They trekked through the snowy plains for a long time before climbing a snow-capped mountain.
The she-wolf leaped among the jagged cliffs, her sharp claws kicking up a blizzard of snow, precisely digging into a ice-sealed cave on the rock face, then lowered her head to drop the bloody remains of an elk from her mouth.
More than a dozen grey-backed wolf pups scurried out from the depths of the ice cave, hunger driving them to tear open the elk's abdomen with their milk teeth, struggling to swallow the frozen flesh.
Among this group of wolf pups, the golden-haired human child was particularly striking. He ran on all fours like a wolf cub, his fingernails caked with frozen soil and scabs, and when he bent down to gnaw on raw meat, his fangs were even sharper than the wolf pups' canines.
Worp grabbed the child by the scruff of his neck, lifting him from the bloody elk remains.
The golden-haired wolf-child immediately bared his teeth at Worp, letting out a beast-like growl, his small face, stained with raw blood, contorted into a ferocious expression, and the grinding sound of metal from his still-developing teeth was as piercing as that of a young wolf whose food had been snatched away.
"You're rebelling against me! Koz never dared to do this to me!"
Worp slapped him on the head, and psionic energy, like an invisible barrier, pushed away the other wolf pups who were tearing at the elk. The wolf pups whimpered in confusion, and the she-wolf stood between them and Worp, licking the elk-blood-stained fur of her cubs, preventing them from interfering in the education between the two-legged wolf father and son.
Worp held the wolf-child by the scruff of his neck with one hand and pressed the back of his head with the other, speaking unhurriedly amidst the child's fierce gaze, "Say thank you, or you won't get anything to eat."
The wolf-child howled at Worp; he didn't understand what Worp was saying.
And every time he howled or bared his teeth, Worp slapped him and repeated, "Say thank you."
The untamed wolf-child gradually understood his language and his purpose.
He looked at his mother, who was focused on licking the fur of his other siblings, not paying attention to him.
He then looked down at his dirty paws, and then up at Worp's mountain-like enormous figure, and a few indistinct, broken syllables rumbled from his throat: "Tha… thk…"
The muffled pronunciation was mixed with unwillingness and compromise, like a young beast forced to acknowledge the Wolf King's status.
"Go eat."
Worp released him.
The wolf-child immediately pounced on the elk, but then Worp stopped him again.
This time, the wolf-child didn't bare his teeth, but looked up in confusion.
"Humans walk on two legs, like me."
Worp pointed to himself. The huge disparity in strength between them made the wolf-child give up his childish resistance. He tried to imitate Worp's upright posture, stumbling towards the elk's carcass.
But just as he was about to bite, Worp grabbed him again.
"Meat must always be cooked before eating."
A quiet blue psionic flame rose from Worp's palm, sizzling the raw meat.
The ice crystals originally clinging to the meat instantly vaporized, bursting into tiny white mists in the extremely cold air.
The wolf-child's pupils narrowed into two slits in the firelight, the saliva dripping from his canines evaporated by the heat, and a confused whimper rumbled in his throat.
Why is this so troublesome?
"They are wolves, but you are human."
Worp pointed to the she-wolf and her cubs, then pointed to the wolf-child, "I know you don't understand yet, but that's okay. I will slowly teach you and make you realize why you are human."
The wolf-child didn't understand, but the smell of roasted meat made him drool.
Worp roasted the meat for a long time before handing the charred piece to the wolf-child, who immediately snatched it with his blood-stained hands, making a beast-like swallowing sound as his canines tore at the meat. Hot grease dripped from his chin, scorching small pits in the snow.
"Did you say thank you?"
"Tha…thk…"
Chapter 70: Simple Battle Royale Mode.
"Humans must eat, because a hungry warrior cannot lift the gun of revolution!"
"Humans must sleep, otherwise how can the sun of the Empire rise from closed eyelids?"
"Humans must breathe; without inhaling the air of the imperial truth, the lungs will betray the heart!"
"Humans must labor; the sweat drops under the hoe are the rain the Empire needs most!"
"Humans must unite; separated five fingers cannot firmly clench the iron fist of the class!"
