pants. In despair, I looked to Qana for help, but he was busy instructing others, clearly unable to spare any attention for me.


    "Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the pack?" Piqsirpoq growled through gritted teeth, his fur bristling, making him appear twice as big. I''d heard that frequent bristling was bad for the heart.


    I swallowed hard and picked up the practice sword.


    I could feel all the eyes on me, waiting for the drama to unfold. I really wished I knew how to turn off this sense of perception... the last thing I needed was more pressure.


    Piqsirpoq took the "Glacier" starting stance, holding the sword with both hands, raising it as if resting it on his shoulder, with the tip pointing back toward the ground, his body half-turned, his weight on his slightly bent back leg.


    I raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. He was either extremely confident or even more irritable than usual--I thought that was impossible.


    I responded with the "Frost" stance, lowering my body forward, holding the sword parallel to my shoulder, with the hilt against the upper part of my arm.


    As soon as my stance was set, he attacked with incredible speed, rotating his body and swinging the sword horizontally at my head.


    Starting with the "Glacier" stance only had one purpose: an overwhelming powerful strike. Normally, such a large preparatory and swinging motion would expose one to risk.


    But oh my Rationalism, he was fast!


    All I saw was a white blur and a metallic glint. It was impossible to see his movements clearly.


    But since I had guessed his intention, I rotated my body, swinging my sword upward to deflect his attack.


    With a loud metallic clang, the force numbed my fingers, and Piqsirpoq''s strike was slightly different from what I had anticipated.


    The good news was, his hand probably hurt as much as mine, and I sensed a flicker of surprise.


    But he recovered quickly, the deflected force not stopping his motion. Instead, he stepped forward again, spinning his body to bring the airborne sword down from the same direction.


    Though slightly unexpected, I had enough time to follow through with my movement, bringing my sword down in a wide arc from my left side, scraping the ground to return to the "Ice Spike" stance, then using the momentum to swing upward, trying to disarm him.


    Another loud metallic clash, and Piqsirpoq was pushed back a step, but he maintained his balance, using the force to spin and thrust his sword at me with the "Icicle" stance.


    I switched to holding the sword with one hand, meeting his attack with the "Ice Storm" stance, deflecting his thrust and twisting the hilt to entangle our swords.


    Piqsirpoq stepped back, pulling his sword free from my hold. Though he showed no outward sign, I could feel his surprise and a lot of anger.


    Anger, but still calm, like a cold flame absorbing all the surrounding warmth. Piqsirpoq then used the "Hail" stance, delivering a relentless series of slashes. I could only assume the "Rime ice" defensive stance, raising my sword to chest height, the hilt positioned near my solar plexus, deflecting all incoming attacks.


    His movements were so fast that I could no longer see them clearly, but in the moments of critical urgency, I realized I could "feel" his actions. It wasn''t just an analysis of his movements; it was an understanding of... his thoughts.


    The pressure from the surrounding gazes, the focus on finding flaws, the determination to give his all, the anxiety from his faltering attacks, the pride that could only be satisfied by victory, and a slight... unwilling respect?


    Grasping where he intended to attack allowed me to better prepare my stance and promptly defend or evade.


    We were locked in a stalemate for quite some time until both of us began to pant. Piqsirpoq switched to the " Ice shove " stance, delivering powerful overhead strikes, occasionally interspersed with wide, sweeping cuts of the "Glacier" stance.


    I returned to the "Frost" stance, continuously deflecting and redirecting his attacks with the smallest possible movements.


    I wasn''t sure how long it had been--maybe just a few minutes, or perhaps hours--I couldn''t spare the distraction. However, it had been long enough for the difference in our stamina to start showing. I knew I was close to losing my grip on the hilt. Just before my numb fingers completely lost their sense, I managed to deflect Piqsirpoq''s attack one last time, which surprisingly caused my sword to break from the base, producing a sharp snapping sound.


    I wasn''t sure if Piqsirpoq was unable to pull back his momentum in time or if he simply wanted to kill me, but all I could do was watch as his sword came closer to my head. Even though it wasn''t sharpened, I was certain that the impact could crush my skull.


    Suddenly, time seemed to slow down. The sword''s swing felt like it was moving through thick honey, yet its trajectory remained unaltered, heading straight for my head.


    How interesting. Is this what they call seeing your life flash before your eyes?


    But I waited for a moment and didn''t see any past memories rushing by.


    So, I lifted my gaze and locked eyes with Piqsirpoq--my brother--seeing countless emotions of terror flash through his dilated pupils.


    Well, at least I knew he wasn''t really trying to kill me. That''s somewhat comforting.


    Amusingly, my body relaxed, and I even felt an urge to laugh if my physical form weren''t still bound by the constraints of normal time.


    In the next instant, a silver flash appeared, and I barely caught the afterimage of Qana''s upward slash, slicing through Piqsirpoq''s sword, sending it flying into the air.


    After the hilt slipped from Piqsirpoq''s hand, the broken sword piece quickly embedded itself into the ground nearby. My brother, still not comprehending what had happened, fell backward from the momentum, gripping his right hand, his expression frozen in a state of mild terror.


    "You two really want to clean the storeroom, don''t you?" For a moment, Qana''s exasperated question was the only sound in the training field.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.5

    I rubbed my ears. Qana''s shouting still echoed in my head, causing a bit of pain. It had been nearly half an hour since the scolding, a testament to the sword master''s extraordinary volume.


    Seeing Qana wave his hand to close the storeroom door and stomp towards me angrily, I flinched again, shifting my weight uneasily to the other foot, my gaze dropping to the ground.


    "Why did you do that, huh?" The pain from having my ear yanked made me let out a small yelp. "Provoking your brother until he lost control, was it for some kind of vengeful satisfaction, or do you really have a death wish?" Qana bent down, bringing his snout close to my ear. "I thought you were the more mature type, or do you secretly wish to make up for your lost childhood by being treated like a pup?"


    "I didn''t..." I mumbled in a hushed voice, trying to suppress the hiss of pain from my ear.


    "Didn''t?" Qana seemed even angrier, raising his voice and tugging harder on my ear. "Do you think everyone present couldn''t see that you never attacked once, even when you deflected your brother''s strikes to create openings?" The master''s questioning left me speechless, unable to respond. "Clearly, the fight could have ended long ago, so why didn''t you strike?"


    "I didn''t want to hurt him..." I muttered, sniffling.


    "By the ancestors of Snow!" Qana sighed, releasing my ear. "I''m quite sure Piqsirpoq now knows his swordsmanship is no match for yours. I''ve known for a while, and I''m certain you knew too!" The sword master gave me another glare, making me wonder if my tail had curled in on itself twice over. "But soon, everyone on Hadrian''s Wall and even the entire Senatus will know!"


    I think your booming voice had something to do with that, too. Of course, I didn''t dare let any hint of that thought show, just continuing to press my ears flat against my head.


    "I really don''t see how becoming the laughingstock of the Senatus is a good way to avoid getting hurt." Qana sighed again, folding his arms across his chest. "I know you''re smart. We masters do talk amongst ourselves."


    I glanced up at Qana briefly, but the knot in his brows made me lower my gaze again.


    "When I was your age, my swordsmanship probably wasn''t even half as good as yours. And those fluid movements and reactions of yours are... remarkable. So I know that unless something unexpected happens, you''ll undoubtedly become a master in your own right." It felt really nice to be praised by the sword master who seldom did so, though I still forced my ears to stay unresponsive. "But to those self-important fools, you''re just a mutt!"


    Qana had never called me that before. Hearing that word from his mouth felt like a harsh slap, the sting burning like fire. I flinched again, feeling a lump in my throat.


    "Are you ashamed of this identity?" In an instant, Qana grabbed my collar and lifted me up, his spittle spraying on my face as he shouted. "Does being born a mongrel make you ashamed?"If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I couldn''t respond. I wanted to scream something back, to throw a tantrum, to collapse in a heap and pound the ground, to... to... have someone...


    But I couldn''t react at all. My jaw just trembled uncontrollably, and warm liquid slid down from the corners of my eyes.


    I had tried. Tears were not within my control. Rationalism knew why.


    He set me down, placing his large hands on my shoulders, staring directly into my eyes without speaking. We stayed like that for a while.


    "Don''t be ashamed," the sword master said slowly, his voice low. "Be proud."


    I wiped my nose, giving Qana a questioning look through my tear-blurred vision, unable to understand what I should be proud of.


    "No one should ever feel sorry for any inherent trait they are born with." He enunciated each word clearly, his white canines occasionally showing as he spoke. "Whether it''s lineage, faction, fur color, eye color, breed, race, gender, defect... everything is part of you." He tightened his grip on my shoulders. "And we should always be proud of ourselves," Qana''s deep blue eyes seemed to sparkle with something. "Because that is who we are."


    At this close distance, I noticed a scar crossing Qana''s right eye, nearly covered by white fur. The heat from his breath brushed my face, giving me a sense of... warmth.


    "In any case..." He stepped back and cleared his throat awkwardly, patting his clothes. "I may not be the best person to talk to you about this. Rationalism knows how bad I am at expressing myself." He twisted his neck and sighed lightly. "Be proud, okay?"


    I responded with a soft hum, wiping my tears and snot, unsure of how to handle the surge of feelings from deep within.


    "And it''s partly my fault..." Qana tilted his head slightly, scratching the back of his head. "I did intend to teach Piqsirpoq a lesson, but I didn''t expect you to... handle it like this. My intention was for you both to understand each other..." He lowered his hand, exhaling through his nose. "By the way, your parry and riposte was beautiful." Qana looked up at the rising moon. "But if you can''t deliver the decisive strike, it''s meaningless." He said slowly, his mind seemingly drifting elsewhere. "In the future, you''ll face many challenges and difficulties. Do you intend to avoid fighting back every time you encounter conflict? You can''t always just endure. That won''t achieve anything."


    I looked at my shadow cast on the ground by the moonlight, a slender, thin silhouette compared to Qana''s broad and sturdy figure.


    "I don''t want to hurt anyone..." I could barely hear my own voice. "...too many people have been hurt already."


    Qana''s response was to exhale deeply and pat my back.


    "I know you''re kind-hearted, but you also need to understand that kindness alone is often not enough. Life demands more from us." He gave me a somewhat sorrowful smile. "Purpose and meaning--the truest thoughts will guide our actions. You must constantly ask yourself, what do you really want?"


    "I want to..." I felt a bit embarrassed just thinking about it, but I still mustered the courage to speak my thoughts. "...protect those who can''t protect themselves."


    Qana nodded, his eyes filled with understanding, though that sad smile remained.


    "Most people who pick up a weapon actually think that way." He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. "But you must recognize, wielding a sword means you will hurt people."


    I glanced at Piqsirpoq''s broken sword, still stuck in the ground nearby, reflecting the clear moonlight.


    "But for now," Qana suddenly slapped the back of my head, making me jump. "Go help your brother. These complicated matters can wait until you''re older." Qana turned and walked towards the stairs leading to the underground facilities. "For now, just be a mischievous, reckless little pup."


    Watching Qana disappear around the corner, I bent down to pick up the broken sword and glanced in the direction of the storeroom.


    In the moonlight, my shadow gently wagged its tail.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 1 Mutt- 1.6

    The warehouse door slid shut behind me, and I took a few seconds to adjust to the lighting.


    Piqsirpoq was sitting on a small stool, wiping down a longsword, and then sneezed.


    I walked over to the toolbox, took out two masks, checked the filters, and put one on my face before handing the other to Piqsirpoq.


    He didn''t look at me or acknowledge me, but at least he took the mask and put it on.


    We continued to avoid each other''s gaze, silently cleaning the storeroom.


    Aside from practice swords, the storeroom housed a few weapons that were clearly outdated and discarded from the armory. I saw a few powerless pulse spears, various styles and materials of staves, and an assortment of swords.


    One particular saber caught my attention. I carefully picked it up, feeling its weight and balance. It wasn''t the eagle-head pommel or the ornate insignia on the guard that intrigued me, but the resonance.


    I flicked the blade, listening to the clear ring that reverberated through the air. It confirmed my suspicion: resonance, a kind of vibration in tune with my consciousness. Unlike the usual biofield resonance of living beings, this was unmistakably a different kind of wave.


    Upon examining the insignia again, I realized it didn''t ring any bells. I shrugged, gave the guard one last stroke with my finger, feeling the resonance until it faded away, and then placed the saber back in its place.


    I''d research it another day, perhaps Qana would be willing to explain its significance.


    The rest of the time, Piqsirpoq and I continued sorting through the weapons, putting them in order, and selecting those with potential defects for discard--including the two we broke today. After finishing, I updated the log on the wall terminal and locked the storage cabinets.


    "Since you''re so skilled, why do you never stand up for yourself?" Piqsirpoq asked, his back to me, tail hanging low and still, his voice muffled by the mask.


    "I don''t want to hurt anyone," I replied softly, doubting I could convince anyone. "Going after those who bully me would make me just like them." But I truly believed this. "And I don''t want to become like them."This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Piqsirpoq didn''t respond, standing there in silence for a long time, unmoving, giving no indication of his thoughts.


    "Do you know what Dad said to me the last time we met before he asked the Senatus


    to exile him?" His voice, though muffled, carried a heavy nasal tone. "He told me to..." Piqsirpoq paused before continuing. "He told me to take care of you."


    Then, he took off his mask, placed it back in the toolbox, waved at the sensor to open the automatic door, and left the storeroom.


    Because it was already late, the dining hall was empty except for me.


    "I don''t want to hurt anyone," I said, inexplicably, to the food synthesizer. Unsurprisingly, the machine wasn''t convinced either, as it provided me with a bowl of brown, viscous goo.


    Regardless of how odd it looked, it was still food. So I didn''t complain, shoveling spoonfuls of the organic paste into my mouth.


    After dinner, I headed straight to the showers. Still alone, maybe I had a bit of good luck left to spend.


    Standing under the shower head, I looked up at the tiny holes.


    Something was there.


    I knew it sounded vague, but I could feel that something was different, that something was there...


    Raising my hand seemed to help; I could sense that rhythm more clearly.


    It was strange yet familiar, something I had always overlooked. But now, I saw it.


    It was the water, the rhythm of water molecules swaying under hydrogen bonds. Delving deeper, I found the structure beyond my reach, yet still faintly sensed the polarization from uneven electron cloud distributions and the quark-level vibrations.


    It felt like seeing the truth and holding the world in my hands.


    With my consciousness, I directed the residual water in the pipes, guiding the flow against gravity as I willed.


    It was... magical.


    The water flowed in a circle around me, defying gravity. I touched the surface with the tip of my claw, feeling the turbulence, and the splashed droplets hit my face.


    Like a fool, I laughed at the wondrous sight.


    I felt the other water on the floor, within reach, as if it were an extension of my body. With a command of my mind, all the liquid rose into the air, forming a shimmering, suspended curtain.


    It was somewhat gross upon reflection, but my excitement overrode any such concerns.


