Reborn As A Beastman With A System

In the desolate wilderness, under a sky the color of lead, Logan and his two loyal companions surged across the rugged terrain atop their majestic wolves. Their hearts were set on finding the famed wolf cavalry, a force rumored to be as fierce as the gales of the north.

The ground trembled rhythmically under the pounding hooves, each vibration a deep, resonant "Boom!" that echoed through the air like the drums of war. The landscape itself seemed to quake, as if unable to contain the power of the spectacle unfolding.

As they crested a wind-swept hill, Logan's eyes widened in awe. Below them stretched a sea of over five hundred wolf cavalrymen, their movements a fluid symphony of chaos and control. The sight of these formidable warriors, their wolves kicking up storms of dust as they maneuvered through training exercises, sent a thrill through Logan's veins.

For a man whose lifeblood was the art of war, the spectacle struck a resonant chord deep within his soul.

Suddenly, a commanding howl shattered the air, a clear, authoritative cry from Fenrir, the massive wolf beneath Logan. Fenrir, known among these lands as the king of wolves, possessed a howl that could halt rivers and bend trees. At his call, the entire battalion froze, the chaos of training abruptly giving way to stillness.

"Damnation!" Logan cursed affectionately, patting the thick fur of Fenrir's neck. "Who told you to scream?"

But the damage or rather, the interruption, was done. The field of training had stilled, and now curious eyes turned toward the newcomers.

Within moments, a group of six wolf riders, their posture signaling high rank, charged toward them. They dismounted with a swiftness born of discipline, their salute crisp as they stood before Logan.

"Greetings, Lord Chief!" they chorused, their voices a blend of respect and vigor.

"Ease your formalities," Logan replied with a dismissive wave, recognizing the insignia of the First Cavalry Battalion on one of the werewolves. Though the man's face was familiar, his name escaped Logan.

Sensing his leader's uncertainty, Crowe, one of Logan's companions, leaned in and whispered, "Sir, before you stands the captains of our six cavalry battalions. You've met Alan before; he leads the First and also commands the reserve forces."
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"Ah, indeed!" Logan nodded, his memory jogged by the introduction.

Just then, Crowe cleared his throat conspicuously, glaring subtly at one of the captains who seemed oblivious to his commander's focus. Bagen, unable to contain his amusement at the situation, muffled his laughter with a hand.

"Alan, perhaps now would be a good time to acquaint yourself formally with the chief and detail our training regimen," Bagen suggested, barely hiding his smirk.

The named Beastmen, realizing his oversight, snapped to attention. "Master Chief, I am Alan, eighteen years of age, a warrior of the fourth level with nine years under my belt as a cavalryman." His voice carried a mix of pride and respect, eager to affirm his place in the vast machinery of their military might.

Kro exhaled a subtle sigh of relief as he observed Alan, the second prodigious Beastmenhe had identified in the ranks, following Carl. He saw great potential in Alan and was eager to mold him into a formidable leader.

Yet, for all his skill and promise, Alan's demeanor often seemed too restrained, his straightforwardness bordering on naiveté. His talents were undeniable, yet he possessed a calmness that sometimes masked a lack of cunning.

"Currently, he is in charge of training our wolf cavalry," Kro said, a note of pride threading through his words.

"Us—"

"Wait!" Logan interjected, raising his hand to silence the group. His eyes had caught every subtle cue from Kro, revealing his high regard for Alan. The young officer stood with a steadiness that belied his years, his honesty and stubborn integrity clear in his stance.

Yet, Alan also exuded a mature aura, the kind one might expect from a seasoned warrior rather than a young Beastmen.

"You mentioned you've had nine years of experience as a wolf cavalryman," Logan queried, his tone a mix of intrigue and respect. "Did you begin at the age of nine?"

It wasn't skepticism that colored his question, Alan's mature demeanor lent credence to his claim, but pure curiosity.

Alan responded with a calmness that smoothed over the lines of his usually impassive face. "Master Chief, my father was a cavalryman for a mid-sized mercenary group. I grew up around wolves, learning to ride as soon as I could walk. At nine, my father deemed me ready and gifted me a third-level wolf, marking my start as a full member of his mercenary team."

His voice wavered slightly as he continued, "A few years ago, a misjudged battle cost us dearly. The group was decimated, and my father was killed."

A rare flicker of emotion crossed Alan's face, a shadow of grief that he quickly mastered.

"As the group disbanded, I found refuge with a small tribe in the southern reaches of the Northern Wasteland, but famine soon wiped them out. That misfortune led me here, to the Silver Mane Tribe."

Alan's voice held a steadfast assurance. "Everything I've told you is the truth, as sure as the Beast God watches over us."

Logan smiled warmly, his gaze assessing the young Beastmen before him. "No, I believe you," he assured.

His internal assessment tools had already provided a surprising evaluation of Alan's capabilities. Though officially ranked as a fourth-level warrior, the system suggested his potential bordered on fifth. His wolf, too, held a rating just shy of fourth level, a testament to both their strengths.

Analyzing the system metrics, Allen certainly seems to possess the qualities we're searching for. If the reputed energy of the Nine Years Wolf Cavalry holds true, then Allen unequivocally stands out as a remarkable talent.

It must be acknowledged, Kro has an exceptionally keen eye for discerning potential.

Yet, Kro's standards are exacting.

Previously, it was Carl and Tayton who caught his attention, and now it's Allen.

"Thank you for placing your trust in me, Chief," Allen responded after a brief pause, his voice carrying a tone of deep respect.

"Master Chief, would you like me to brief you on the current training progress of the wolf cavalry?" Allen inquired, his demeanor cool and composed.

Logan observed Allen closely and noted his mature presence, always serene, his expression unreadable, almost as if carved in stone.

"There's no need for that. I've just reviewed their performance myself. I'm not yet ready to pass final judgment on their training outcomes," Logan replied thoughtfully.

"Given your nine years of service with the wolf cavalry, I propose a different test. I'll select fifty of the cavalrymen to match against you in combat," Logan proposed, a spark of curiosity lighting his eyes. "This will be an opportunity to demonstrate your capabilities. I'm quite intrigued to see the prowess of an elite cavalryman like yourself."

"Additionally, this direct engagement will offer me a clearer view of your training effectiveness."

"What do you say, Allen? Do you accept the challenge?" Logan asked, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Absolutely!"

"Master Chief, I would take on fifty or even the entire contingent of wolf riders if needed," Allen declared with unwavering confidence.

"Foolish boy, how dare you boast so boldly before the chief?" Kro snapped, irritation flaring as he overheard the exchange.

Allen may excel in many areas, but his obstinate nature often blinds him to the nuances of the moment, he's not one to bend or gauge the winds of circumstance.

"Oh, let him be, Commander Kro," Logan intervened, raising a hand for peace. "He speaks from a place of strength. It's permissible for the powerful to boast a little."

"I appreciate your spirit," Logan said, eyes still fixed on Allen's calm facade. "Proceed as planned. Fifty cavalrymen will suffice."

"Understood," Allen nodded, his face a mask of calm.

With a final approving glance, Logan steered his steed Fenrir towards the assembly of over five hundred wolf cavalrymen.

Watching Logan depart, Kro rode up beside Allen, his voice laden with frustration, "Do you not grasp the gravity of confronting the chief directly?"

Allen remained silent, accepting Kro's chastisement without a word, his stance unyielding yet respectful.