"Humans must open their eyes; in darkness, only the lies of chaos can be seen!"
"Humans must walk on two legs; the third leg is a trap of the Chaos Gods!"
The biting north wind howled across the frozen plains for an entire winter, yet Worp maintained the patience of a blacksmith forging iron.
Every dawn, when the first faint grey light pierced through the rime ice, he would pull the wolf-child, who was curled up with the other wolf pups in a quilt sewn from elk hides. At first, he simply repeated those simple syllables, correcting the raw howls that rumbled from the wolf-child's throat over and over again.
Once he could skillfully master the language, Worp began to teach him the main ideas of gratitude education.
The she-wolf also learned Worp's survival skills, carefully tending the fire Worp lit with her wolf snout, throwing strips of torn elk fur and frozen grease into the fire, keeping the flickering flames warm in their nest.
He asked: "Why do I have to learn this?"
Worp: "First, tell me why you ask that."
The wolf-child's answer was nonsensical, "Because roasted meat is delicious, but it wastes valuable grease and a lot of time."
Worp asked: "Then I ask you, why do humans walk upright?"
The wolf-child looked up in confusion, "Aren't I asking you?"
"You answer me first."
"I don't know."
"Because upright walking can reduce consumption by 75% compared to quadrupedal locomotion, which is more advantageous for tracking prey or exploring new environments. An upright posture provides a higher field of vision above the ground, making it easier to spot food, water sources, or potential threats in open grassland environments."
"Most importantly, upright walking frees the hands, greatly enhancing survival capabilities and the speed of technological innovation, which is the foundation for creating civilization."
Wolf-child: "What is civilization?"
"A campfire is civilization, roasted meat is civilization, the animal skin clothing I made for you, the animal skin bedding you sleep on—these are all civilization. All cumulative culture lays the foundation for civilizational development."
"The purpose of roasting meat is not just for taste; high-temperature cooking can effectively kill bacteria and parasites that may be present in raw meat, reducing the risk of foodborne illnesses and increasing the probability of survival."
"Cooked food is easier to digest, and fire can ward off cold and maintain body temperature. These are all the meanings of civilization."
Worp quietly moved around the contemplative wolf-child. The she-wolf was gently nudging the deer bone skewered with roasted meat with her paw, her movements as delicate as walking on thin ice. The carefully constructed roasting racks were made of reindeer leg bones crisscrossed and stacked, with deer sinews binding the different bones together.
The wolf pups lay lazily by the warm fire, a few with half-closed, sleepy eyes, yawning contentedly.
The frozen elk herd provided them with an ample food source, allowing the wolf pack to live a life of unprecedented comfort. They neither had to brave the severe cold to hunt nor endure the torment of hunger, and the she-wolf no longer had to make difficult choices during food shortages.
Seeing Worp approach, these wolf pups, already the size of calves, immediately wagged their tails happily.
One of them even eagerly pounced on Worp, while the other wolf pups could only watch him longingly, making whimpering sounds of endearment.
"You're too heavy, I can't even pick you up. Don't you have any self-awareness?"
Worp put the wolf cub that had pounced on him back on the ground, his face stern. The wolf cub knew he was just playing and continued to wag its tail happily.
"Children who are too smart aren't good either."
Worp stroked each of their wolf heads. These wolf pups were all more affectionate towards him than the wolf-child; the wolf-child was definitely the worst batch he had ever raised!
"Worp, eat."
The she-wolf signaled to him with a low whimper, but primarily through psionic energy.
Worp gripped the reindeer leg bone at the end of the roasting rack and slowly moved the sizzling roasted meat in front of the she-wolf for her to take the first bite.
Then it was the wolf pups' turn. The constantly wagging tails and whimpering sounds from these half-grown wolf cubs betrayed their impatience, but they still ate in an orderly fashion as Worp required, precisely tearing off pieces of fragrant, oily roasted meat with their sharp teeth, the hot grease dripping into the fire, creating tiny sparks.
The wolf-child slowly approached the fire, using a reindeer skull to scoop warm water from a pit and slowly pour it over his hands, carefully scrubbing them clean.
