Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 1113 Three Contests Between Father and Son (1+ words)

Upon hearing Fenrir's words, Xia Xiu's first thought was...

That poor kid has a rather stubborn temper.

He muttered something to himself, then looked up, his tone still calm, even carrying a sincerity so genuine that it was impossible to get angry.

"Then what would it take," he paused, as if carefully considering his words, "to make you admit that I'm your father?"

The air fell silent instantly.

The sounds of wind, snow, and the lingering stench of blood in the distance all seemed to have been paused.

Fenrir: "..."

For the first time, his expression went blank.

Xia Xiu looked at Fenrir, who was still standing there in a daze, clearly stunned by the words "I am your father". He did not continue to press him with words. Instead, he naturally raised his right hand, spread his fingers slightly, and gently pointed his fingertips upward.

The next moment, a dark shadow wrapped in layers of forbidden spells slid down from the void, slowly unfolding like a relic taken from a higher dimension—it was an ancient parchment, its edges seemingly repeatedly burned by black wax, its texture rough and ancient, the black mark floating on it not dazzling, but carrying a sense of oppression that made people instinctively hold their breath.

[Third Seal - Black Seal]

The moment the black mark was fully revealed, an invisible yet extremely clear connection was forcibly established. It was not words, not a contract, nor a mental suggestion, but a deeper, more primal resonance—a call from the depths of one's bloodline.

It is not a biological relationship in the conventional sense, but an inheritance structure that has been artificially shaped, repeatedly refined by a higher will, and confirmed to be feasible through countless trials and sacrifices. It is like a prototype template projected into the world, where blood and will go hand in hand, and power and destiny are bound together. As long as both parties exist on the same lineage, the existence of this connection cannot be denied.

This is the basis for the cooperation between the four monarchs and him, a deep-rooted connection constructed for the legendary "Perfect Prosthetic Body." If Xia Xiuzhen truly becomes a "Miracle Worker," his glory will naturally be shared with these perfect embryos.

Fenrir groaned almost simultaneously.

The feeling came on very quickly and was extremely forceful, as if something that had been dormant in his body for a long time had been forcibly pulled out. His blood rushed through his veins, his heart pounded heavily in his chest, and even his breathing became disordered for a moment.

He was stunned.

Because this feeling is not unfamiliar.

From a very young age, he vaguely sensed that something was wrong with him—the wolf cubs could never grow up as fast as him, human warriors couldn't last more than a few moves against him, and when King Kil taught him tribal rules, imparting honor and responsibility, he had inadvertently remarked:
“In your blood lies a fire that does not belong to Fenris.”

He remembered that sentence for many years.

But he never liked people looking at him with that "I see right through you" look, and he hated it even more when people explained his strength as fate, bloodline, or something predetermined.

After a brief moment of distraction, Fenrir's gaze suddenly turned cold.

He suddenly looked up, suppressing the surging emotions within him, and let out a low, cold snort, like a wild beast declaring its stance.

“The strong of Fenris never speak.” His voice carried the roughness and directness characteristic of ice warriors, without the slightest hint of backing down. “We determine rank with our fists, our skills, and our victories.”

Fenrir stared intently at Xia Xiu like a stubborn cub and said:

"You say I don't belong here, then beat me first."

He took a step forward, crushing the snow beneath his feet, his posture like that of a wolf ready to pounce again at any moment.

"According to the rules of our Ice Fang tribe—three rounds of competition."

"If we win, I'll do whatever you say."

Xia Xiu thought for a moment, then didn't rush to refute. Instead, he nodded slightly, a "okay, I'll play along" expression on his face.

He certainly has plenty of time, and a little extra effort won't make a difference.

The child before him was different from Lupercal. The First Son was very clever, knowing when to bow his head and when to take advantage of others. He was a natural leader and a candidate for the future commander of the Sons of the Court. Fenrir, on the other hand, was a typical wolf, sticking to a path he had set his mind on and never turning back, even if he hit a wall.

He's incredibly stubborn.