    Using one foot as a pivot, I spun around, my tail raised for balance, enveloping myself in a large hollow water sphere. The differing speeds of rotation caused waves to ripple across the surface, the ceiling lights casting patterns akin to those on a gas giant onto my body.


    So beautiful.


    How had I missed this before?


    Tensing my body, I increased my spinning speed, feeling all the synchronized waves around me. Those waves resonated with me, creating a symphony in response to my existence.


    I was a string in the symphony of the world, vibrating at my unique frequency, resonating with everything.


    Amid the swirling water and shifting light, I danced with all my might, feeling the wet warmth of tears sliding down my cheeks.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - Surprise

    Surprise: Humility needs practice - usually by taking a beating.


    "''Frost,'' starting stance." I gave the command, and Luther assumed the corresponding stance.


    Barely passable, but acceptable.


    I tapped him lightly between the ears with the flat of my blade.


    "Ow!" he yelped in protest, holding his head with a pained expression. "What was that for?"


    "I should be asking you the same thing." I sighed and sidestepped, holding my sword single-handedly, leveling it at my chest. "''Rime Frost,'' second stance."


    He assumed the third stance, but I was too tired to correct him today. I swung my sword, tapping the end of the blade against Luther''s fingers, knocking his sword to the ground.


    "Ow!" he groaned, shaking his right hand and giving me a resentful look, his ears flattening against his head.


    "Defend, Luther, defend!" I rubbed my temples, wondering if the problem was actually with me. "Why don''t you move?"


    "You told me to take the ''Rime Frost'' second stance." Luther bent down to pick up his sword, his brown eyes filled with dejection.


    Realizing what Luther meant, I was momentarily at a loss for words. I had forgotten that the mutt was only seventeen, unlike me, who had started practicing sword stances, footwork, and dueling techniques since the age of nine. What seemed natural to me might be an entirely different world of thinking for him.


    I suddenly felt very sorry for Master Qana.


    "The stances help you remember the most appropriate actions in certain situations, including body balance or offensive and defensive maneuvers. It''s not just a fixed posture." I assumed the starting stance for ''Frost.'' "''Starting stance'' isn''t the first step. It''s more of a signal to your opponent that you''re ready." I swung my blade, deflecting an imaginary strike, then transitioned into the ''Frost'' second stance. "Each stance provides multiple options to respond to various situations, some leaning more towards offense..." I deflected another imaginary attack, rolled the blade to break the opponent''s guard, and thrust the tip into a vital point. "...or defense." I stepped back, withdrew my sword, and raised it horizontally above my ear to intercept a hypothetical downward slash.


    "So... uh," he scratched his head, seemingly trying hard to understand, "stances are like nodes, and the decisions you make in response to your opponent''s actions are the strategic branches downstream, guiding you to the next node."


    "Exactly." I stood straight and sheathed my sword.Stolen novel; please report.


    "You should''ve said that earlier, now I get it." Luther replied with a smile. I was pretty sure I had explained it that way initially, but he didn''t seem very bright. "Now that I''m ready, your element of surprise is gone!" His confident tone almost made me believe it.


    "''Frost,'' starting stance." I gave the command again, willing to give it a try.


    I didn''t even need to extend my awareness to know what he was planning, just from the smug smile on his face.


    I stepped to the right, sidestepping his thrust, then pushed off forcefully, closing the distance. When my fist struck his snout, that smug, foolish expression was still plastered on his face.


    "Ow!" He fell to the ground, whimpering and holding his bleeding nose.


    "What did I tell you?" I extended a hand, helping him up. "Feel the direction of the airflow, the shift of balance, the subtle vibrations within all living things."


    "We''re in ''space,'' where''s the airflow?" he grumbled, wiping his nose with his sleeve, only to have more blood drip onto the floor.


    "That would be the recirculated air or something like that." I rolled my eyes, exasperated. If he put as much effort into other areas as he did into talking back, I was sure this mutt would quickly become an expert in some field. "Stop the bleeding yourself. I''ve taught you how."


    I took his longsword, inspected it, and sheathed it, then placed both swords back in the wall-mounted cabinet.


    Turning back, I saw him desperately trying to use his hands to stop the nosebleed that not only hadn''t stopped but was flowing down like a spilled kettle - literally - flowing down.


    "By the Rationalism!" Despite having seen much worse, this scene still caught me off guard. "Don''t move!" I extended my awareness, pulling the first aid kit from the wall, and rummaged through it for the scanner to make an initial diagnosis. "An artery? How did you manage to injure an artery?"


    I didn''t want to know the answer, so I ignored his nasal whimpering, knelt down, and let him rest on my lap. With the scanner helping me locate the injury, I found the biogel in the first aid kit.


    Thankfully, the arterial damage was superficial and unlikely to be affected by the existence field. I applied pressure to stop the bleeding, then coated the wound with the biogel. In about a minute, the gel had dried, and the job was done.


    "I think I''ll just demonstrate a few more times..." I sighed, retracting my awareness and standing up, grabbing a handful of gauze from the first aid kit for him to wipe his face, then putting the kit back in place.


    Luther got up, looking down at the floor with a dejected expression, his ears pinned back and tail hanging low. I was about to say something comforting, but the terminal on my arm vibrated twice, reminding me of the upcoming meeting.


    I sighed again involuntarily, took a few steps towards him, and placed my hand on his arm, intending to give him some pet talk. But the door of the living quarters suddenly opened, and I quickly withdrew my hand.


    "The maintenance team for the replacements..." The lead snow fox glanced at us, their expression freezing, while the other red foxes exchanged uneasy glances.


    Glancing at the half-dried reddish-brown stain on the floor, the mutt covered in blood, and the bloodstains on my chest from treating his wound, I could only awkwardly clear my throat.


    "Thanks for your help." I suppressed my panic and walked out of the living quarters with as much composure as I could muster, letting the sliding door close behind me.


    On the way to the transport pod, a strange feeling blossomed in my chest. I placed my right hand over my heart, feeling its rapid, pounding rhythm.


    Why was I so nervous? Nervous like a pup caught in the act, desperate to flee the scene.


    The frantic heartbeat offered no answers. All I could do was sift through my memories, trying to understand what was happening to me.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 2 World- 2.1

    World: In the palm of my paw, so... vast yet small.


    I stared at the ceiling of the dormitory, indulging in a moment of idleness.


    I didn''t really mind dreaming about sword practice, but I wouldn''t object to dreaming about something more pleasant, like... like... oh, Rationalism, how could I be so pathetic?


    However, another part of dream...


    I placed my palm over the left side of my chest, feeling my heart still pounding fiercely, accompanied by a strange emotion. It felt a bit like... a rhythm had skipped a beat.


    Is this what heart palpitations feel like? Should I go to the medical bay?


    A rustling sound interrupted my thoughts, drawing my attention to a change in a vibration pattern, shifting closer to a waking state.


    I sprang out of bed, landing softly on all fours without making a sound. My skills in moving silently were already honed to perfection.


    The morning routine had changed slightly. When you could control water flow with your awareness, cleanliness became a breeze.


    I was still exploring if control on such a level could induce phase changes, creating supercritical fluids would not only be cool but also highly practical. So far, I hadn''t found any method to achieve my goal, but I kept experimenting with new strategies.


    Today, I concentrated water molecules into a single point, attempting to force them into a lattice structure. If I could exert ten billion pascals of pressure with just my thoughts, I could create ice VI tetragonal crystals.


    Thinking about it, the goal seemed a bit ambitious, but I believed practice was the only path to perfection.


    Bathing and drying now took less than a minute, and I no longer worried about hanging clothes to dry, giving me more time to hang from the bar, exploring what else I could do.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    I relaxed my awareness, watching the perfectly round water droplets, shimmering in the morning sunlight.


    I flicked my tail to adjust my slightly slipping position, continuing to hang from the metal bar.


    Glancing at the inconspicuous drying rack in the corner, an indescribable emotion welled up within me.


    I couldn''t remember how I first noticed it there, perhaps only a desperate and helpless soul like mine would think of the rack''s purpose. Maybe it was an antique from an era before cleaning machines became widespread, forgotten in that corner.


    Regardless, I was grateful for the assistance it had provided these days. Someday, another wolf with similar troubles might find what they need in that inconspicuous corner.


    Maybe I should leave a message, encouraging future wolves to try controlling water flow with their awareness?


    But I didn''t understand the logic behind it myself, so perhaps not.


    Is all of this connected? All the strange occurrences in my life and what I''m capable of? Which are the causes, and which are the effects?


    Perhaps one day I would find the answer, but right now, I just wanted to know if I could crystallize water at room temperature.


    So, basking in the warm morning sunlight and feeling the dawn breeze rustling through every strand of fur, I exerted all my might, applying mental pressure to the thumb-sized droplet, hoping the wildest possibility would become reality.


    I never expected it to leave me exhausted. At least I knew my limits, providing a reference for the future.


    It was no exaggeration to say I could barely lift a spoon; the pudding in my bowl felt like permafrost, difficult to scoop.


    I had no mental energy to spare for external matters, so for the first time, I genuinely didn''t notice anything happening in the cafeteria without pretending.


    Until an object entered my now narrow, blind-spot-filled existence field in a parabolic arc, and didn''t land on me as expected, I turned to see Piqsirpoq standing nearby. The entire cafeteria fell silent, the air seemed to freeze, and all eyes were on Piqsirpoq.


    I raised my gaze, following the white wolf''s raised left arm to see a red, moisture-laden berry clutched in his hand. Red juice trickled down the fur of his arm, some staining his white shirt, while others gathered at the soaked fur tips before dripping to the floor.


    He placed the burst fruit on my tray, creating a splattered pattern with the juice and seeds. Then, he slowly scanned the entire cafeteria, missing no angle. The only sound was my own swallowing.


    By catching the fruit aimed at me, Piqsirpoq sent a clear message, and I think everyone got it.


    Only after he set his tray down and left did the subdued murmurs return, but I noticed many glances still darting towards the cafeteria entrance, as if afraid Piqsirpoq might return.


    Well, that was... dramatic?


    I looked at the fruit on my tray, identifying it as a solanaceous plant''s berry from its prominent calyx and seed structure. I poked at it with a spoon, debating whether I should eat it - it seemed wasteful otherwise.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 2 World- 2.2

    "...So, the War of Succession for the Grand Duchy of Australia ultimately saw the Maned Wolf House emerge victorious." This marked the first and, so far, only time in history that a non-pedigree dog family acquired a grand duchy-level feudal jurisdiction. However, under the coordination of the then Emperor of the Ash faction, Dust, the Dingo House were allowed to retain as their family territory.


    In the subsequent courses, the biology master will explain why this is a deeply ironic event. Some believe it was a twisted jest by Dust, as many scholars argue that he wasn''t as wise as he appeared. But that''s another chapter of history.


    The newly appointed Archduke of Australia, Parma, was recognized by the Emperor and the other eight Archdukes as the holder of the Empire''s Fang after his coronation. Naturally, the Dingoes were quite vocal about this, arguing that the law prohibiting flagship involvement in Gaia''s domain conflicts was the main reason they lost the war. Now, having to hand over the most powerful starship in the solar system was simply unacceptable to them.


    However, the Dingoes'' protests were ignored. The ownership of the Empire''s flagship and the archduke title are inseparable, one of the empire''s foundational laws. That the Dingoes were allowed to retain the rest of the Empire''s Fang fleet, excluding the flagship, was already a generous concession.


    Archduke Parma, eager to prove his worth as the only non-pedigree archduke, made many rash decisions. Among the most criticized was his handling of the feline refugee crisis, which ultimately resulted in the '' Lunar orbit Massacre.'' We will delve into this in detail in later chapters."


    Master Klin descended from the podium and paced near the front row.


    "History has no beginning or end. Everything that has happened and will happen is a ripple from the Big Bang." He raised his hand and pointed to the projection screen. "If the Golden House hadn''t conspired for a century to annex the entirety of America, the Maned Wolf House wouldn''t have migrated to Australia, and there wouldn''t have been a War of Succession."


    The screen now displayed the migration route of the Maned Wolf House and the changes in control areas during the War of Succession.


    "Without the Maned Wolves'' victory over the Dingoes, the feline exodus wouldn''t have occurred, nor would the ensuing tragedy. What motivated the Golden House to unify America, and how did they succeed?" He glanced towards the back of the lecture hall, likely checking the time. "We''ll continue this next class. Don''t forget this week''s assignment: ''Succession Rights and Feudal Legitimacy.''"


    After most of the students had left the hall, I approached Master Klin, hoping to get answers to some troubling questions.


    "Why..." I greeted the master, who gave me an encouraging smile. "Why, as fellow oppressed beings, couldn''t the Maned Wolves..." I struggled to find the right words to express my thoughts. "...empathize with the fleeing felines?"


    "That assumption might be a bit too hasty, Richter," the master said as he packed his things. "Why do you think the Maned Wolves didn''t empathize with the felines?"


    "But..." I had never considered this possibility. "...if that''s the case, wouldn''t it mean that the Maned Wolves, despite knowing the pain of oppression, did the same thing as their oppressors?" The thought sent chills down my spine.


    "That''s also a possibility." The master met my gaze, his ears slightly tilting towards me. "You seem to be suggesting that it''s illogical for the Maned Wolves to become what they should have opposed?"


    I nodded, maintaining eye contact, firm in my stance.


    "So, you believe the Maned Wolves should place their own interests and those of the felines on equal footing?" The master''s pupils narrowed slightly, and his ear movements became more pronounced.


    "It sounds..." I swallowed but didn''t back down, forcing myself to stay calm. "...logical."


    Master Klin relaxed his expression, straightened his ears, and tilted his head slightly, chuckling and patting my arm.


    "Richter, you might be smart, but your knowledge is evidently not yet sufficient to wield logic as a tool in debates." He lifted his black briefcase and adjusted his tie with his other hand. "I''m not saying your idea is contradictory, not at all." He smiled and tilted his head, signaling with his eyes for me to notice my drooping ears. "Defending your position with just..." he tilted his head the other way. "...emotion, isn''t enough."Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    What did that mean? I pondered the master''s khaki suit, flicking my ears back up.


    "I believe we will have more opportunities to discuss this in-depth in the future. If you take Eulap''s classes seriously, you''ll understand what you''re missing." He tilted his head again, glancing at the electronic clock at the back of the hall. "You''re almost late for that class."


    At the master''s hint, I thanked him, grabbed my backpack, and left the hall.


    As I climbed the stairs to another floor, I pondered what I was lacking. So, believing that everyone should understand each other and not just hurt each other is purely emotional?


    Entering the philosophy floor, I found the lecture hall and, as usual, chose a seat away from others.


    I''ve never really understood where philosophy fits in with logic or why it''s called the mother of science. To me, it seems like an overestimation. My mind was still in a whirl from the last class''s "Trolley Problem," struggling to see the practical use of thought experiments beyond creating self-inflicted confusion.


