Max exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing. "So it is true. These creatures repel them," he said, half to himself, half to Chief Igris.

Chief Igris gave a small nod, his expression calm. "It is the only reason we can march safely in these lands. Without them, even a single journey across the wasteland would become a massacre. The centipedes are relentless. They are drawn to movement, heat, even the smallest vibrations. For us, their hunger never ends. But these little hunters are our shield. They remind the centipedes of the only predator they fear."

As they continued, more fissures appeared, and each one carried the same danger. From time to time, pairs of glowing eyes peered out from the cracks, and Max caught sight of dozens of centipede bodies writhing deep within. Yet none dared approach the group. The moment the cages rattled and the black insects stirred, the centipedes recoiled, their hunger suppressed by primal fear.

Still, the wasteland itself was not merciful. The further they marched, the harsher the terrain became. Jagged cliffs forced them to climb, while sudden quakes split the ground beneath their feet, threatening to swallow entire lines of warriors.

More than once, the sky darkened as storms formed without warning, purple lightning crackling across the heavens and slamming into the earth with explosive force. The dwarves endured it all with grim patience, their pace never faltering, their weapons and cages always held at the ready.

Max could feel the oppressive nature of the land gnawing at him, but he remained calm. He understood now why Chief Igris had spoken of the journey itself as a trial. Every step across this wasteland demanded resolve. Even without the ants, the land itself tested them at every turn.

For hours they marched, the square formation of armored dwarves holding steady, their chanting voices rising at times in low, rhythmic tones to keep their spirits strong. The black insects slumbered again, their cages silent, their work done until the next wave of centipedes would dare to approach.

At the front, Max pressed forward with steady eyes. Behind him, the dwarves followed with the discipline of those who had walked this march countless times before.

The journey pressed on. The violet wasteland stretched endlessly beneath the distorted sky, its surface cracked and broken, ridges rising and falling like the spines of some great beast. The faint rumble of the distant volcano was ever present, its smoke drifting across the horizon in slow, lazy coils. For a time, only the sound of heavy armored steps and the creak of cages disturbed the silence.

But the wasteland never allowed travelers to grow complacent.

The air grew sharper, filled with a low vibration that prickled against the skin. Max felt it before he heard it—the subtle tremor of paws striking stone. His Three Dimensional Body active, scanning the ridges, and then he saw them. Shapes moved swiftly along the jagged edges, their silhouettes blending with the violet haze until glowing eyes betrayed them.

"Wolves," Max muttered, his eyes narrowing.

A moment later, the pack revealed itself fully. Giant wolves leapt down from the ridges, each one the size of a house. Their fur was dark gray, streaked with violet markings that shimmered faintly like molten veins.

Their claws gouged deep scars into the stone with every step, and their mouths foamed with hunger as growls reverberated through the air. They circled the dwarves quickly, cutting off every escape, their glowing eyes reflecting the armored formation like mirrors of death.

The dwarves reacted immediately. The front line slammed their clubs and axes into the ground, forming a wall of steel and stone. The cages rattled faintly, but this time the black insects within remained dormant.

Max realized why almost instantly. The wolves were not centipedes. The insects offered no threat to them, no deterrent to make them retreat.

Chief Igris raised his massive hand, signaling the warriors to hold their ground. His expression was grim. "These are the Shadowfang Wolves," he said, his voice low but carrying enough to reach Max. "Unlike the centipedes, they are not easily frightened. They hunt in silence, strike in unison, and devour prey in moments. Their pack runs the wasteland freely. For us, they are calamities that can wipe out an entire column if not dealt with swiftly."

Max stepped slightly forward, his gaze sweeping over the snarling beasts. The wolves closed the circle, their growls deepening, their fangs glistening in the dim light. One at the front crouched low, its muscles rippling under its skin. Its eyes locked on Max as though it had already chosen its first kill.

The dwarves tightened their formation. Etor barked orders, his deep voice booming over the growls. "Shields to the front! Hold steady! Do not break ranks!" The armored warriors pressed closer, their weapons raised, their breaths steady despite the threat that loomed over them.

The first wolf lunged, its body a blur of muscle and violet flame as it streaked toward the line. The ground cracked beneath its weight, its claws tearing gouges in the stone. The dwarves braced themselves, and the clash was immediate.

The front guard slammed their weapons forward, meeting the wolf midair. The impact shook the ground, forcing sparks to leap into the air. The wolf roared in pain but was not killed, its massive frame twisting away before it leapt again, circling.

More wolves followed, the pack moving with terrifying coordination. They darted in from all sides, testing the dwarves' defense, their fangs snapping inches away from armor. Each strike was met with a club or axe, the dwarves holding their ground with discipline, but the wolves were relentless.

Max watched this and intend to fight the wolves. He stepped forward, but Chief Igris raised his hand to stop him. "Not yet," the chief said, his tone sharp. "Watch them. Learn how they move. This is part of your trial. Do not waste your strength until the moment demands it."

Max bit down on his impatience, his eyes fixed on the circling wolves. He could see it clearly now. The wolves were not mindless beasts. They were coordinated hunters. Each feint, each strike was meant to probe the dwarves' formation, to find weakness. And the moment a crack appeared, the entire pack would surge in for the kill.

The air thickened with tension. The dwarves' armor gleamed with sweat and blood from shallow gashes. The wolves' growls grew louder, their circle tightening with every passing moment.

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