Inside the elder's hut, Gale let out the kind of long, dramatic groan that usually preceded either a nap or a public nuisance. He leaned back in his chair like it was a hammock and, without a shred of shame, kicked his boots up on the low wooden table in front of him.
Risa's glare was immediate—sharp enough to peel paint. "What are you doing?"
Gale turned his head lazily toward her and shrugged, as if the answer should've been obvious. "Relaxing. You should try it sometime."
"That's not what I meant!" she hissed, smacking the table in frustration. "The elder will be here any moment. And the sight of you lounging around with your filthy feet on his table definitely won't be pleasing."
Gale gave her a slow, dismissive wave, like he was shooing away an annoying fly. "Please. We've already been waiting for half an hour. They're not stalling for fun—they're trying to put pressure on us. Make us sweat a little."
He leaned forward, resting his chin in one hand and smirking. "Which means they want something from us. They just don't want us to figure that out too quickly."
Risa opened her mouth to snap back… but then stopped. The longer she mulled it over, the more irritatingly reasonable Gale's words sounded. She sat back, crossing her arms with a huff, and muttered under her breath, "Still disrespectful…" but otherwise let it drop.
They fell into silence. For all of sixty seconds.
Then Gale started humming. Loudly.
Risa pinched the bridge of her nose, whispering a prayer to whichever god was most likely to smite her annoying companion first.
Another thirty minutes crawled by before the curtain finally shifted.
The first man who stepped inside looked like he'd been carved out of a tree trunk. Tall, chest bare, thick cords of muscle roped across his frame.
A wolf tattoo sprawled over one side of his chest and shoulder, its fangs bared in permanent snarl. His eyes landed on Gale's boots disrespecting the table and narrowed into a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
Gale, in response, gave him a lazy little wave. "Sup."
The man's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside.
Another man entered—almost identical, only broader. Bigger. Somehow meaner-looking.
Risa immediately straightened, clearing her throat. "Ah—are you the elder?"
The huge man said nothing. He simply grunted… and stepped aside.
Risa blinked. "…Eh?"
And then, unbelievably, a third man entered. Same features. Same tattoo. But this one was older, his beard streaked with gray, his muscles sagging only slightly from age. He eyed them both, nostrils flaring like he could smell their discomfort.
Gale leaned forward, squinting at the three of them now lined up in the doorway. "…Okay. Did I fall asleep on the boat and wake up inside a mirror maze? Because I'm seeing triple, and not the fun kind."
Risa's groan was muffled into her palms. This one—this third carbon-copy bruiser—had to be the elder. There was no way the village was running on some bizarre Wolfman Multiplication Jutsu.
She straightened again, drawing a breath to finally ask her question—when the curtain stirred once more.
Another figure shuffled into the hut.
Risa blinked. Gale leaned forward, jaw slightly slack.
It was the same face. Same sharp nose, same tattoo scar running along the cheek. Only this one looked… ancient. His skin was wrinkled like parchment, his hair thin and wispy, and his muscles—well, there weren't any. He was scrawnier than Gale, and that was saying something.
The old man leaned heavily on a cane, each step slow and deliberate, as if the walk from the door to the table was an expedition requiring provisions. His hand trembled slightly as he raised it in greeting.
"Welcome to our village," the elder said warmly, his voice gravelly but kind. He paused to take in their faces, then smiled. "Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I am not as young as I once was. The climb up the hill to this hut… it is a journey all on its own."
Risa's head snapped toward Gale with the speed of a whip, her glare saying: See? SEE?!
Gale chuckled sheepishly and slid his boots off the table, clearing his throat. "Right, well… you know, we could've met literally anywhere else, right? Maybe somewhere without the cardio? No offense, old man, but telling us to wait up here seems… kinda inefficient."
The elder chuckled softly, the sound more wheeze than laugh. "Tradition," he said simply. "And tradition, young man, is rarely efficient."
Gale muttered under his breath, "So's the Marines, but at least they have chairs that don't give you splinters…"
If the elder heard him, he ignored it. Instead, he raised a hand toward the three identical wolf-men who had entered before him. "Allow me to introduce my family. This is my son, Fenrik"—he gestured to the biggest of the three, whose arms looked like they could strangle a Sea King.
Fenrik nodded once, sharp as a blade, his wolf tattoo flexing with the motion. Gale decided instantly he wasn't shaking that guy's hand.
"And these are my grandsons," the elder continued, "Weylan and Drogar."
The two younger men gave curt nods, both glaring as if it was their birthright.
Gale stared at them, his expression flat. "…Okay. So you've basically got Wolf #1, Wolf #2, and Wolf #3. Y'know, I was worried my eyes were going bad, but nope—you guys just copy-paste your genes like wanted posters."
Risa groaned again, dragging her palm down her face. "Please ignore him, Elder. He's… special."
The elder tilted his head, peering at Gale with an almost amused expression. "Special, yes. I can see that."
Gale blinked. "Hey. Don't say it like that."