He picked up another sizzling skewer of roasted meat, gave half of it to his wolf brothers who hadn't gotten any, and then enjoyed the other half himself.
Worp could have made many skewers of roasted meat, but the wolf-child understood that Worp wanted to teach him the meaning of sharing.
Even if the roasted meat was in his hands, he should generously share it with his wolf brothers.
"Worp."
The she-wolf suddenly moved closer to Worp, who was enjoying the roasted meat, her fluffy silver-grey fur gently brushing his forehead.
Worp offered her the roasted meat, but the she-wolf shook her head, "Name."
"You want me to give you a name?"
The she-wolf nodded.
This indeed put Worp in a bit of a dilemma, not that he didn't want to name the she-wolf.
But if he named her, then he would have to name all the other wolf cubs individually too.
The other wolf cubs were simple enough, but the she-wolf's name couldn't be too casual.
The first names Worp thought of were Fenrir, then Fenrir's sons Hati and Skoll, and also Odin's messengers Freki and Geri.
But these names didn't quite fit the she-wolf.
"Let's call you Sylvia."
The wolf-child looked up: "Does this name have any special meaning?"
"I wasn't going to tell you, but since you asked, I have to tell you the story of the Roman she-wolf."
Worp had been waiting for him to ask, and eagerly said, "In the city of Alba Longa in Ancient Terra, there was a princess named Rhea Sylvia."
"She was the daughter of Numitor, forced by her usurping uncle Amulius to become a priestess of Vesta, required to remain a virgin for 30 years in her holy service. But she still coupled with the god of war, Mars, and gave birth to twin brothers, Romulus and Remus."
"Amulius feared her sons would one day usurp his throne, so he threw them into the Tiber River, intending to drown them."
"Fortunately, the brothers were discovered and nursed by a she-wolf who came to drink water there. Afterwards, they were adopted by a kind shepherd. When they grew into adults, they killed Amulius and helped their grandfather Numitor reclaim his throne."
"Later, they built a new city by the Tiber River, at the place where the she-wolf had nursed them, but they quarreled over whose name to give the new city. Finally, the elder brother Romulus killed Remus and named the new city after himself, thus creating Rome."
Wolf-child: "They were raised by a she-wolf like me, so why not name mother after the she-wolf's name?"
Worp: "Because I don't know what the she-wolf was called then."
"Then?"
The wolf-child understood his implication.
Worp didn't explain; unofficial history shouldn't be too wild. A hint was enough.
"Worp."
The she-wolf called him, wagging her fluffy tail, "My name is Sylvia, call me Sylvia."
"Alright, Sylvia."
The she-wolf wagged her tail even faster.
The wolf cubs sat neatly around the fire, their damp noses twitching slightly, their fluffy tails restlessly sweeping the ground, their beastly eyes full of anticipation.
"You are Fenrir."
Worp stroked the head of the wolf cub that had just pounced on him.
Then came a pair of twins, "You are Freki, and you are Geri."
"Hati, Skoll, Sun-eater, Cerberus, Urðr, Verðandi, Skuld…"
Although there were many wolf cubs, Worp racked his brains to name them all after mythological figures, and these wolf cubs were also very happy, pouncing and playing with each other.
"As for you,"
Worp looked at the wolf-child, hesitating about his name.
Worp didn't want to give him another name, but if it was his original name, Worp wasn't sure if he should be the one to give it.
"No,"
The wolf-child saw Worp's hesitation, a hint of wild stubbornness flashing in his eyes, "I don't need one!"
"If you don't want one, then don't. Someone else will give you one."
Worp was helpless. How could the Wolf King be like this when he was young? Was this right?
He ignored Worp, eating the roasted meat with a cold expression.
If he didn't get a name, then he didn't. He didn't care.
The she-wolf keenly sensed the subtle tension between Worp and the wolf-child. She slowly walked between the two of them, first gently nudging the wolf-child's hand with her damp nose, then sweeping Worp with her silver-grey tail, and then turning to rub Worp's cheek with her fluffy neck fur.
"Worp, spring is coming soon, we must migrate."