    But since Master Klin said so, I figured he knew something I didn''t. So, I let my tail drop, tried to keep an open mind, and prepared to tackle the self-inflicted challenges left by philosophers thousands of years ago.


    "...The world is filled with various injustices, pain, and sorrow." Philosophy Master Eulap enjoyed moving through the seating area, encouraging interaction. "As gray wolves under the Senate''s protection, you might not fully grasp the daily struggles of enslavement, abuse, and genocide faced by others." The master turned gracefully, his shoes tapping on the floor. "However, pain is pain, though its degree might differ. Even something as trivial as the canteen''s food synthesizer failing to produce the dish you want is a form of suffering."


    Some students laughed. I stifled the urge to roll my eyes, wondering if they truly understood what it meant to have the synthesizer constantly fail to make the food you wanted.


    "So one day, the world''s most capable individuals gathered to solve the problem of ''pain'' once and for all. After much research, debate, and experimentation, they found the solution." The master returned to the front of the podium, arms outstretched. "The Happiness Machine!"


    The wolf stepped back, returning to the podium, slightly lifting his head and solemnly declaring. Some students chuckled, waking up a few who had dozed off.


    "A machine that can give you any joyful experience you can think of, perfect and without flaw! The smallest moment, the greatest joy, the wildest fantasy, there is no scenario the Happiness Machine can''t create!" The master''s tone now resembled that of a logic extremist delivering a speech, and I thought he would excel in such a role. "Don''t misunderstand; the Happiness Machine doesn''t just provide joyful experiences. It can fulfill any experience you desire." The master lowered his hands, tilting his head slightly forward. "Challenges, pain, suffering? From zero to one hundred, in any detail, you name it!"


    "The only question remaining is," the master resumed his upright stance, returned to the podium, and surveyed the hall, letting his words sink in. "Would you enter the Happiness Machine and live there forever?"


    The previously sleepy students were now wide awake, with some wolves showing keen interest.


    I had no idea this topic would captivate them.


    I refocused, feeling a stir deep within me.


    Could I experience anything I wanted? That means... becoming... anyone?


    "I wouldn''t enter the Happiness Machine," a voice said. I continued staring at my desk, fidgeting with my hands. "Fake experiences are meaningless."


    "How do you know what''s a fake experience?" the philosophy master said slowly. "How can you be sure you''re not just a brain in a vat, immersed in a solution with electrodes attached?"


    Hmm... that''s a good question. I often feel like a brain soaking in a vat.


    "Uh... but I..." The voice hesitated, struggling to articulate something so obvious.


    Yes, how do we explain that I am me, the sky is blue, the sea is green, and I''m here daydreaming? The simpler, the more fundamental something is, the harder it seems to explain clearly.


    Or rather, is an explanation even necessary? Does this prove that the essence itself has some redundant flaw? Isn''t pure existence a self-evident truth?


    "I''m sitting here, speaking," the wolf finally tried to describe their current state.


    "You ''feel'' yourself sitting, speaking, and seeing things--all electrical signals in the brain." Master Eulap pointed to his head. "External electrical stimulation can perfectly simulate your current sensations. This technology existed centuries ago, used to help the blind regain sight or simulate other senses." The master waved his hand, and the screen showed an image of a pair of goggles with wires, chips, and twelve pairs of neural network diagrams. "Applying it to those with normal physiological functions has some limitations, but overall, what was once a thought experiment has long been reality."


    "But even if I can''t distinguish between real and virtual, deciding to enter the Happiness Machine knowing all future experiences are fake makes everything meaningless, so there''s no motivation to enter."


    Fake and... real? I tapped my fingernail slowly on the desk.


    "So, being able to ensure the reality or falsehood is the most crucial premise?"


    The master continued the dialogue, possibly trying to prompt everyone to think about their motivations and whether they align with the ultimate goal.


    Oh, so that''s where the logical aspect of philosophy lies. The key isn''t necessarily about solving the problem but in the process of proposing ideas, self-examining, and debating.


    But at the moment, I wasn''t in the mood to marvel at the subtlety of the mother of sciences or to feel excited about finally understanding this point.


    I still couldn''t stop imagining what I would see after entering the happiness machine. Maybe it would just be endless emptiness.


    How enviable it is to be so decisive, to be able to reject entering the happiness machine simply because they believe those happy experiences are fake.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 2 World- 2.3

    At dusk, my energy had mostly recovered, but since endurance has never been my strong suit, I fell behind during our daily cross-country run, ending up as the last one in the group.


    The setting sun cast a golden glow on the snow, its dazzling reflection on the mountain walls made me squint my eyes.


    I''ve never been fond of winter. It might sound odd for a grey wolf with three layers of fur to say this, but I really hate the cold. Not feeling cold and feeling comfortable are two different things.


    I lowered my body, quickly running across the rocky slope, adjusting the angle of my tail to maintain balance, and stepping forward before my foothold could crumble.


    The terrain near Mount Ulamun is rugged and fragmented, but in summer, this mountainous region will show another side. The snowy, barren cliffs have a very aloof beauty, but I can also appreciate the lush, vibrant scenery.


    A few laughs and vulgar jeers caught my attention, directing my gaze to the female Snow pack on the opposite mountain path. They were making clear derisive gestures towards us, and the male wolves at the front of our group took it as some form of encouragement, responding with even louder, crude flattery.


    I rolled my eyes inwardly, reminding myself not to stoop to such childish behavior.


    Back at the training ground, I found everyone already in position. Today, Master Polota was in charge of the guidance. His agile movements and swordsmanship were completely different from the powerful, oppressive style of Qana.


    I searched for Piqsirpoq''s presence, considering keeping my distance from him, but quickly noticed he wasn''t in the training ground. As I pondered the possible reasons, I sensed Qana''s presence approaching from behind, making me turn to face him immediately.


    "The sword masters have unanimously agreed that your training should advance further," the burly sword master said in a calm tone, without any comment on my awareness of his approach. "Follow me."


    Wasting no time, the master ascended one of the several steps carved into the mountain wall. My navigation skills aren''t great, so to avoid getting lost, I hurriedly followed Qana''s large strides.


    "Master, I don''t want to sound ungrateful..." I began, but Qana turned to raise an eyebrow at me, prompting me to clear my throat and get to the point. "I think the masters know that I won''t stay in the wolf pack in the future..." Qana maintained his raised eyebrow expression, preventing me from continuing, making me lower my gaze to my boots.


    "Precisely because of that," Qana said as he turned back, still in his calm tone. "We don''t have much time." He placed a hand on his sword hilt, rubbing the rounded pommel with his thumb. "Don''t you find it strange why I''m training you instead of Polota, who has a style more similar to yours?"


    At first, I didn''t realize Qana meant he would personally guide me, but I didn''t understand why the arrangement was made. The master''s feigned indifferent tone made me think further inquiry might not be wise, so I maintained a grateful silence, submissively accepting the master''s decision.


    "Is Piqsirpoq also receiving private instruction from a master?" I asked in a respectful tone, softly.


    "You really have no interest in what''s happening in the Senate, do you?" Qana snorted lightly and asked. I didn''t know how to respond, as the description was quite accurate. "Young wolves of sufficient potential will undergo initial group training, eventually selecting a five-member team plus reserves to represent the faction in the Selection." He paused at a fork in the path, then continued down one. "The Selection is the best chance to showcase oneself and greatly affects the possibility of becoming a prince-elector candidate--and Piqsirpoq is a hot favorite for this year''s Snow."


    Before I could respond, Qana led me to a platform carved out from the mountain. The entrance was well-hidden, impossible to find unless one was familiar with the terrain.


    "Qana Snow," the master said to a seemingly indistinguishable rock wall at the end of the platform, and the black shale silently parted to both sides.


    Qana didn''t waste time explaining anything to me, simply walking inside. I had to follow quickly, unsure of when the wall would close again.


    "Welcome, Sword Master." As we stepped through the opening, a neutral electronic voice sounded, and when the entrance silently closed behind us, soft light filled the interior, illuminating our surroundings.


    Alright, that was pretty cool.


    While Qana was operating a terminal on the black wall, I surveyed the room--it didn''t take long because there was nothing in the small space. The floor, ceiling, and walls were made of the same smooth black material, and I couldn''t determine the source of the light.


    "Choose a weapon that suits you," Qana said, walking to my side and pointing to a wall that slid open to reveal various swords. "I''ll have one custom-made for you later."


    It took me a moment to understand Qana''s intention.


    Suppressing my surprise and excitement, setting aside my countless questions, I couldn''t care less about whether I deserved such a gift. I could only think of the sword that would belong to me--my sword.


    Is this what it means to be overwhelmed with joy?


    As I picked up and tested different swords, feeling their balance, I noticed something peculiar--the vibration. Just like the military saber in the armory, each sword here resonated subtly under my touch.


    I momentarily forgot about the idea of having my own sword and looked at Qana with a questioning expression, tilting my head and folding one ear for answers, but he remained unmoved.


    Unable to read anything from his poker face, I changed tactics and expanded my consciousness, trying to interpret his thoughts from the waves he emitted.


    "Stop." As soon as my consciousness touched Qana, he spoke.


    The authoritative command in his voice made me immediately withdraw my consciousness, lowering my gaze and tail. I didn''t know if he had detected what I was doing or how he knew.


    "Although the number of psychics is very small, their existence and capabilities are not unfamiliar within the Canine Empire or even other parts of the solar system. But except for significant figures, the general public either hasn''t heard of psychic-related information or treats it as unreliable folklore. This is true even for wolves, who have relatively tight-knit communities." With Qana''s explanation, I began to understand something--there are forces deliberately concealing the existence of people like me, and there are others like me out there.


    Others who can do those seemingly impossible things--my kind. I looked up at Qana.


    "You are still very weak now, and the waves you emit are not easily noticeable, unless you send out probing waves that touch other psychics." Qana sighed and slightly slumped his shoulders. "I initially thought I could wait until you reached the age of eligibility for the Selection before worrying about this, but clearly, I misjudged many things."This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    He drew his sword, the broad sword with a slanted guard matching its owner, devoid of any decoration or unnecessary structure, yet a mere glance at the unadorned blade revealed its brilliance.


    Although he always used a blunt practice sword when sparring with me, Qana occasionally demonstrated moves with his own sword, so this wasn''t my first time seeing it up close. However, it was the first time I noticed the waves radiating from it.


    "You need to quickly learn the technique of shielding your own waves. Before you can quietly use your abilities, do not expand your consciousness outside this room." Qana circled the room with his sword, and I seemed to see a faint white glow. Was it an optical illusion or just an afterimage? "Simply expanding your consciousness to sense waves is fine; it won''t leave detectable ripples in the conscious domain. But actively expanding your field or further manipulation is a completely different matter. I will teach you how to differentiate between these two later, but for now, we must prioritize."


    After Qana finished speaking, I felt a certain...stagnation, as if encased in amber. I slightly moved my limbs and tail, like trying to swim with all my fur soaked.


    "All minds, outside their ''circle of existence''--the body--have ''circles of consciousness'' of varying range, structure, and density, depending on the strength of their will and other factors. Most circles of consciousness are too weak to cause any physical waves or effects. Those strong enough are the psychics." Qana tapped his chest twice with his thumb and then pointed at me. "They can do all sorts of miraculous things within the domain controlled by their consciousness."


    I felt that stagnation grow stronger, making it hard to even breathe, as if submerged in deep water, with an invisible force pressing on my chest.


    "But in most cases, different individuals'' circles of consciousness repel each other, so when strong circles of consciousness come into contact, it will be like this." Qana pointed to my hand. "Reining in your constant circle of consciousness and hiding it within your circle of existence is the basic way to avoid detection. Once you can skillfully retract and release it, we will discuss the advanced techniques."


    I tried to follow Qana''s instructions, retracting my consciousness. Like the reverse of expanding my consciousness, I... retracted it inward. I realized this might be easy for me because--hiding, not attracting attention--these were things I had practiced for over a decade.


    When my consciousness was fully retracted, that heavy stagnation disappeared. I raised my hands, flexing my fingers to confirm my movements were back to normal.


    "Very good, just as I expected, this part should be quite easy for you," the master said with a slight nod of approval, a common sign of praise from him. "If your abilities are discovered, it will pose a significant danger to you, so you must master the art of concealing your fluctuations." Qana''s gaze met mine, his tone becoming more intense. "I trust I don''t need to remind you never to reveal the content of our training sessions here, aside from the swordsmanship."


    Once the constraints of action were lifted, I took down the half-sword I had been eyeing earlier, holding it in my hand, feeling the perfect balance and the resonant hum.


    "I was a bit worried you might choose a rapier," Qana said with a shrug, walking back to the terminal and pressing a few buttons to retract the blade rack, which was once again covered by the black wall. "But..." he tilted his head slightly and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "You didn''t choose the half-sword to make a statement, did you?"


    "I just think it suits me," I said, turning the sword in my hand and listening to the sound of the blade slicing through the air. "What would a half-sword signify?"


    "Although the name is a bit odd, simply put, a half-sword is also known as a hybrid sword," Qana explained, removing his dark brown cloak and hanging it on a black cylindrical object that had appeared at some point. "It refers to swords that cannot easily be classified as either single-handed or two-handed."


    The master approached me, his cloakless figure revealing his rugged muscles beneath his white shirt, and his nearly two-meter height gave me a powerful sense of intimidation that I hadn''t noticed outdoors.


    "Is it because I''m a mutt?" I flinched slightly at the term. "My status has turned my abilities into..." I mulled over the irony. "...a danger?" I realized how most Snow, even the entire Senate, would view me--a powerful anomaly--as an unstable, uncontrollable threat.


    "That is only one small part of it. Psychics are too precious to be dismissed, even the most conservative and outdated individuals cannot deny this. There are many dangers in this world that you are not yet aware of." Qana''s deep blue eyes flashed with a cold glint, his expression darkening. "Not just that--there are many who will seek to suppress you simply because of your innate traits or status. Often, the things that come with your abilities can be deadly--or worse."


    As soon as the master finished speaking, he executed a smooth slash that seemed mismatched with the enormous sword he wielded. I quickly raised my sword to block the attack, ear keen for any further moves, and shifted my stance into the "Frost", preparing for the next offensive.


    "Good, keep it up," he said as I dodged his chop and immediately closed in to strike at his abdomen. The master withdrew his sword and changed to a reverse grip, lifting the sword to his ear in the "Icicle" stance, creating an arc that lifted my blade and caught it with the guard, pulling it away.


    "In a crisis, an untrained psychics will instinctively extend their awareness to protect themselves, much like a startled insect. You must transcend this level; psychic are not just survival instincts."


    Unable to retract my sword, Qana used his left hand to forcefully push the sword''s end, relying on his strength and height advantage to drive the attack from above.


    I tried to block the attack with the guard, but Qana''s immense strength forced me to retreat a few steps to maintain my balance. He relentlessly pressured me, leaving no room for respite.