Risa cleared her throat, pulling herself a little straighter. "In any case, my name is Risa. I'm from the Redfang village, and this here is Gale."
She hesitated—just for a moment—before adding, "I escaped during the attack… and encountered Gale while I was being chased."
Gale's eyes slid sideways toward her. He didn't miss that pause. She'd deliberately skipped over her sister. His lips twitched in thought. For half a heartbeat, he wondered why.
But then he shook his head inwardly. 'Not my circus, not my ghost monkeys. '
The elder hummed softly, the sound carrying both thoughtfulness and suspicion. "That does not tell me much," he said, his voice gravelly but sharp. "Other than the fact that you brought an outsider into our home."
He turned his gaze on Gale, eyes narrowing like a wolf sizing up unfamiliar prey. "Do you know anything about him, beyond his name?"
Risa opened her mouth—probably to lie through her teeth—but Gale cut her off before she could get a word out.
"Harlow Gale," he said flatly, like he was introducing himself to a firing squad. "Marine Captain. G-5 branch."
The temperature in the hut seemed to plummet.
Every Stormhowl in the room froze. The grandsons, Weylan and Drogar, instantly stiffened like hunting dogs catching a scent. Their hands twitched toward their weapons, legs coiling to spring. Their glares could've drilled holes in his skull.
Gale scratched his cheek lazily. "Ah. Yep. There it is. The part where you all look like you're about to rip me apart for breathing."
The tension snapped taut, the grandsons taking half a step forward—until the elder's cane rapped against the ground with surprising force.
"Enough," the old man commanded, his voice carrying the weight of generations.
The younger wolves halted mid-lunge, their jaws tight, their glares never leaving Gale.
The elder, however, kept his eyes firmly locked on the supposed Marine captain. His stare was sharp now, a predator's gaze hidden in an old man's wrinkled face.
"A Marine… here?" His voice hardened. "You know our island is not under the World Government's banner. The Marines have no place on Risky Red."
Gale leaned back slightly in his chair, raising both hands like he was surrendering. "Relax, grandpa. I'm not here to plant a flag or start charging you taxes."
The elder's glare only deepened.
With a sigh, Gale dropped his hands and continued, tone dry. "I was sent here with a battleship to capture a wanted criminal. According to the reports, he's on this island."
His words hung in the air like smoke.
Fenrik, the elder's hulking son, growled low in his throat. "A convenient excuse for bringing warships to our waters."
Gale shrugged, utterly unbothered. "Convenient, yeah. But also true. If it makes you feel better, I ditched the babysitters who came with me and snuck in solo. So technically, this is more of a field trip than an occupation."
He smirked faintly, eyes glinting. "And between you and me, I'd rather not stick around long enough to file the paperwork."
The elder tapped his cane lightly, studying Gale in silence, his wrinkled face unreadable.
Risa, meanwhile, pressed her lips tight and silently prayed Gale wouldn't get himself skewered before they even got to the subject of the map.
The elder let the silence linger for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then his voice rumbled again, low but sharp.
"Even if I were to believe you," he said slowly, "that does not explain why you have come to our village." His cane pressed against the floor as he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. "The G-5 Marines do not have the best reputation in this part of the world."
That earned a visible twitch from both Weylan and Drogar, who looked about ready to list every atrocity committed by those so-called "Marines."
Gale rolled his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "That bunch of lunatics? I'd appreciate it if you didn't lump me in with them. I got shipped over from HQ not too long ago."
Risa's clenched fists relaxed just a fraction. She nearly sighed in relief. 'Thank the gods—he's sticking to the plan. He's not going to torpedo us both by mouthing off…'
The plan was simple. Stick around the Stormhowl village. Help defend it from the inevitable pirate attack. Gain their trust. And once the smoke cleared, slip away with the map while everyone was too busy celebrating survival to notice.
Clean. Easy. Straightforward.
Those hopeful thoughts lasted exactly one second.
Because then Gale opened his mouth again.
"That said…" he drawled, stretching his arms behind his head, "I'm not about to pretend I'm here out of the kindness of my heart, if that's what you're getting at."
Risa's stomach plummeted.
The elder's eyes sharpened, and Weylan's hand twitched toward his axe.
But Gale only grinned—wide, careless, like a man actively trying to paint a target on his forehead.
"I'm here for the treasure map."
The room went deathly quiet.
"I'll protect your village from whatever pack of mongrels comes sniffing around for it," Gale continued, leaning back in his chair like he was bartering for a room upgrade at an inn instead of dangling his life in front of armed tribesmen. "But in exchange… you hand that map over to me."
Risa buried her face in her palm, resisting the urge to scream. 'Perfect. Brilliant. Why waste time earning their trust when you can just demand their most prized possession outright? Absolutely flawless strategy, Captain Suicidal.'
The elder's cane tapped once against the floor. His weathered eyes never left Gale's.
The grandsons bristled, Fenrik's jaw clenched, and the air grew heavy with hostility.
And Gale?
He just flashed a grin sharp enough to cut glass.
"Fair deal, don't you think?"
...
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