My name is Fenral.
Once, that name meant nothing. No honor, no pride—just another beast surviving each cruel day. I was the alpha of a starving, desperate pack. Every hunt was a gamble; every loss of a brother was just another accepted sacrifice. We howled to a moon that never answered, fought enemies we couldn't beat, and endured days when we fed more on hope than meat.
We were not feared, nor respected. We were simply weak.
And then he came.
A being cloaked in strange power and cold darkness. A monster not of bloodlust, but of purpose. He didn't roar, he didn't growl—he spoke. And when we lunged at him, he didn't flinch. I was prepared to die that day, perhaps hoping that death from his hands would be better than the slow rot of failure.
But he spared us.
No… he claimed us.
He subdued me—not with brute force alone, but with something greater. A presence that drowned mine like an ocean swallowing a flame. I had no choice but to kneel… and yet, in that humiliation, I felt no shame. Only awe.
And then, he gave me a name.
"Fenral," he said.
The moment it passed his lips, the world changed.
It was strange. I had fought so long to prove myself, to be more than a shadow in the wilds… and yet, it was in giving up everything that I was given meaning. My pride? Gone. My past? Burnt away. In that single moment, I had no need for either.
From that day on, I wasn't the alpha of a starving pack. I was the fang of a future king.
Serving Akuma became my truth. No matter the task—whether it was patrolling the border or watching over the hobgoblins—I fulfilled it with one simple desire: to earn his trust again and again. To prove that I was worthy of the name he gave me.
So when he left us, I felt… lost.
Not abandoned. Never that. But uncertain.
Why did he leave me behind?
Was it punishment? A test? A rejection?
I was prepared to suffer in silence, but then… I remembered his words.
"Protect them. Watch over the village. I trust you."
Those words haunted me—no, they anchored me.
And so I did as he asked.
I watched over the hobgoblins. At first, I kept my distance—after all, what use did warriors have for toolmakers and soft-bellied builders? But little by little, I saw the worth in their hands. In their tireless labor. In their unwavering faith in our master's return.
I learned names. I learned their rhythms and quirks. I barked orders. I took blows for them. I ate with them.
And slowly, I became part of them.
Perhaps this… was Master's lesson. To lead not just a pack, but people. To temper fangs with wisdom. To become more than a hunter.
When my master returned, I felt it in every fiber of my being.
At first, it was just a stir in the wind… then came the scent of darkness, unmistakable. And finally—his presence. His overwhelming, commanding presence.
Akuma had come back.
But he was not alone.
I stood in silence, watching from the treeline as he stepped into the village. Not with wounded pride or wounded limbs, but alongside names that once only existed in the hushed awe of wandering tales. The Forgemaster, Kaijin. The brothers of steel and hammer, rumored craftsmen from the Dwarven Capital. The very legends that once belonged to kings and nobles of old—now walked beside my master, heads bowed, speaking to him as an equal… no, as their better.
Awe rooted me in place.
And yet, when Akuma called for me—
I was elated.
The weight of his gaze settled on me like a crown. He did not need to shout. He simply looked—and I came.
To be relied on… It was more than I'd dared hope for.
The ogre village he'd entrusted me to watch over stood quietly below the ridge. I looked down upon it, the way a sentinel watches over sacred ground.
It was not like our goblin settlement—this place pulsed with a different kind of strength. The ogres did not follow because they feared; they followed because they believed. I learned here that true power does not always roar—it bows. Power can kneel and still remain untamed.
I saw it most clearly in the red-haired ogre, whose presence burned like a dying sun, barely contained beneath his skin. His strength did not stem from savagery, but from discipline. I had once thought submission meant weakness, but now… I understood.
There is power in submission—when it is given, not taken.
And then my gaze fell on her.
An ogre girl, hair like the first bloom of sakura after winter. She stood still, her eyes locking onto mine.
I didn't flinch.
Instead, I lowered my head to her.
A gesture—not of surrender, but of respect.
"I wish… I am able to repay even a little of his kindness," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else, before turning away.
I left without another word. My master had given me a task—and I would see it done.