    Straining all my muscles to resist, I managed to halt Qana''s sword for a moment. I immediately withdrew my resistance to disrupt my balance, sidestepping and causing the master to stumble slightly forward. Seizing the opportunity, I raised my leg and aimed a kick at Qana''s nose.


    I hoped to at least disrupt his rhythm, but Qana, with a casual smile of ease, caught my left foot with his massive left hand.


    I didn''t stop; using the leverage from his grip, I bent my left leg and spun my whole body off the ground, using all my strength to kick at Qana''s face with my right foot.


    As I exhaled sharply, I found myself lying on my back, my mind racing through what had just happened. Qana''s reaction was faster than I was used to; during our usual practice, he hadn''t used his full strength--he had immediately grabbed my foot and slammed me to the ground as soon as he detected my intent.


    But my sword was still in hand. I curled my body, aiming for Qana''s ankle with a slash. Qana, moving so quickly that I barely saw an blur, performed the "Icicle", knocking my sword from my grip. I still refused to give up, tensing my entire body from the ground and leaping up, but a rough, hard object met the tip of my nose, halting all my actions.


    "Don''t freeze up," Qana said, his breathing still steady and calm. "Immediately lean back to somewhat mitigate the impact. The pain from a direct strike to the nose is unbearable for any canine creature. In a death match with similar skill levels, a precise hit to the nose will determine the outcome."


    I pressed my ears flat against my head and looked up at the master.


    "In the domain of a psychic''s consciousness, there are many disadvantages when fighting against him." Qana withdrew his foot and extended his hand to help me up. "But you performed well, and most importantly, you didn''t instinctively expand your awareness out of fear."


    I picked up the fallen sword and stood back in front of Qana, lowering my gaze to listen quietly.


    "Or rather, did you not actually feel the real danger?" The master rarely used a joking tone, but it was not laced with much sarcasm. Still, I kept my eyes on the ground, not changing my posture.


    "I think I did..." I recalled the sensation from earlier. "I thought you might really break my nose."


    "Then you should have reacted, not frozen." Qana scolded, though my ears were already pressed flat and could not droop further. "Maintain the retracted consciousness state and stay vigilant." I followed the master''s command, lifting my gaze and focusing on him.


    Qana held the sword in his right hand, fully extended parallel to the ground. A strong resonance emanated from the sword, followed by a wave of vitality that pierced through me.


    "This is a sword technique specially designed for psychics by the Snow faction," he said, his voice resonating in sync with the sword''s hum, almost like a chant. "You will continue practicing from the basic stance until you can perfectly conceal your vibration before I teach you the ability-related aspects." Qana made no other moves, but I already felt the immense pressure from him bearing down on me. It was as if the air became dense and heavy, with waves of impact shaking the room.


    I tried to control the reaction of my hair, but my adrenaline surged, my heart raced, and I could even hear my arteries pounding next to my eardrum--this was the truest sense of facing fear. I ignored the tingling sensation crawling under my skin, knowing it was my instinct urging me to extend my protective field. But I also knew I could surpass this level.


    "Snow," Qana''s voice floated through the space, and my vision was filled with countless white afterimages.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 2 World- 2.4

    This whole day, I truly understood for the first time what it meant to be mentally exhausted--there was no issue with physical activity, but I lacked the desire to drive my body. Obviously, retracting my consciousness circle was also something that drained my spirit. When the training ended, Qana was a bit surprised that I managed to maintain this state for so long. The small acknowledgment from the swordsmanship master made me feel somewhat elated.


    Because of this, Qana allowed me to use my "psychic" to clean and dry myself.


    "''Psychic''." I said softly, savoring the vibration of the word in my mouth. Yesterday, I still knew nothing about my almost supernatural abilities. Today, I knew what to call this power. It felt... interesting. Having a name to call it made it seem less mysterious, abstract, and distant, and more like something real and tangible, easier to understand and control. It felt like a part of me.


    Without extending my consciousness, I thought about the power contained in a name--the process of naming it and the final understood appellation--while using the consciousness circle around my body to expel the water clinging to my fur.


    I tried to speak decisively, to utter my own name, but the only sound was the uncontrollable trembling of my jaw and a broken low growl from my throat.


    I punched the white tiles of the shower wall, letting the pain from my knuckles pull me out of my thoughts.


    Exhaustion can effectively shorten the time it takes to fall asleep but does nothing to help with a night full of dreams.


    "... What about a name?" an old, tired voice asked.


    "How could he have one? He''s just a mutt!" a voice replied indignantly.


    "Then according to the rules..." the old voice sighed helplessly.


    The sound of suppressed sobbing, calling out into the endless void hoping for any response, but only receiving endless confusion, without any definite answer...


    I suddenly opened my eyes, sat up in bed, and realized that these were not my own feelings, even though the overwhelming loneliness resonated with a familiar deep feeling in my chest.


    It was a vibration, a... searching vibration. Qana had taught me how to differentiate between types of vibrations, and vaguely, I could feel that almost inaudible... call. The call was weak but definite, calling to any willing to listen.


    I scanned the room, perked my ears, and evaluated various physiological indicators, concluding that everyone else was still sleeping soundly. I got out of bed quietly and left the room on tiptoe.


    In the pitch-dark corridor, the faint ripple continued to pull me. I didn''t dare to disobey Qana''s orders, so I didn''t extend my consciousness. I continued to search for the source of the pulse, judging the direction from the changes in its strength.


    The vibration itself was very weak, so the changes in strength were not obvious. I often had to walk quite a distance before realizing I was going in the wrong direction. But gradually, I discovered that the center of the pulse seemed to be in a place very familiar to me.


    After passing through the shower room, I confirmed that whoever was sending out the searching vibration was on the balcony.


    The bright light reflecting off the snow piles took me a moment to adjust to, so I didn''t notice him immediately.


    "What are you doing here?" I turned sharply towards the source of the voice, just in time to see Piqsirpoq stand up, wipe his face a few times, and look at me with cold eyes.


    I didn''t know what to say, but the moment I opened my mouth, I noticed he was completely naked, with wet fur clinging to his skin, making his muscular lines stand out in the bright moonlight.


    Completely exposed.


    I felt the hot blood rush to my ears and immediately turned away, convinced that if I hesitated even a second, my ears would actually catch fire.


    Say something, say anything! I cleared my throat, but even the sound of that cough was awkward, and I still didn''t know what to say.


    "I asked you, what are you doing?" Piqsirpoq grabbed my collar and brought his snout close to my face, his hot breath hitting my face.


    Oh, Rationalism witness, he was so close, too close, and how was he so wet! He''s your brother, he''s your brother, your blood relative, you share the same father but different mothers... No, that doesn''t help at all! Think about how he''s ignored you all these years, never considered you important... But he stood up for me--no, now is not the time to think about that!


    In despair, I wanted to scream. Piqsirpoq''s scent at this close distance clearly evoked some distant warm memories. No, no, don''t think about that!


    I suppressed all the rising emotions, feeling a tingling at the ends of my limbs. I abruptly turned my head away, hoping that not directly inhaling his scent might help a little. My eyes darted around, pleading to focus on anything else.


    When I saw the clothes drying rack, I immediately understood why Piqsirpoq was now standing naked on the balcony. Also, those strange rumors about him waking up in the middle of the night to go to some mysterious place. Or why he always ate the same meals in the cafeteria for years.


    How could I have been so blind? Shouldn''t I be the one who understands the most?


    With our chests pressed against each other, our heartbeats resonated within our chests.


    "Drying rack," I murmured, feeling a bit of dryness in my throat.


    "What?" he still said angrily, his brows furrowed tightly.


    "Did you make the drying rack?" I swallowed and tried to speak in a calm tone, flattening my ears and adopting a submissive posture.


    "The ''drying rack''?" He followed my gaze, possibly understanding what I was talking about. Qana had explained many things to me today. "Yes, I put it together from scraps in the storeroom." He turned his gaze back to me, pressing down his right ear with a puzzled expression.


    A strong sense of guilt welled up, and I could feel a sting in my nose.


    "You only have one set of clothes left?" I asked, looking directly into Piqsirpoq''s eyes.


    "No, I just wanted to take a thorough moonbath, I heard it''s good for your health," he said with obvious sarcasm.


    "At first, occasionally, only the color would change, or the buttons and pockets would disappear." I kept my tone calm, not wanting to sink into negative memories. "But sometimes the style of clothes put in would be completely different when taken out, and a few times my clothes were directly disassembled, not even leaving a fiber." Piqsirpoq''s heartbeat slowly calmed down, and he began to listen seriously. "But I didn''t know how to explain this to anyone, so I had to start hand-washing my clothes and then waiting for them to dry every morning."


    Piqsirpoq didn''t speak for a moment, staring straight into my eyes as if searching for any sign that I was mocking him.


    "I always believed someone was playing a prank on me, constantly trying to catch the culprit." He finally spoke, his body slightly relaxing. "I only gave up when I had just one set of clothes left, forcing me to get up in the middle of the night to wash them." He lightly snorted through his nose. "I was seen a few times, which is probably the origin of those strange rumors."


    "So you can''t use meditation to let your body and soul rest separately?" I asked, and Piqsirpoq glared at me, clearly not appreciating my attempt to break the awkward atmosphere.


    "The cafeteria''s food synthesizer." His pupils slightly contracted, seeming to understand something. "You never managed to order what you wanted to eat, right?"


    "That''s a bit of an understatement," I said realistically. "But after all, it''s just energy, shoving it in your mouth isn''t that difficult."


    Piqsirpoq let go of my collar, stepped back, and looked me up and down. His icy blue eyes revealed a certain... sadness?


    "Jupiter''s flight." He sighed softly. "This would create a flavorless porridge, but at least it wouldn''t be some horrifying abomination." He shivered, and I didn''t want to know what the worst thing Piqsirpoq had ever eaten was.


    "Qana said..." I wasn''t sure about the exact scope of the sword master''s prohibition, but this was Piqsirpoq, my... suffering half-blood brother. "... Machines with decomposition and recombination functions always malfunction near powerful psychics. The stronger the psychic, the more obvious it is."


    "A psychic?" Piqsirpoq tilted his head, it seemed his training hadn''t covered this.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Although Qana hadn''t said it directly, I could guess that teaching me about such things was likely forbidden. I glanced at the drying rack again and made a decision.


    I didn''t extend my consciousness--I didn''t dare--instead, I placed my hand on Piqsirpoq''s shoulder, feeling the ripple of his consciousness domain.


    Piqsirpoq looked at my hand in confusion, raising one eyebrow.


    His consciousness domain was also very strong, although the basic state occupied a smaller space, almost clinging to the skin, the clear pulses still declared the power of its owner--and our consciousness waves were even quite similar. I adjusted my ripple frequency until our consciousnesses resonated.


    I reached out to him, extending a part of my consciousness to make contact with his.


    Piqsirpoq shuddered violently, his eyes widening, his dilated pupils filled with astonishment, his blue eyes fixed on me, his jaw slightly open, but he didn''t pull back.


    Our consciousnesses resonated at the same frequency. I could feel my own awareness like a stream of energy flowing over his skin. Now, our circles of consciousness were one.


    I gently exerted my will, separating the liquid from the soaked fur, starting from the tail, until all the water collected along our fur, converging at my hand touching his shoulder. From there, it flowed to the fingertips of my other hand, forming a water ball. Piqsirpoq maintained his look of surprise, watching me throw the water ball off the balcony, disappearing from sight.


    For a moment, aside from the sound of liquid hitting the snow and the occasional gust of wind, there was no other sound. The bright moonlight even caught the finest hairs at the ends of our fur, and the gentle, lazy frequency of the cold wind made our shadows sway lightly.


    "How long have you been able to do that?" Piqsirpoq finally seemed to come to his senses, accepting what had just happened.


    "Basically, since I can remember," I replied. "But usually, I only control the water on myself. This is the first time I''ve tried to dry someone else."


    "This world is crazy." Piqsirpoq snorted through his nose, walked to the edge of the balcony, and flicked his tail to the left. "So, what, am I also a... ''psychic''?" he asked, waving his right hand dismissively.


    "Probably." I answered cautiously. "Only strong enough psychic can emit a searching vibration." Qana hadn''t explained it clearly, but had mentioned that not every psychic could control waves; the weakest could only passively sense them.


    "So, you not only kicked my ass in swordsmanship despite being three years younger than me with three years less practice and experience," he leaned on the balcony with his elbows, pressing his hands to his temples, "but you also have this... psychic ability," he hesitated over the word. "You''ve been able to do it since you can remember..." Piqsirpoq raised his right hand, waving his wrist aimlessly in the air. "Whatever ''it'' is."


    I listened quietly, guessing where this might be headed. I started to understand why Qana said he hoped we could understand each other.


    "They said I was very talented and had high expectations." Piqsirpoq laughed bitterly twice. "Bullshit." He spat the curse, looking up at the moon.


    The wind picked up slightly, making Piqsirpoq''s ears and tail tip sway gently, and a tear fell from his blue eyes.


    "Who lets a child take care of another child?" Piqsirpoq''s tone was so familiar, it was like listening to my own monologue. "Why... do I have to try so hard to gain recognition, as if I have no value if I''m not exceptional enough to be used by others?" The sparkling tear fell from the tip of his fur, glistening in the moonlight. "This world is broken."


    Piqsirpoq clenched his fists and hit the edge of the balcony, knocking some snow off.


    "The royal family basically can''t directly interfere with the nine Grand Duchy, and a bigger question is, why is it a feudal system?" He showed his fangs and asked angrily. "Interbreeding between faction is prohibited to protect the ''purity of the strain.''" Piqsirpoq growled through gritted teeth. "Yeah, the purity of the strain, as a means to control the nine Grand Duchy?" He laughed bitterly. "The Senate is the largest pimping business in the Empire!"


    Like my brother, I was full of questions about these things. But I knew I couldn''t stay in the pack, so I never cared, only treating the knowledge as tools and power, which were my chips to leave far away. How the Canine Empire turned out had nothing to do with me.


    But I never thought, as someone who wanted to be accepted, to recognize and belong to the pack, clearly understanding these bizarre things yet having to endure them, what kind of pain it would be.


    That''s probably why it all suddenly exploded. How long had Piqsirpoq been running out at night, curling up in a corner, and sobbing quietly? Why hadn''t anyone noticed? Why had I never noticed?


    I only knew that I had no parents, but I never realized that Piqsirpoq had also lost his father. And I didn''t even know when he lost his mother. I only thought of myself.


    "Screw the Selection, Snow can eat my shit!" He started sobbing, his voice heavy with nasal sound. "Everything is meaningless, it''s all a game, a show to provide the biggest bread and most extravagant circus to those poor souls, half-awake in a drunken stupor, tormented by a hangover!" Piqsirpoq wiped his eyes and laughed. "The Senate, ha, really meaningful."