"Alright," Xia Xiu said casually, even with a hint of indulgence. "You decide what we compete in, but let's make it clear first, if we really fight, you definitely can't beat me."

Fenrir merely snorted softly, unperturbed, as if he had expected this reply. He turned around, pointed to the massive silhouette half-hidden in the wind, snow, and steam at the edge of the distant ice plains, and whispered:

"Let's go back to Icefang Tribe, back to Wolf Castle, and talk about it then."

It wasn't a steel castle in the modern sense, but a wild fortress that Fenrir had painstakingly expanded bit by bit. It was rooted in a glacial fault, with surging geothermal currents flowing beneath it. Black volcanic rock and frozen blue-white ice layers interlocked, and the walls were reinforced with the bones of giant beasts, rocks, and cold iron. The towers were not tall, but they were thick and solid, like a giant wolf lying on the ice field, ready to pounce on any intruders.

Fenrir's voice lowered in the wind, and his mood clearly sombered.

"King Kiel... is no longer here."

When he said those words, his throat visibly tightened for a moment.

The news of his death came too quickly, like a sudden blizzard that swept across the entire Icefang tribe. The old king, who had ruled the tribe for decades, ultimately could not survive another round of even more cruel permafrost, and reached the end of his life amidst the cold wind and illness.

On his deathbed, King Kiel placed the scepter, a symbol of his rule, into Fenrir's hand. Though his breath was weak, he was unusually lucid, leaving behind only a short but weighty entrustment—to stop the ice plains from tearing each other apart, and to make Fenris not just alive, but a race that could truly continue.

But the king's death did not bring order.

Quite the opposite.

Fenrir's gaze pierced through the wind and snow, as if he could see the scenes unfolding and the bloodshed.

In the southern Bloodaxe tribe, the new leader uses skulls as goblets, laughs wildly on volcanic rocks, plunders weaker tribes, and drags captives to the edge of lava for sacrifice.

The eastern sea serpent tribes blockaded the coast, burned icebreakers, and cut off salt and fish supplies, leaving the northern tribes struggling with hunger and frostbite.

The frost giants of the North and the Stoneskin tribe fought day and night for a few hot spring entrances. Frozen corpses lay on the snow, quickly dragged away by hungry beasts, leaving only mottled bloodstains.

The already resource-scarce Joseph Garden Icefield became even more deadly due to internal strife.

Fenrir clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white from the force.

“Wolf Castle wasn’t built to show off power,” he said in a low voice. “It’s to remind them that the Icefang Clan still exists, and the rules still stand.”

He glanced back at Xia Xiu, his eyes still stubborn, but with an undercurrent of barely suppressed weariness.

"We'll decide on the competition back at Wolfsburg. I won't let you win so easily there."

……

……

Two days later, Wolfsburg.

Wolfsburg is situated at the intersection of a glacial fault and a volcanic geothermal area, resembling an ancient giant wolf lying on an ice field. Its skeleton is made of black volcanic rock and cold iron, and its outer walls are covered with thick frost, yet dark red heat shines through the cracks. Steam rises slowly along the cracks in the rocks, making the entire fortress appear and disappear in the wind and snow.

Below the fortress are naturally formed geothermal chambers, where warm air flows up the shafts, preventing the interior from being completely frozen by the extreme cold. The top of the fortress is covered with giant beast bone spears and tribal war banners, each banner soaked in blood and honor, fluttering in the gale.

The moment Fenrir stepped into the outer ring of Wolf's Castle, almost the entire Icefang tribe erupted in chaos.

The sentries guarding the outer wall were the first to shout. Immediately afterward, before the iron gate had even fully closed, soldiers and hunters rushed out from all directions, their boots making a rapid and chaotic sound on the ice. All eyes were fixed on that familiar figure.

Fenrir—!

"you are still alive?!"

"Where's Hapi? How did you get back?!"

The cacophony of voices instantly overwhelmed him. Someone grabbed his shoulder to check his injuries, someone stared at the bloodstains on his body that had not yet completely dried and gasped in shock, and someone else couldn't help but pat his back and laugh, as if to confirm that this was not some kind of hallucination.