    I wasn''t sure I fully understood what Piqsirpoq was saying. I listened carefully to the history master''s lectures, so I knew about the feudal system of the Canine Empire, and what bread and circuses were. But my indifference to the whole environment made me like an outsider--as I really was an outsider--I had no interest in understanding more, it would never be my world, and I was never treated as one of them.


    But Piqsirpoq''s appearance still pained me. I couldn''t explain this feeling, we were really not familiar. I could only guess that I was actually hurting for myself.


    "Why does the inheritance law exclude females, eugenics prohibit any unnatural conception, and what''s with the eyebrows... in the name of Rationalism, none of this makes any sense!" He clawed at his head with both hands, pulling his hair.


    "Uh, eyebrows?" I wasn''t sure why eyebrows were grouped with all these things.


    "Yes, eyebrows in the asshole of Rationalism!" Piqsirpoq turned his head, pointing at his eyebrows. "Didn''t you notice, the body language of wolves never uses eyebrows, not a single one? All eyebrow-related emotional expressions rely solely on the eyebrows, but dogs aren''t like that!"


    "I''ve never seen any dogs..." I could only murmur in response, as Piqsirpoq stood too close again, forcing me to focus on his eyebrows.


    "Never mind, none of it matters." Piqsirpoq said, his body slumping. "I hate this senseless world. It''s like some twisted monster hiding behind the scenes, randomly adding absurd rules, just to see how we powerless mortals react."


    "Maybe it really is like that," I whispered. If we could really blame all the bad things on some unseen force, how easy it would be.


    "What?" Piqsirpoq clearly didn''t catch my sense of humor.


    "If someone really is controlling this world, what would you do?" I hypothesized, thinking about my preferred solution.


    "I''d make them all eat shit and reshape the world with my will." Piqsirpoq said with a determined expression, as if he had long prepared this answer.


    I couldn''t help but laugh at his response. Soon, Piqsirpoq laughed too. We laughed like idiots, our voices overlapping.


    I wiped the tears from my eyes, looked at the drying rack, and made another decision.


    "The key to psychic is realizing the existence of ''self.''" At least, that''s what Qana said; I wasn''t sure what it meant. "That''s why we''re taught to use swords, because being treated as part of the body, the rules of psychics powers apply to weapons. This doesn''t work for shooting types of firearms or bows, even javelins; thrown objects or energy almost never get recognized as part of the body, even the most determined strong psychics can''t do it."


    I held Piqsirpoq''s still dripping shirt in one hand and handed him his pants with the other. He silently took them without saying much.


    "So the simplest way to operate psychic without expanding the circle of consciousness," I didn''t quite understand why this wasn''t considered expanding the circle of consciousness, but apparently, the rules of psychic were different from what we thought was common sense and definitions, "is to extend the definition of ''self,'' or reverse it, include the target within the range of ''self.''"


    I tried to extend my consciousness to the shirt, like I did to Piqsirpoq earlier. But my circle of consciousness kept rejecting it, even avoiding the fabric''s surface.


    "Well, I guess knowing it''s ''your'' shirt creates some difficulty," I sighed, stopping my attempts.


    I looked in Piqsirpoq''s direction, just in time to see him extract liquid from the fabric, gathering it into a transparent water ball in front of his muzzle. Piqsirpoq''s expression was a bit surprised, as if not quite sure he had done it himself.


    "Wow, it took me a long time to control things outside my body," I genuinely admired, looking at the fist-sized water ball.


    Piqsirpoq met my gaze and smiled. It stirred a certain emotion in my chest. I couldn''t remember a time when he was that kind to me.


    Then, the water ball suddenly burst, wetting the fur on our faces. Piqsirpoq and I looked at each other and laughed.


    "Does the world make a little more sense now?" I asked Piqsirpoq, directing the water from my fur to the ground.


    "A little bit," he replied, mimicking my actions to dry his fur. He looked at the splashes on the floor, still somewhat disbelieving. It would probably take some time to process; it was indeed a bit supernatural, and our brains weren''t designed to understand this kind of thing.


    "Actually, I..." What I was about to say was interrupted when Piqsirpoq suddenly hugged me tightly. "I..." It was as if my thoughts were suddenly cut off; I couldn''t remember what I was about to say, and his warmth was transmitted to me. So warm.


    "Thank you," he said softly, his tone a bit hesitant. "And... I''m sorry."


    For some reason, this made my vision immediately blur. I didn''t know that being hugged felt so... safe. Amidst all the cold, hostile gazes surrounding us, I finally had a safe haven of my own. I felt that I was the one who needed to apologize, but I was too choked up to speak, so I could only hold him tightly in response.


    Under my fingertips, the texture of his deep, fine fur was so smooth and warm. The steady heartbeat and the warm scent buried deep in my memory made me... Oh, damn it, damn it!


    I struggled to push him away; this feeling was too much of a buzzkill. But apparently, many things in this world are irrational and differ from what our simple brains assume.


    I had a reaction, and because of our position, he must have felt it too. Why? I clearly didn''t have... didn''t I? I quickly pushed this question aside, knowing that thinking about it now would do no good.


    Piqsirpoq was initially a bit puzzled, but during my hesitant struggle to remain calm or cover it up, he realized what was happening.


    He glanced down, then looked back up to meet my eyes. He repeated this process, finally showing a look of sudden realization, but his confusion did not diminish. In fact, I would say it increased.


    The bewilderment in those blue eyes made me ashamed, and I immediately averted my gaze. My ears, burning hot as if on fire, stood up uncontrollably, and the tail coiled between my legs was of no help, as it only emphasized the bulge in my groin.


    If I weren''t so stiff from embarrassment, I would probably try to cover my face and imagine myself fading from this world, erasing any trace of my existence.


    Piqsirpoq scratched his right ear, made a sound somewhere between a cough and a hum, then also looked away. He took the shirt from my hand, nodded quickly to show his gratitude, then grabbed the rest of his clothes and hurriedly left the shower room without looking at me again.


    I didn''t notice his tail, but it felt like... he was running away.


    That went well, wasn''t it?


    I took a few deep breaths, then glanced at the bulge in my groin, reached into my pants, and adjusted it to a more comfortable position.


    He''s your brother, for Rationalism''s sake, even if he''s only a half-brother, that doesn''t change the fact.


    I sighed deeply and leaned my whole body against the balcony railing, wondering how abnormal I could be.


    I stayed like that until the moon set and the first rays of dawn fell on me. I rolled my eyes, looking at the surroundings turned golden by the rising sun, including those corners previously covered only by shadows.


    The sunlight will shine equally on everything. Really, everything?


    As if to answer my question, the warm morning breeze, carrying the scent of distant grass and the subdued heat of the rising sun, gently kissed my face.


    Yes, really everything, truly.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - My name

    My name: For some people, this question is difficult to answer simply.


    "...Five people are working on the trolley car tracks, the noise of the construction is so loud they don''t notice the trolley car in the distance..." Luther raised his hand to ask a question, and I nodded, giving permission.


    "What is a trolley car ?" he asked, looking puzzled in a somewhat cute way.


    "Let''s change to a more appropriate scenario for the times," I said, pacing back and forth as I thought of a simpler, more understandable description. "On a magnetic levitation track, a transport ship is moving straight ahead. Its obstacle detection system is clearly malfunctioning because five people are somehow standing in its path, completely unaware of the ten-ton metal block speeding towards them without any sign of slowing down."


    I checked to see if he was following my explanation, but the lack of difference between his blank and focused expressions didn''t reveal much.


    "Conveniently, the control panel is right in front of you. With the push of a button, you can divert the transport ship onto another track." I expected him to be curious why the control panel was conveniently placed there, but he didn''t interrupt. "But unfortunately, on the other track, there''s also someone standing there for some reason."


    He tilted his right ear, perhaps wondering why so many people would be on the magnetic levitation track. Oh, trust me, you''ll understand in the future.


    "So, if you redirect the transport ship, the five people who would have been hit will be saved, but the person on the other track will be doomed." I walked back in front of him, looking into his eyes, which made the mutt uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat. Perhaps it wasn''t necessary, but I wanted to emphasize the gravity of the situation. "So, the remaining question is--will you press the button and divert the transport ship?"


    I could see the turmoil in his eyes. Was he weighing the value of five lives against one, or was he considering whether his hand pressing the button would be stained with blood?


    "I would stop the transport ship," he finally said.


    "That''s not one of the options," I said curiously. Avoiding the pressure of making a choice is a common tactic, but it ultimately circles back to the same point. Let''s see where this path leads us and what we find along the way.


    "Captain Arthur said you once ignited the fusion reactor of the Empire''s Heart with sheer willpower," he said, meeting my gaze with a determined look. "And you said I would become stronger than you. If a psychic is someone who creates miracles and breaks rules, stopping a transport ship shouldn''t be difficult."


    He raised his chin defiantly, his sharp features forming a slightly challenging expression.


    "I don''t dislike that answer," I said positively, trying not to let too much resignation seep into my tone. "Remember how you feel now; in the future, I''m sure this courage to defy the rules will come in handy."


    He immediately smiled and even wagged his tail. Interesting...


    "But what if there are ten billion transport ships?" I think ten billion might still be manageable for him, but that''s not the point. "You must understand that one day, you ''will'' face a difficult choice with no way to avoid it." I placed a hand on his shoulder, emphasizing my words. "You need to know very clearly whether or not you''ll press the button and why you choose that way."


    His ears drooped slightly, and his brown eyes were filled with distress.


    Yes, if you truly care, it''s never an easy matter.


    "I don''t think I can answer that question now..." he murmured, looking uncertain.


    "Deep thought is a sign of wisdom," I said, stepping back. "We can discuss your decision later."


    If it were any other time, I might have told him that time waits for no one, and while you''re hesitating, the trolley car... no, the transport ship is still moving. But today, I''ve had enough philosophical discussion, and perhaps contemplation isn''t a bad thing--sometimes, genuine feelings are more important than logical understanding.


    "It''s time to continue practicing your abilities." I checked the time and made a decision. Even though he is always on the receiving end of the beatings, I could see the excitement in the mutt''s brown eyes. Like most teenagers, exciting activities always lift his spirits.


    I extended my consciousness, pulling out two pieces of adamant from a hidden compartment in the storage box, shaping them into spheres that orbited around us in an elliptical trajectory. He extended his consciousness as trained, neutralizing my conscious circle, so our conscious circles formed two semi-circles connected by their diameters. As the spheres entered each of our fields, we needed to take control of the adamant, maintaining a stable trajectory until they entered the other''s field, repeatedly.


    This is basic practice, sensing and judging the motion of objects, how to interfere with them using consciousness, and how much force to apply to achieve the goal. He wasn''t very skilled yet; two pieces were his limit, but I believe practice is the path to perfection.


    "Even though we have much to learn, we have at least determined that the core of psychic abilities revolves around the concept of ''self.''" I suddenly shaped one of the adamant pieces into an icosahedron, watching to see if he could maintain its trajectory. "How would you describe yourself to others?" He caught the metal piece and managed to keep a perfect elliptical trajectory. "In other words, what does ''I'' mean to you?"


    "I..." he hesitated, perhaps because I suddenly changed the shape of the other adamant piece to a cube, distracting him. "I am a mutt, Luther."


    "Species and name, a very Imperial answer," I thought with a smile, knowing I would have likely given the same answer when I was young. "So, what is your understanding of ''Luther''?" I changed the speed and added extra vectors to the metal pieces, complicating the trajectory, but he managed to keep it stable.


    "Just... me." He answered even more hesitantly, a drop of sweat trickling down his forehead. Introspection, concise but beautiful.


    "Names often carry meanings, whether expectations or cultural heritage." I split the adamant pieces into four, changing their shapes and having them orbit us at high speed on different elliptical trajectories. "Sometimes, these things imposed on us help us understand ourselves better."


    "We..." His eyes darted back and forth but found a way to stabilize the metal pieces. "We lower-class people don''t have such things," he said sharply.


    "That''s why I said ''sometimes,''" I replied softly, lowering my ears a bit. He lowered his gaze to apologize for his outburst.


    This kid is still sensitive about noble and commoner issues, but perhaps--let''s say--pampered as I am, I have little right to complain.


    "Understanding others is also crucial. Knowing ''I'' naturally leads to the question--what is not ''I''." I expanded my consciousness, starting to erode his field.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The mutt looked panicked, clearly unaware that consciousness fields could be used this way.


    "How do you distinguish self from others?" He expanded and strengthened his field boundaries to resist my erosion--but this wasn''t the way to stop it. "Not knowing yourself makes it impossible to know others. Likewise, not knowing others means you can''t know yourself."


    I applied some pressure, speeding up the erosion. He changed tactics, expanding his consciousness to envelop mine completely, only allowing me to continue eroding his field from all directions.


    "Of course, you could use a complete rejection strategy, ''you are you, and I am me''." He apparently understood my hint, successfully stopping the erosion. "But ''rejection'' alone is not enough for someone with skills or strength above yours..." I tilted my head, realizing this guy probably wouldn''t encounter anyone stronger than him, but the point was made. "...for a psychic. It''s not enough." I casually raised my right hand to emphasize.


    Erosion resumed, and he looked up at me, deep in thought. This mutt might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but with the right encouragement, he often surprised those who underestimated him.


    "Most of our preconceptions are wrong." I increased the adamant''s speed, making him pull his consciousness back to focus on control. "For example, are ''nobles'' always a certain way?"


    With enough deep erosion of his consciousness field, I could subtly correct the trajectory without the metal pieces flying out.


    "Let''s use Arthur as an example," the serious German Shepherd''s image flashed through my mind, making me chuckle. "Arthur Deutsch, a purebred German Shepherd, naturally inherited the family name."


    I merged the adamant back into two spheres, realizing he couldn''t handle such detailed psychic operations yet. The mutt wiped his sweaty forehead, panting lightly, focusing again on resisting my erosion.


    "But as a low-ranking noble, Baron Arthur had no land or wealth to inherit, just the family name. Without the means to navigate complex social circles, Arthur joined the Navy at sixteen." The mutt raised an eyebrow in surprise. "You didn''t know, right? He couldn''t even afford the Imperial Naval Academy; he worked his way up from the rank of a soldier." I said lightly. "Not to downplay your experiences or compare hardships, but sometimes being born a low-ranking noble isn''t luckier than being a commoner."


    Erosion slowed as he found a way to resist. Yes, understanding--understanding is most important; even trying can bring unimaginable changes. I nodded at him, seeing his smug expression, finding it amusing. Are you mistaken? Erosion hasn''t stopped yet.


    "By the time we met, he had already served in the Empire''s Heart Fleet for nearly a decade. Every member of the fleet, be they soldiers or officers, deeply respected his leadership abilities." I reminisced about Arthur''s deeds and the scene when we first met. Maybe I would share more details with this mongrel dog another day; who knows, offering a good role model might help... inspire him? "Arthur--honorable, noble--he lived up to the meaning of his name through his actions."


    "So... do all nobles have cool names?" He was clearly struggling to multitask, but the white shirt drenched in sweat showed he was giving it his all.


    "Well..." I pondered how to answer his question. "Yes and no."


    He rolled his eyes at my response, prompting me to flick the ear of this impudent mongrel dog, making him yelp. He put up a defensive barrier, but it was evidently fragile and blurry, as if it could shatter at any moment.


    "I''m not attacking you physically," I explained, pressing further and dispersing his barrier, causing him to shiver violently. "My mental erosion on your consciousness is too deep; you can''t stop me from directly touching your mind. So, find a way to stop the erosion."


    I flicked his ear again. He let out a weak whimper of complaint but didn''t let his guard down.


    "Back to our topic, yes, nobles often have cool names." I thought it might be better to delve into historical culture without delay, as knowledge is literally power for the psychics. "And no, people outside the nobility can have cool names too."


    He tilted his head, squinting slightly and folding his right ear.


    "Luther means warrior," I said calmly. He tilted his head to the other side, seeming doubtful but not displeased. Lost in thought, the mongrel dog''s large brown eyes blinked before he looked down at the floor.


    "And... what does Richter mean?" he asked after a long silence, meeting my gaze again.


    Ah, I hadn''t expected him to ask this. I had probably subconsciously tossed this question into some dark corner to forget about it. My heartbeat skipped a bit, making me feel uncomfortable.


    "It has no meaning," I said calmly. "Richter has no meaning."


    "But you''re a Wolf." A wave of energy rippled from the edge of his domain, clearly not buying my explanation. "Wolves are all royal members, with names corresponding to their respective factions," he said challengingly. "Like the current emperor--Piqsirpoq, which means ''snow.''" He crossed his arms and looked at me askance.


    "How do you know this so well?" I suppressed the bitterness in my mouth and asked.


    "After you asked which branch I belonged to, I talked with Ian about it," he shrugged. "People of the lower classes love discussing the royal family; fantasies help endure reality."


    His tone, calm but with a hint of sharpness, rendered me speechless, and I felt a sudden impulse to vent my long-suppressed emotions. But I held back.


    "Piqsirpoq doesn''t just mean ''snow''--it''s ''accumulated snow''--the Snow faction wolves are named after snow-related terms. Like ''Qana''--''falling snow,'' ''Klein''--''remembered snow,'' and so on." I let some images flash through my mind, feeling the sting as I uttered their names. "Other factions use similar rules. For instance, the Ash faction''s emperor, Dust Ash--''dust''--while the faction name means ''ash.''"


    I noticed the erosion had stopped, but he seemed too focused on the conversation to realize.


    "But... why does ''Richter'' have no meaning?" He was still dissatisfied with my explanation, probably thinking I was deliberately hiding something. "Aren''t you also a Wolf of the Snow faction?"


    "I''m not a Snow," I answered faster than I intended, revealing that even after all these years, I hadn''t truly let go. "Only those wolves who are expected to achieve something get names from their faction." My gaze drifted towards the viewport, where I saw a white wolf with blue-eyed looking back. "The rest are named according to a letter sequence chart, basically at random."


    "Oh." He responded simply, tapping the floor lightly with his boot, eyes downcast, lost in thought.


    At that moment, I noticed a change in the consciousness domain. He... had let down his boundaries and was instead eroding mine, causing our consciousness circle to intertwine and mix.


    "That''s the correct response." I nodded in approval. "It''s almost impossible to prevent a skilled and understanding adept psychic eroding your domain. Because the premise of erosion is understanding, which is the highest principle in psychic rules." I extracted the sweat from his clothes and threw it into the sink. "But if you respond with the same strategy, our domains will merge and interlock."


    I tried to flick his ear again but was blocked this time. I thought I saw a glint of triumph in the mongrel dog''s eyes.


    "You should notice that in this state, our domains make us both the center, allowing us to control the domain." I released my control over the aurum, letting him take over entirely. He explored this unfamiliar merged state of consciousness, somewhat confused. It was like an abstract painting, with distorted edges intermingling yet still distinct. "Since we can''t fully explain the principles of abilities, no one knows why this happens," I said, adjusting my clothes and noticing my own sweat. "But this is a common trait of consciousness circle used in cooperation or combat among psychics."


    I pointed to a locker, signaling him to return the aurum. He complied, then turned back, looking at me with those big, watery brown eyes. There was an emotion in them that made me uneasy. Before I could speak, he did.


    "I think ''Richter'' has a clear meaning," the mongrel dog said slowly. I unconsciously watched his white fangs as he spoke. Realizing what I was doing, I quickly looked away. "Richter is you." He scratched his ear and looked down at the floor. "Richter is your name."


    The blurred vision and the sting at the bridge of my nose made me so distracted that I almost missed the special vibration in the consciousness circle. It was a sign of the boundary dissolving and consciousness merging! Reflexively, I released the consciousness circle, letting our merged domains disappear, leaving only his.


    The mutt gave me a puzzled look, probably not yet understanding the significance of this vibration.


    "Arthur is on the bridge; he might need your help." I feigned calmness, picking up the terminal on my arm, pretending to press random buttons, fabricating a poor lie. "We''ll continue the lesson next time."


    "Uh... okay..." He released the consciousness circle too, gesturing toward the door, then awkwardly attempting some unrecognizable actions before giving up, scratching his head, and leaving the quarters.


    Once the door closed again, I exhaled a long breath, letting my body slump. I wasn''t even sure what game we were playing, but this mutt always managed to leave me in disarray.


    I took off the red commander''s coat, hanging it on the wall hook, then walked to the metal table by the viewport, picking up the glass pot and pouring myself a cup of black coffee.


    I took a few sips of the dark liquid, feeling the caffeine start to take effect.


    The vast deep space, the sparse stars, and the reflection of that white wolf with blue-eyed .


    "Richter," I whispered, feeling a sharp pang in my chest. "Richter is me." Even with my jaw trembling, I finished the sentence. The warm, wet sensation slid from the corner of my eyes as I finally let down my guard, embracing the buried emotions. "Richter is my name." It was like it was a part of me.


    Then, like a helpless pup, I cried uncontrollably.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 3 - Bread and Circuses 3.1

    Bread and Circuses: The grand arena cheered equally for barbarism and civilization.


    I opened my eyes and wiped the damp corners. I had already forgotten the dream''s content, but somehow, I felt much more comfortable inside.


    I sat up, yawned, stretched my body, and glanced at the slightly bright bluish-purple sky outside the window. I had slept longer today.


    As usual, I silently turned over and got out of bed. The moment my feet touched the floor, I released the tension in my leg muscles, springing across half the room and landing lightly by the door. I grabbed my backpack and slipped out of the room.


    Keeping my body low, I dashed through the corridors, occasionally twisting my body and swinging my tail to maintain balance, stepping on the walls to change direction, navigating the shortest path at high speed.


    I performed agile and fluid movements that could only exist in the imagination, perfectly showcasing my balance and explosive power. It was the epitome of grace, as if gravity couldn''t bind me, following only the rules I set. The world blurred into streaks, yet remained vividly clear.


    The stance of an psychic-- that''s what Qana called it -- abilities that not only controlled external objects but also propelled one''s own body, adjusting with precise force. Coupled with perfect perception of airflow, friction, gravity, and the distribution of objects in space, every minute variable could be mastered flawlessly.


    Most psychics unconsciously used their perceptive abilities to adjust their movements before displaying the power to control external objects. Therefore, individuals with sensitive minds and excellent physical coordination were often key indicators of potential psychics. However, Qana said he only confirmed my abilities after that wild incident in the shower, where I made too much commotion. My previous unconscious behavior of hiding my abilities left him uncertain about my awakening.


    But Qana still wouldn''t clearly explain why having abilities would pose a great danger to me, or why he didn''t show the same attention to my brother -- Qana knew Piqsirpoq was an psychic.


    Although these things didn''t really matter, I just wanted to enjoy the exhilarating sensation of the wind rushing past my fur.


    Becoming the wind, unrestrained and free.


    I still wasn''t sure what material this black solid was, only that it conducted heat quickly, the cold seeped into my spine from my back.


    "Get up, I know you absorbed the impact," Qana sheathed his sword, sounding a bit irritated. He didn''t like wasting time talking. "By the way, nice reaction."


    I placed my palms beside my head, curled up my lower body, then contracted my abdomen, springing up from a supine position, standing upright with my tail, and landing back on my feet. Qana watched the whole process silently, not commenting on the extravagant move.


    "You''ve almost mastered the technique of shielding yourself. I think we can prepare for the next step." He focused his consciousness, tapping the "mirror circle" at the outermost edge of my consciousness domain, causing ripples to spread.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Feeling the sword master''s approval, I sensed my tail wagging restlessly, like an overly excited pup.


    "But the preliminary rounds of the Selection have already started, so take this time to relax and have some fun." Qana sent a searching vibration, which was neutralized by an identical wave from my mirror circle, causing it to disappear into space.


    "But..." I finally understood that Qana meant to pause our training. "I have no interest in the Selection," I mumbled.


    Afternoon training was usually suspended for the entire Selection process, with most Snows treating it as a rare holiday, fully immersing themselves in the upcoming event -- participation -- something I never understood. But I didn''t expect my personal guidance to follow this rule; I might have gotten used to always being an "exception."


    "The world doesn''t revolve around you." Qana snorted, neutralizing my domain, then walked over and knocked on my head. "Who do you think has to oversee and judge, and prevent you hot-headed pups from killing each other?"


    "I don''t even know what the Selection is about..." I released my consciousness circle, rubbing my head and complaining. These extra holidays were usually spent in the library, where I enjoyed the quiet, solitary time and the irresistible charm of paper books.


    "I know you never care about what happens in the Senate, but this is a bit too much, it''s unhealthy." Qana sighed, turned and headed towards the exit, gesturing for me to follow. "When I was your age, I used to get so excited about the Selection, until it became my job." There was a hint of lament in the master''s tone.


    I followed silently, leaving the secret room with Qana, the black shale closing behind us without a trace.


    "Your defense circle didn''t activate just now," Qana suddenly said as we stepped onto the stone stairs.


    "Uh..." I scratched my ear, feeling embarrassed for not even noticing it. "Right."


    "Don''t make that mistake again." He continued in a calm tone without turning back. "Do you think I won''t hurt you? You should always stay vigilant and protect yourself."


    I didn''t know how to respond, just feeling a stuffy sensation in my chest.


    "But..." I wanted to say something, but the words caught in my throat.


    "Someday, you might meet someone truly worth trusting, and together, you will make a profound impact on the world." Qana stopped and turned to me. "I don''t want you to... encounter some kind of accident before that." He tilted his head.


    "Even if it means never truly trusting anyone..."I don''t want to know what kind of ''accidents'' he have in mind, and unsure why he hinted that I should guard against him.


    "There, there," Qana gave a somewhat sad smile. "Who''s talking about ''never truly trusting anyone''?" He ruffled my head, making my ears stand up again.


    The sword master turned back and continued walking.


    "Aren''t psychics able to read others'' emotions and thoughts?" I asked quietly, trying to voice my doubt. "Then why are there still... accidents or considerations about whom to trust?"


    "What do you think is the meaning of an psychic''s existence?" Qana didn''t answer directly but threw a new question at me.


    "Some kind of... overwhelmingly powerful individual, breaking limitations to achieve near-miraculous feats?" I hadn''t really thought about this question. "Is there any particular meaning to that? Isn''t an ability just a trait? Like evolution, it has no direction, just a... tool."


    "Meaning must be assigned, and only assigned meaning has meaning. We are all just particles randomly colliding in the vast world, but meaning gives us existence." Qana''s voice echoed between the rock walls, slightly detached. "One day, you will find the answer to why psychics exist."


    Although the sword master''s tone seemed to decide the end of this topic, something about Qana''s way of speaking made me notice a question I hadn''t thought about.


    "But..." If the existence of abilities truly had a meaning, it implied the possibility of a higher-level existence. Isn''t this some irresponsible fantasy? And what answer would I get? How would I describe and interpret this question? "Isn''t existence itself the most practical meaning?"


    "Oh?" Qana stopped, turned back to me with a faint smile, and one ear perked up in interest. "Have you been spending too much time with Eulap?" His deep blue eyes gleamed with a playful glint, yet also seemed to search for something. "Then tell me, what do you think about ''existence itself''?"


    Qana''s low voice resonated within the rock walls, eliciting a certain resonance, like the most thorough self-examination or the purest curiosity, eagerly awaiting my answer.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 3 - Bread and Circuses 3.2

    Void roams, and suddenly, a gleam of light appears.


    It is not a beginning but an awakening, a consciousness.


    From the sound of cries, the world opens up.


    Scorching body heat, delicate fur, a sense of comfort and warmth, and a wet, warm licking.


    Touch and embrace, kisses and whispers, snuggling together, like the temperature of golden sunlight beginning to melt the snow.


    "Qirnangajuq."


    Laughter.


    "Stop showing off; I never learned Inuktitut."


    More laughter.


    "Gray snow."


    I opened my eyes, surprised that I had fallen asleep--something that had never happened before.


    Noticing that I was lying on the book, I immediately sprang up from the desk, wiping the corners of my mouth to check for drool, fearing it might have soiled the book.


    Luckily, there was no damage. I flipped through the pages, thoroughly inspecting it from cover to cover, ensuring it was in perfect condition. Otherwise, the librarian would have skinned me alive. Even though this was a reprinted version based on the library''s archives, it was already a century old, and Master Ontara took his duties very seriously. I had no desire to find out if the rumors about some books being bound in wolf skin were true.


    Then again, this book was "Atlas Shrugged." It would be hard to make it any dirtier, even if I peed on it. I shivered at the thought of some of its content and wondered if steel wool could scrape the memory from my brain.


    Qana had mentioned that psychics could manipulate memories, so maybe I could try that sometime.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Gathering my things, I slung my backpack over my shoulders and handed the book to the robotic arm on the shelf, letting it check the book''s condition and reshelve it.


    "Changing tastes?" On my way out of the library, Master Ontara looked up from the terminal, a rare occurrence.


    "Exploring different perspectives of the world, or something like that." I found a noble-sounding answer and praised myself for my bravery. "Understanding different viewpoints might help with... communication."


    "Young pup should keep an open mind." Master Ontara grinned, making me wonder if he was mocking me or telling some joke only he understood.


    "But..." I hesitated, then turned back to the master''s desk. "Is it really possible to understand each other, these... fundamental differences?" I asked the question that had been bothering me for a long time.


    "It is possible." The librarian pushed his glasses up, and the changing display text reflected in his eyes, the celestine-like irises flashing various light spots that made it hard for me to maintain eye contact. "Objective facts are the basis for dialogue and discussion. Even if the stances are different, it is possible to negotiate a solution acceptable to everyone." He stuck out his tongue and continued, "At least, it was before the ''post-truth era'' began."


    "How did they finally... resolve the issue?" I had heard of that era, one of the darkest periods in Gaia''s history. "What allowed people to start communicating again without throwing the whole world into a happiness machine?"