Harold Shattertooth, the Hunter, squeezed in as well. A rare look of relief crossed his face, which was covered in old wounds. His gaze quickly swept over Fenrir's limbs and torso, and only after confirming there were no fatal wounds did he speak with a sigh of relief:
"Thank goodness you're alright, thank goodness you're alright."

The two giant wolves emerged from behind the crowd almost simultaneously, flanking Fenrir on either side, whimpering softly and nudging his waist with their heads, as if confirming that their leader had truly returned.

Fenrir raised his hand and pressed on the neck of one of the heads, then patted the head of the other. His voice was still hoarse, but it had clearly calmed down: "I'm fine, Hapi... it's been taken care of. There was a bit of trouble on the way, but it's over now."

He didn't elaborate, and the tribespeople didn't press him further; they simply breathed a sigh of relief.

Just then, the crowd's gaze finally passed over Fenrir and landed on the blond youth behind him who looked particularly out of place.

The man was dressed in clothes that were completely out of place in the style of the icy plains, yet he stood calmly and quietly, as if this fortress, filled with the aura of wildness and bloodshed, was nothing more than an ordinary place to him. When he saw everyone looking at him, he naturally raised his hand and gave a gentle, almost inappropriate smile, waving to the people of the Ice Fang tribe.

The atmosphere suddenly became awkward.

Harold the Headhunter's gaze sharpened instantly, and his hand instinctively went to his weapon hilt. Several warriors silently moved closer.

"Who is he?" someone asked in a low voice.

Fenrir did not answer immediately.

He glanced at Xia Xiu, his expression complex, as if weighing something, then turned to look at his clansmen, deliberately lowering his voice:
"Have the other tribes made any moves in the last couple of days?"

The question came suddenly, but it instantly changed the headhunter's expression.

Harold stepped closer, almost touching Fenrir's shoulder, and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:

“While you were away, Bloodaxe, Sea Serpent, and the Frost Giant tribe in the north all had people wandering around the outskirts. We saw their shadows on our way back as well… The appearance of Happi is probably not a coincidence.”

Fenrir's eyes suddenly turned cold, like a chilling current suddenly freezing beneath the ice, but he did not react on the spot.

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly turned around and pointed at Xia Xiu, who was standing to the side and still looked relaxed and carefree.

“This man,” Fenrir’s voice was clear and deep, “claims… to be my father.”

As soon as those words were spoken, the open space in front of Wolfsburg fell silent.

Everyone was stunned. Some people opened their mouths instinctively, but no sound came out. The headhunter's brows furrowed, and the two giant wolves raised their heads at the same time, staring at Xia Xiu with confusion and vigilance.

Fenrir took a deep breath and continued, "I haven't admitted it, and I won't admit it now."

“But according to the rules of the Icefang Tribe,” he raised his chin, a familiar fighting spirit burning in his eyes, “anyone who wants to touch my bloodline, my name, or my position must pass a trial.”

“So,” Fenrir looked directly at Xia Xiu, his voice echoing between the stone walls of Wolfsburg, “I will challenge him, in the manner of the tribe, to see if he is qualified to say those words.”

For a moment, no one reacted. The wind howled outside Wolfsburg across the icy plains, making the silence all the more abrupt.

Some instinctively wanted to speak up to stop him, while others hesitated, but Fenrir had already raised his hand, signaling everyone to be quiet. His attitude was unusually firm, as if he had already made up his mind long ago.

"priest."

He called out softly.

The old priest, standing at the edge of the crowd and draped in bone ornaments and patterned animal hides, paused slightly, then understood his meaning. He nodded solemnly and turned to instruct his people to prepare everything needed for the challenge. A stone table was dragged to the center of the open space, wine barrels were carried out from the geothermal cave, and heavy pieces of animal meat were placed on the fire stand. Soon, the air was filled with the aroma of grease and smoke.

Fenrir then turned around to face Xia Xiu directly. His voice was not loud, but it was loud enough for everyone present to hear clearly.