    "Oh, trust me, they almost did that." The librarian laughed, taking off his glasses to wipe the corners of his eyes.


    They?


    "But that''s the historian''s job; I don''t like to meddle in others'' professions." Ontara winked at me and gestured towards the library exit, indicating I could leave as he continued working on the terminal.


    I had more questions, but after sensing the unusual vibration, I bowed to the master and left.


    It was a wave--Master Ontara had tried to achieve some effect on me using a vibration I didn''t recognize, but it was neutralized by my mirror circle.


    I made a mental note of the pattern, moving slowly down the empty corridor and pondering.


    Psychics could perform various miraculous things, but specifically, what were they? How many had I not even considered? And just among the Snows, how many psychics were here? How many had I missed, and which ones, as Qana had said, could be dangerous to me?


    What about beyond Hadrian''s Wall, beyond the Senate, and the world? Even though I didn''t care about the Senate, I couldn''t say I truly understood the outside world, let alone the parts related to psychic. I started to understand why Qana said we didn''t have much time.


    I silently resolved that once Qana had the time, I would thoroughly ask him about the community of psychics and their relationship with the world. I no longer wanted to fumble through this incomprehensible world under a curtain.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 3 - Bread and Circuses 3.3

    Apparently, everyone had already left early to secure their spots, so there wasn''t a single person in the capsule station. I found the platform heading towards the "Colosseum" and watched the white, streamlined capsule silently glide through the vacuum coil tube, stopping in front of me as the tube''s opening and the capsule''s door simultaneously opened.


    The seats were quite comfortable, the kind that made you sink in and never want to leave. This was my first time using the capsule high-speed rail, so I wasn''t sure if this was standard or a special upgrade for the celebration event like the Selection.


    A few seconds after the tube sealed, the capsule began to move. I heard this thing could reach speeds of up to a thousand kilometers per hour, but with the Hadrian Wall to the Colosseum only about a hundred kilometers away, I wouldn''t get the chance to experience the top speed.


    In the vast darkness of the underground space, I watched each electromagnetic coil blur into the background, feeling a kind of low-frequency, stable vibration in the air.


    I took out my personal terminal and activated the browser to search. Some things the Library Master said earlier made me think about my previous questions regarding the happiness machine.


    "Neural interface, visual reconstruction." As soon as I spoke, the terminal screen displayed the search results, and I selected an entry that seemed to fit my needs.


    "... In most cases requiring visual reconstruction, the optic nerve has atrophied and cannot function properly. Therefore, the most common alternative is to use the facial nerve as a substitute conduction pathway."


    I scrolled down the page, looking at several photos showing different styles of goggles. The basic structure was the same: dark lenses with high-polymer structures crossing the snout, covering the area from the brow to the cheekbones, with metallic pads on either side extending to the temples.


    "... The surgery is irreversible and often results in the loss of taste. In rare cases, it can lead to issues with facial muscle control."


    I tapped my temple, imagining the feeling of having to choose between two senses to sacrifice.


    "... The goggles detect head and eye movements and transmit visual signals back to the brain. By fully simulating neural electrical signals, the imaging result is theoretically indistinguishable from original vision. However, current technology still faces some obstacles in capturing non-luminous objects."


    Noticing the capsule slowing down, I sped up my reading.


    "... By connecting to other external electronic devices, the neural interface essentially becomes a type of ''electronic eye,'' blurring the line between reality and the metaverse. Naturally, incorporating features like photography, high magnification zoom, and invisible light detection, the term ''world seen through the eyes'' takes on a very different interpretation. Since these signals are directly input into the brain, information security is a crucial concern..."


    The capsule slid into the station, and upon re-entering the illuminated area, I was immediately struck by the grandeur of the Colosseum''s high ceilings. Various reliefs and murals looked down from above, making me feel insignificantly small. I pulled the browser page to the bottom, intending to finish reading the entry before the capsule came to a complete stop.


    "... Hearing can also be restored using similar methods, at least simulating the original electro-physiological signals. However, given the limited number of neurons in the brain, the assistance provided by signal simulation is still limited... For more extreme cases, or applications in severe disabilities, refer to the ''Happiness Machine'' entry."


    I shrugged, closed the screen, and put the terminal back into the strap on my left arm. I had gathered enough information and temporarily had no further questions about the happiness machine.


    The capsule and the tube opening synchronized and opened. I stepped onto the platform, took a moment to admire the ceiling''s artwork, and then looked around. Following the signs on the walls, I found my way to the auditorium area, where the viewing rooms for the broadcast were located. I chose the least crowded broadcast room as my destination, but according to the display, there were still nearly a thousand people inside, almost the size of an entire faction.


    At one of the intersections, I saw several older gray wolves from different factions


    waiting by the entrance of a moving cabin, quietly chatting with each other. According to the sign, it led to the ground seats, so although they weren''t wearing toga robes, they should be notable figures in their respective factions.


    "Hey, it''s Snow!" An excited voice, trying to stay low but failing, said. It took me a while to realize they were referring to me, as there were no other white wolves in the hallway.


    The fur on my neck stood up, itching irritably, and my ears drooped helplessly against my head.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Only outsiders would use the name Snow to refer to me... It felt strange, and I didn''t know how to react. Does it affect whether I am truly considered Snow if I haven''t been accepted by the pack? If a wolf isn''t accepted by the pack, is it still a wolf? What do I think of myself? Do I consider myself Snow? If not, then what am I?


    "Where are your manners?" A deeper voice reprimanded, and the first voice let out a faint whimper.


    Seizing the moment, I glanced back towards the source of the voices. It was two young Nyxies, the older one looking about my age, with thick, shiny black fur reflecting the soft light from above.


    Noticing my gaze, the older wolf lowered his eyes, slowly shifting his ears back, and swished them a few times. When he saw that the young wolf was still staring at me, he bared one side of his fangs and let out a low growl, making the young wolf immediately lower his gaze and ears, tail curling slightly between his legs.


    I flattened my ears against my head, slightly parted my mouth without showing my teeth, blinked, and gently wagged my tail to show goodwill and defuse the tension, indicating that I was not offended.


    Many people often say that the all-black fur of the Nyx faction makes communication difficult, but I think those who say that are just making excuses for their incompetence--laziness is just laziness.


    "The pup is visiting Colosseum for the first time and got a bit too excited," the black wolf said, walking over and apologizing again with his ears lowered. "Aether Nyx." He lightly pressed his palm against his chest and bowed his head to introduce himself.


    "Momus Nyx." The young wolf tried to mimic Aether''s gesture but was a bit clumsy, to which the older black wolf responded with a light sigh and lowered his head further.


    Even among the Nyx faction, known for their elegant demeanor and natural pride, not all members were born that way--I silently mocked my own thoughts.


    "Richter." I introduced myself with the same gesture, noticing Aether''s ears twitch slightly but showing no other reaction, while Momus looked at me with a puzzled expression.


    "Why is your...?" Momus''s question was cut off as Aether quickly smacked the back of the young wolf''s head, leaving only a black blur.


    "Shall we go in?" Aether suggested, ignoring the young wolf''s soft grumbling. "It''s about to start."


    "Of course." I said, giving Aether a grateful look. He maintained a serious expression, nodding at me with a slight movement, making his yellow eyes seem to flash with a golden glow. Maybe it was the lighting, or perhaps just my imagination.


    The automatic door to the broadcast room slid open as we approached, revealing a circular room similar to a lecture hall but completely round, with rows of curved seats and a central holographic projector displaying the terrain and landscape of Colosseum. Most of the wolves inside were looking at their terminals, and I knew the broadcast server offered zoom and focus features on specific areas of the arena.


    "It''s Qana!" Momus, who had seemed sullen a moment ago, lit up with excitement as we settled into an unoccupied area, his attention drawn to the swordmaster on the screen. "I wish I could be trained by The Empire''s Premier Swordsman instead of reciting what some dead guy did thousands of years ago..."


    Aether raised an eyebrow, glancing at the mumbling young wolf, his thoughts unreadable.


    "Qana hasn''t been The Empire''s Premier Swordsman for many years," I pointed out, watching the swordmaster, who was growing increasingly impatient with the interviewers. I couldn''t help but admire their bravery. Whenever Qana looked at me like that, I couldn''t help but tuck my tail between my legs.


    "Of course, you have to consider their prime. Qana is undoubtedly the best among the living swordmasters!" Momus continued to stare at the image of Qana, his tone as if stating an obvious fact. Aether frowned at this, perhaps considering whether to scold the young wolf again for his impoliteness. "And most of The Empire''s Premier Swordsman have been from the Snow faction; other factions don''t even get a chance..." The young wolf''s tone grew somber as he glanced at me, then lowered his eyes, looking at his dangling feet.


    "I think Qana would be happy to hear that you support him." Probably not. "I can convey your sentiments to him." I could almost imagine the swordmaster raising an eyebrow at me, but I didn''t want to disappoint the young wolf.


    "You know Qana Snow?" His ears perked up, and he turned towards me suddenly.


    "Uh... yes." I confirmed with my body language. "He is my swordsmanship instructor..."


    The young wolf suddenly pounced on me, grabbing my collar and excitedly shouting something at a speed I could only guess was a request to meet Qana. For a moment, I didn''t know how to react to this sudden development and could only let the pup jump around on me until Aether grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, lifting Momus and placing him back in his seat.


    The surrounding wolves were loudly cheering for their favorite teams during the interviews, so the whole episode went unnoticed by anyone else. The only performers in this little drama were Aether, looking both helpless and embarrassed, Momus, still wildly waving his limbs and attempting to pounce on me again, and myself, left with no choice but to straighten my disheveled clothes.


    "After today''s event, I have an appointment with Qana," I recalled the message from the swordmaster sent to my terminal last night, asking me to watch the Selection and meet him after the first day''s schedule. I wasn''t sure if this was the kind of meeting where I could bring along a fervent fan. "Maybe there''s a chance to..."


    "That''s fantastic!" Before I could finish, the young wolf interrupted me with a loud cheer, his voice rising in volume and pitch with every word. Aether immediately grabbed Momus by the snout, muffling his speech into incoherent sounds.


    Interestingly, this didn''t deter the young wolf''s expression of joy at all. He continued to flail his limbs and wriggle in his seat. At least Momus was successfully restrained, and Aether looked at me apologetically, his ears flattened against his head.


    For some reason, the sight made me smile, a warm feeling spreading in my chest. I blinked at Aether and gently shook my head, indicating I didn''t mind. The black wolf immediately perked up his ears, released Momus, and quickly turned his gaze to the broadcast, feigning sudden interest.


    Confused, I slowly folded my right ear, but I noticed a slight blush at the tips of Aether''s sparser ear fur. Realizing what this reaction meant, I turned my gaze away as well, feeling a warm flush rise to my cheeks.


    Well... this is... interesting? Is this what being... uh... complimented feels like?


    We both stared at the broadcast screen, but from the corner of my eye, I saw him steal a glance at me before quickly looking away again. It made it harder to focus on pretending to watch the broadcast, and my ears grew warmer. For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of Momus''s tail fur.


    Is it because it''s the first time receiving goodwill from someone my age that this feeling is so... intense? Or is this what they call... an indescribable emotion?


    "How big is the Colosseum anyway?" Momus broke the awkward silence, and I was sure I heard Aether sigh in relief. Naturally, I did too.


    "The plain area is about three hundred and forty square kilometers if you use the levee as a baseline," Aether said, showing the young wolf his terminal and pointing to the coastal region''s levees. "The sloped area has a projected area of about twenty-five thousand square kilometers."


    I looked at Aether, my ears perked towards him in admiration. He shrugged, indicating it was no big deal.


    "It''s really huge," Momus said, swinging his little legs in sync with his tail''s movement.


    "After all, the initial plan was to encompass the entire basin," Aether said, to which the young wolf nodded in response.


    "I thought it was the Ash faction responsible for planetary studies," I said, turning back to the broadcast with a submissive tone, not wanting to be misunderstood.


    "This falls under history," Aether clarified, adjusting his posture and placing his terminal back on his arm.


    "The most boring kind..." Momus muttered, his tail flicking to the left in displeasure.


    Aether showed a nearly helpless expression, patting the young wolf''s head. Before he could say anything, the other wolves in the room cheered like a wave, drawing our attention back to the broadcast.


    A thunderous roar marked the official start of the first match of the Selection.

 The Storm Wolf: Tranquil waters - chapter 3 - Bread and Circuses 3.4

    Dots began to appear on the projected map, grouped in clusters of five, distributed evenly across the slopes surrounding the basin. These represented the seven factions, each marked in their respective colors. Briefly, a live feed focused on one of the teams'' leaders--Piqsirpoq, whose icy eyes scanned left and right, issuing commands with calm authority.


    From the information given earlier, I knew that the preliminary round was a free-for-all points competition. Within a limited time, teams scored points by capturing zones, seizing targets, or incapacitating enemy teams. The scores and captured zones from the first day would carry over, making an early advantage crucial for future rounds.


    "As expected, Snow''s team moved towards the central area without wasting a moment, aiming to secure the resources there. Is this a display of confidence in their combat skills, or merely an extension of Snow''s pride?"


    I figured it was both, fitting Piqsirpoq''s character well. Yet, it was likely a calculated decision rather than a rash move.


    Each faction had its own areas of expertise. Nyx handled history, politics, and law; Gray dealt with biology and medicine; Ash focused on planetary environments and physics; and Snow''s domain was the art of war and combat. That''s why, most of the time, the title of "The Empire''s Premier Swordsman" belonged to a Snow member, with only occasional exceptions from other factions. Other canines across the Empire''s history held the title less than ten times.


    Thus, Piqsirpoq wasn''t worried about increased skirmishes in the central area; he probably welcomed it. Securing better equipment from the central zones would boost their chances of successfully pursuing and defeating enemy teams in the expansive terrain. Without such an advantage, relying on a strategy of incapacitating opponents would be challenging given the dispersed starting positions.


    "Other teams are efficiently searching for nearby equipment and beginning to secure their initial zones, while Snow has already opened several crates... Jackpot! Look at their excitement--boys and their toys!"


    Two Snow members I didn''t recognize each slung a newly assembled rifle over their shoulders and started distributing batteries. Piqsirpoq strapped a longsword to his waist--his typical style. The other two Snow members were crouched nearby, though I couldn''t see what they were doing.


    "Most teams have secured their starting zones, putting everyone ahead of Snow, who has only gathered a few resource points so far. All teams are moving to their next targets... Wait, am I seeing this right?"


    A murmur of excitement spread through the broadcast room, a buzzing hum of whispers.


    "Nyx''s team is spreading out! Even though capturing the outer zones isn''t too challenging, Nyx must be confident... Oh, it''s ''The Cloak''! Nyx''s team just found ''The Cloak''!"