"The Ice Fang Tribe doesn't rely on bloodlines, nor does it depend on the gods of the Golden Palace; we rely on our own abilities."

He held up three fingers and lowered them one by one.

"The first round, the binge-eating contest."

"The second event is the drinking contest."

"The third match is a bare-handed duel."

Fenrir's gaze was sharp and direct: "If you want to conquer me, you can only do so through these three matches!"

Xia Xiu listened without expression; he just felt that this child... was quite interesting.

"Should I give way to him later... After all, he is the leader of the tribe. If I crush him with numbers, wouldn't that hurt the child's feelings?"

He was muttering to himself, while Fenrir was absorbed in the tribe's art, completely unaware of the monster he was facing.

Fenrir, the wolf boy, began to ponder his inner thoughts.

He knew very well that he had almost no chance of winning the last match.

The image of the man in front of him clearing the sky with a single blow was still deep in his mind. It was not just a difference in strength, but a break in the level.

That's why he absolutely cannot lose the first two matches.

Fenrir took a deep breath, his chest heaving, his fighting spirit burning like dry tinder.

A dark red gleam, unnoticed even by himself, gradually appeared in his eyes as he looked at Xia Xiu—not rage, but a pure obsession born from an extreme desire to fight.

If the blond man in front of me is a god, then...

Fighting against the gods!

This is a soldier's honor!!!
At that very moment, Xia Xiu, standing opposite him, saw a sight that others could not see.

His great spirituality unfolded naturally, and the great black sun floating in the ethereal ebony layer rotated slightly, its light not intense, yet enough to penetrate the depths of bloodline and destiny. Through Fenrir's existential structure, he saw a churning, blood-red realm.

An endless battlefield stretched out within it, the ground paved with congealed blood and bronze-colored debris, the air echoing with ceaseless roars and collisions. A high throne constructed of bones and brass stood above the sea of ​​blood, the figure seated upon it blurry yet enormous, as if it were the embodiment of war itself.

That was not an immediate arrival.

Rather, it was a subtle "favoritism" that was quietly extended.

Fighting spirit, anger, glory, slaughter—compressed into a blood-red seed, slowly seeping along Fenrir's bloodline.

Xia Xiu's gaze was calm.

On a level unnoticed by everyone, his great spirituality, like an invisible hand, effortlessly severed the bloody connection, stripping away and erasing the gift that had not yet taken root, leaving behind a cold and clear warning.

Deep within the ether, in that blood-red realm, a blurry gaze seemed to briefly fall upon us.

On his high seat, the Blood God toyed with the skull in his hand, letting out a silent sneer—a dismissive response, as if watching a good show that would inevitably be staged again.

The next instant, the pitch-black sun slowly rotated, its dark and steady flames sweeping across, burning away the spying gaze with absolute presence.

The black sun continued its roar as always, its words to the four monarchs consisting of only one word:

【roll! 】

Xia Xiu looked away, as if nothing had happened.

The old father always cleaned up the messes for his children from the corners where they couldn't see him. He looked at Fenrir again, his eyes gentle, even with a hint of indulgence.

"Okay, we'll do it your way."

The wind and snow howled, and the firelight flickered.

Three trials are about to unfold in front of Wolfsburg.

……

……

The open space in front of Wolfsburg was cleared out, with heavy stone tables lined up in a row, a brazier burning brightly, and sparks exploding in the cold wind, turning the ice wall a crimson red.

As the priests brought out the food one by one, even the Icefang tribe warriors, who were used to the harsh realities of survival, couldn't help but let out a low gasp of amazement.

That was a true gluttonous feast.

Three young mammoths were placed intact on a stone platform, their skins roasted until charred and cracked, with oil dripping down the charcoal fire with a sizzling sound; inside, they were filled with volcanic rock salt and bitter wild herbs, and the meat became firm and elastic in the alternation of high temperature and cold wind.

Beside them were twenty whole direwolf legs, slow-cooked in volcanic hot springs until the meat fell off the bone, sprinkled with spicy, pungent frost grass bits—just one whiff was enough to whet the appetite. Finally, there were several baskets of tightly packed rye cakes, coarse and filling, the life-saving rations the Icefang tribe used to survive the perpetual freeze.