    Three black dots on the map turned semi-transparent, moving swiftly in different directions. Curious, I pulled out my terminal, connected to the internal network, and zoomed in on Nyx''s semi-transparent team members.


    Black wolves ran, hoods up, cloaks billowing behind them, shifting colors and patterns to blend with their surroundings. I tapped the equipment info, revealing the cloak''s details: electronic signal shielding and optical camouflage.


    "Bold move! But even with stealth capabilities, spreading the team is risky, not to mention capturing zones reveals their location. Will Nyx''s high-risk strategy pay off?"


    The closest two teams to Nyx started closing in, shortening the distance, likely aiming to pick off the scattered black wolves.


    "Do you know him?" I asked the Nyx members beside me, pointing to the terminal and zooming in on the black wolf leader''s profile.


    "Olethros?" Aether shook his head slightly. "Not really."


    The young wolf seemed too engrossed in the broadcast to respond to me.


    "The second stage of zone captures is complete! Nyx''s strategy worked, giving them a temporary lead!"


    The arena map filled with more black zones than the second-place team by four. But seeing Nyx''s positions, Flash and Wood''s teams quickly moved towards the nearest Nyx zones.


    "Direct conflict in the Selection rarely happens this early, usually not until zone saturation. It seems Nyx''s new strategy is provoking different responses. Will they manage... What?"


    The remaining two black dots also turned semi-transparent. Flash and Wood''s teams hesitated briefly.


    "Five cloaks! What''s happening? Did Nyx really find five cloaks? Is that even fair?"


    I replayed the timeline, focusing on the Nyx team. I noticed that while one member was busy solving the capture puzzle, the others swiftly searched the nearby equipment crates, just like most teams. The difference was that the black wolves ran farther, checked more crates, and didn''t spend time assembling weapons. Instead, they took single-piece auxiliary equipment, giving them more chances to inspect more crates and gather what they needed.


    Even though they could disappear from the radar, true invisibility with optical camouflage was still very difficult. Splitting up was still a disadvantage for the Nyx team, and obviously, both Flash and Wood knew this.


    "Oh," Aether muttered, understanding dawning on his face. "Olethros has led them into a trap."


    "A trap?" I rewound the timeline and checked the Nyx members'' equipment list but found nothing resembling trap-making materials or tools.


    "Not that kind." He gestured toward Flash''s team. "A chain is only as strong as its weakest link."


    The semi-transparent black dots remained still, with a few pale yellow dots passing close by Olethros without noticing him.


    As I zoomed in, I caught the moment Olethros jumped from a tree, pinning the rear-most, isolated Flash member to the ground, face down.


    "Beautiful takedown! One of Flash''s members is unconscious, adding significantly to Nyx''s score. But is exposing their leader to enemy attacks worth it?"


    The commotion behind alerted the blond wolves, who turned to attack the retreating black wolf. Two threw what looked like snares. The black wolf glanced back and dodged smoothly, leaping to the side. But as he landed, a plasma shot hit him, sending Olethros rolling on the ground, dry yellow leaves swirling into the air.


    "Oh, that must hurt! The Nyx leader is still conscious, but can he still move?"


    A Flash member approached Olethros cautiously, aware the black wolf wasn''t knocked out.


    Suddenly, Olethros , who had been lying on the ground, raised a hand and threw something at the nearest enemy member, who dodged quickly. Another Flash member, however, got tangled in a smoldering cloak, swearing as he tried to free himself.


    Olethros seized the opportunity, nimbly getting up and moving swiftly between cover, escaping Flash''s attack range.


    "It seems the cloak absorbed some of the plasma damage. Olethros is still mobile! Now, Nyx has pulled away, and Flash seems intent on chasing them. But as the saying goes--while the mantis stalks the cicada, the oriole waits behind!"


    A burst of plasma fire forced four Flash members to seek cover, abandoning the chase, prompting cheers in the broadcast room as black-furred arms waved in the air.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Wood''s team approached from another direction. Despite having long-cooldown plasma rifles, three members carried rifles, giving them a firepower advantage. Flash''s leader shot at Wood''s nearest member, forcing them into cover, then issued orders to the rest.


    "This is a trap forcing them to fight each other," Aether explained. "With one member down and inferior equipment, Flash can be annihilated by Wood if they choose."


    The black wolf synced his terminal with mine, manipulating the interface and highlighting the semi-transparent black dots retreating to a farther distance.


    "Even with superior firepower, Wood can''t avoid losses in a direct confrontation." Aether pointed to Olethros'' dot. "Olethros is still nearby, but they don''t know the other Nyx members are capturing more zones. Any decision to attack or retreat must consider third-party interference."


    I nodded, understanding the tactical situation. Clearly, strategy was part of history too.


    "Flash and Wood are in a stalemate, with Nyx applying constant pressure from the side! A brilliant setup that will surely boost Olethros'' reputation! But let''s hear from Master Thanatos!"


    A frame appeared in the lower-left corner of the screen, showing a sharp-eyed black wolf.


    "This is a typical Spartacus game," he explained, drawing lines on the arena map. "Flash and Wood are like two gladiators of unequal strength." Thanatos circled the two teams. The camera showed Wood advancing while Flash tried to retreat, occasionally exchanging plasma fire. "The stronger gladiator will undoubtedly win, but the survivor will remain a slave to the Romans." Thanatos squinted slightly.


    "Master Historian often mentions this game model," Aether added, shrugging. "The only chance for gladiators to win is to recognize the true enemy is Rome and cooperate to rebel. But the risk of the first to lay down arms is too high, so the equilibrium is the Romans continuing to enjoy the gladiators killing each other, with rebellion never occurring, especially since Rome holds an information advantage."


    I nodded, pondering the situation. I didn''t understand all the technical terms Aether used, but I grasped the current scenario--for Flash and Wood, the best outcome would be to stop fighting and attack Nyx. But Wood didn''t know where Nyx was or their combat capabilities, and they couldn''t resist the temptation of eliminating Flash. As for Flash, being under attack made cooperation with Wood impossible.


    I was witnessing a highly condensed, simplified reenactment of history. Somehow, it made me feel a bit sad.


    "But Nyx isn''t entirely safe in this scenario either." Thanatos smiled, pointing to other teams. "The Celts, Gauls, and Germans are still active."


    Gray, Ash, and Mottle each captured a new zone. Gray and Ash, because nearby enemy teams were engaged in their own standoffs, also started splitting members to increase their capture speed.


    Nyx''s lead was shrinking. I saw Olethros frown momentarily, but he remained low behind cover, not taking further action.


    "More interestingly," Thanatos laughed, showing his white fangs. "The Huns arrived four centuries early."


    The central zone of the arena turned white as Snow''s score surged to first place. The room of white wolves erupted in cheers, even a few howls.


    "What a shock! Although it''s just the first-generation Deep Blue, solving the central zone puzzle in such a short time is definitely a record!"


    "It seems chess is a form of warfare," I remarked. Aether nodded, scratching his chin.


    The camera focused on Piqsirpoq, whose icy eyes glanced at us sharply, his fur and ears swaying in the wind.


    As biased as it might sound, honestly, he looked quite handsome.


    "Snow''s leader looks a lot like you," Momus said with a smile.


    "Oh..." I tried to minimize the hesitation in my voice. "Piqsirpoq is my brother."


    "So cool!" Momus said happily, elbowing Aether, who just grunted in response. "I wish I had a brother that cool."


    Aether''s expression didn''t change, but I caught the moment his body stiffened. I was familiar with that feeling of knowing you weren''t needed.


    "Why not? Aether is cool too." I said, feeling my mouth curl up. "I''m sure Piqsirpoq doesn''t even know what the Spartacus dilemma is."


    I glanced at Aether. His expression didn''t change, but I was sure his ears stood a bit straighter. The little wolf also made a skeptical sound, glancing at Aether, but Momus''s wagging tail revealed his true feelings.


    I refocused on the broadcast, keeping up with the latest developments.


    I wasn''t saying this out of pity, was I? I truly believed Aether was cool too. And compared to Piqsirpoq, Aether was definitely a more competent brother. Besides, so what if it was out of pity? My smile widened, and my tail tip wagged gently.


    The broadcast''s lower-left frame showed Qana repeatedly waving off the camera, not wanting to be disturbed.


    "Bold tactics, Skrynia has always demonstrated impressive chess skills." Qana finally gave up resisting, crossing his arms and evaluating. "The central zone puzzle had some luck involved, but Snow''s team made excellent decisions, capitalizing on favorable opportunities." He examined Snow''s equipment info. "This is a fully equipped tactical team. With their abilities, eliminating other poorly equipped teams will be easy. Even if all factions unite against Snow, it will only delay the inevitable."


    Qana''s prediction caused murmurs in the room, many wolves whispering to each other. The sword master wouldn''t make such a conclusion lightly; it seemed the situation had reached a critical point.


    I replayed the timeline, and while Skrynia played chess with Deep Blue, the others cleared out the central zone''s equipment crates.


    "The key question now is whether Snow intends to further solidify their lead, setting a more stable foundation for the coming days, or quickly eliminate other teams to prevent them from surviving and creating variables." A new frame appeared, and a light blond wolf, clearly displeased with his team''s bottom ranking, spoke in a low voice.


    Who knows, maybe he was just like Qana, annoyed by constant interruptions.


    "Or perhaps," Thanatos spoke again, clearly enjoying the commentary selection process unlike the other two masters, "the remaining factions will decide to unite against Snow, willing to fight even without any chance of victory?"


    "I tend to believe they will act more rationally," a female brown wolf joined the conversation. "While there''s still a chance, they should divide the remaining areas and try to snatch limited resources from weaker opponents. Dog eat dog... or in this case, wolf eat wolf."


    "These moments are always thrilling and exciting, right, Master Willow?" Thanatos enthusiastically asked. "What kind of surprises will the young ones bring us, revealing new possibilities?"


    "Not at all," Willow pushed her glasses and replied succinctly, making Thanatos laugh again.


    "But look, Wood''s team has stopped attacking Flash." Thanatos pointed out the arena''s edge activities, causing Willow to click his tongue. "Oh, they''re negotiating, good job!" Thanatos even clapped his hands and laughed, while the light blond wolf raised an eyebrow, looking less anxious.


    "...a waste of teaching." Willow muttered something inaudible, but it made Thanatos laugh even harder.


    I rewound the timeline to after Snow occupied the central area. Nyx decided to stop hiding and took over four more areas from slopes to plains. This change clearly made the brown wolves uneasy, leading Wood''s leader to halt their attack.


    "Claiming to cooperate while taking advantage of the chaos." The light blond wolf grumbled and glanced sideways, where I guessed Thanatos was sitting.


    "Hey, Master Lux, that''s not very gracious." Thanatos smiled cunningly.


    "If Flash''s team were leading, I could be gracious too." Lux crossed his arms and leaned back, making Thanatos laugh again, while Willow just pursed her lips and said nothing.


    "I might sound odd saying this," Qana still tried to fend off the camera, making his screen shake, "but let me remind all masters that we are accountable to the Senate."


    After Qana spoke, Thanatos shook his head but still had a smug smile, while Lux''s face turned even grimmer. Willow rolled her eyes and shook his head, clearly feeling exasperated. As for Qana, he finally managed to black out his screen, disappearing from view.


    It seemed the interaction among the masters was a highlight of the Selection process, with the broadcasting wolves not wanting to miss any juicy details. Soon, Qana''s image reappeared on screen, and I noticed his hand gripping the sword hilt tightly, veins bulging, indicating he used a lot of willpower to keep the sword sheathed.


    "I heard they used to be very close," Aether suddenly said, catching me off guard.


    "What?" I perked up my ears, turning to Aether.


    "Qana Snow and Willow Wood," he murmured. "Qana almost requested to transfer to Wood''s base, a hot topic at the time." Aether glanced at me and continued slowly. "The Empire''s Premier Swordsman and a renowned interstellar econometrician. It wasn''t just their factions; the whole Senate was abuzz."


    "But..." I knew some members from different factions temporarily lived in non-native bases due to work or assignment. But Aether''s tone made it sound like Qana planned to... leave Snow. "Aren''t they from different factions?" I always thought this was forbidden.


    "It used to be common, but now it seems only Nyx remembers." Aether fell silent for a while. "Actually, it wasn''t long ago, just about ten or twenty years."


    He gestured at the diverse wolves in the broadcast room.


    "Different factions preserve the most suitable assets according to their genotypes." Aether tapped his temple. "Efficient logic and memory from neural synaptic networks," he glanced at me, "high-density myelin and unique metabolism granting nerve reflexes and physical qualities," the black wolf pointed at a mottled wolf in front of us. "Mottle''s absolute pitch, color sensitivity, and relatively high synesthesia frequency, enabling them to explore the world in ways others can''t comprehend." Aether''s tone grew detached, his gaze distant.


    I scanned the broadcast room, observing the various wolves with different fur and eye colors. This was something all wolves were constantly reminded of from birth--the reason we are who we are.


    "But what about those who can''t meet these expectations?" Aether lowered his gaze, looking at Momus. The little wolf was happily laughing, baring white teeth, and wagging his tail vigorously, focused on the projection screen, oblivious to his brother''s gaze. "Previously, wolves from different factions commonly left their birthplace to develop in suitable fields--even outside the Senate''s reach--without losing the faction''s support." Aether turned back, yellow eyes on the ground, ears drooping. "Until... that incident happened."


    I knew exactly what he was talking about. Suddenly, my tail tip started to itch, even though I knew it was just an illusion--I had just plucked out the new gray hairs yesterday.


    "Sorry..." I squeezed the words through clenched teeth, ears flat against my head.


    It felt like falling, eternally, endlessly, and emptily into the darkness.


    No one would hear me, no one would see me, no one... could catch me.


    My existence was a mistake, embodying all abnormalities, unable to belong anywhere, because I was an outlier. How many problems could have been avoided if I had never been born? Wolves unsuited to their factions could move freely, Piqsirpoq wouldn''t have lost his father, and even the mother I never met would probably have been better off. A mutt... isn''t that what I am? A mutt, just...


    "Why apologize?" Aether said.


    "What?" Deep in my thoughts, I didn''t immediately grasp what he meant.


    "Why apologize?" The black wolf slowed his speech, repeating, his white fangs showing slightly as he enunciated each word, yellow eyes still on the projection screen. "Is it your fault?"


    The fall stopped. Not landing on solid ground, but something caught me in the endless darkness. At the bottom of the abyss, there was a faint light. Weak and flickering, as if it might disappear at any moment, but undeniably there.


    Was this my fault?


    No one should ever apologize for their innate traits--any of them.


    This isn''t my fault.


    Understanding this simple truth, I leaned back, allowing myself to relax.


    It was just that simple.


    The remaining time passed with occasional gasps and cheers from the surrounding wolves, responding to the commentator''s excited tone. Even when Piqsirpoq''s face appeared again as the focus of the screen, I didn''t pay much attention.


    Now, something more important occupied my thoughts.


    Through blurred vision, I saw myself more clearly.