This is Fenris's rule: gluttony is never about enjoyment, but about proving that how much one can eat determines how long one can endure in dire straits.

"The first scene begins."

As the priest made his deep and solemn announcement, Fenrir moved almost the instant the words fell.

He tore open the mammoth's hide with his bare hands, his knuckles sinking into the scalding flesh. He ripped off a large chunk, stuffed it into his mouth without even blowing on it, and chewed it with gusto, his teeth clenching with a sickening sound. Fat dripped from the corners of his mouth onto the animal hide on his chest, but he was oblivious, swallowing, tearing, and swallowing again, the series of actions never ceasing.

This is how wolves eat.

The instinct learned on the ice fields—eat one more bite, and you'll live one more day.

Fenrir barely looked up at the person opposite him; his attention was entirely on the food, but he was secretly on edge.

This is his advantage.

It was a game he absolutely had to win.

On the other hand, Xia Xiu was a completely different character.

He took a smooth, polished stone knife and cut the mammoth meat into even pieces. His movements were slow but steady, each cut clean and precise. He slowly put the meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing carefully, not wasting a single crumb, his expression as calm as if he were having the most ordinary meal.

There was no wolfing down of food, no rushing to finish.

But rather...

During the next break between tearing pieces of meat, Fenrir glanced at the stone table out of the corner of his eye, and his heart skipped a beat.

The amount of food is decreasing, and at a rapid pace.

It was a strange feeling; it seemed slow, yet it always maintained an unsettling synchronization with itself.

Time passed amidst the flames and the sounds of chewing.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed.

Only the skeleton of the mammoth remained on the stone table, the bones of the direwolf's legs had been gnawed clean, and the basket of rye bread was mostly empty. On the ground in front of Fenrir, three sizable mountains of bones had already piled up. He patted his stomach, let out a heavy sigh, and let out an undisguised burp.

His stomach felt like it was on fire, hot and full.

This is the feeling of victory.

Fenrir raised his head, looking at Xia Xiu across from him with a hint of provocation and an unconscious sense of anticipation.

Xia Xiu just put down his stone knife, put the last piece of rye bread into his mouth, swallowed it slowly, and even wiped the crumbs from the corner of his lips with his fingers, his expression calm and almost leisurely.

My child, your stats are indeed very powerful.

However, your father is a fifth saint of the Desire Flesh Cult, who possesses two hearts and three lungs, has completed twenty-four sacred forgings, and has already reached the pinnacle of selflessness.

In the Kingdom of Heaven, regarding gluttony and its mechanisms, the [Noah's Ark] forged by the Holy Ones of Heaven is essentially a transplanted foregut; it can neutralize all known organic toxins, corrosive substances, and highly toxic environmental particles, and possesses the ability to independently store and transform highly dangerous substances, ensuring that individuals can maintain their survival and fighting capacity even after ingesting extreme pollutants.

The [Gland of Babel], forged by the Holy Spirit of the Kingdom, is the vessel for digestion; it is responsible for breaking down the organic matter ingested.

[Babel Tongue] can analyze the chemical structure of substances it comes into contact with/ingests, identify food/drugs/toxins/biochemical agents, and provide a compatibility value.

The angels of heaven are all big eaters, and your old father is the angel among angels, the biggest eater of all.

My child, your binge eating disorder is so ridiculous in front of your old father!

In discussions of carnivorousness, gluttony, and numerical values...

Don't tease me, the fifth saint of the lustful lineage laughed.

【His boundless coverage】—this is even greater, needing no explanation.

My child, your gluttony level seems so tiny and adorable compared to your old father!

At this moment, before the old father, a figure embodying both mechanism and numerical values, lay a neatly piled skeleton. In terms of quantity, the skeleton was no less than Fenrir's.

However, Xia Xiu is a kind-hearted person. He is not the kind of old father who beats his child on a rainy day when he has nothing better to do.

He is kind, so he decided to loosen the reins a little.

So, Xia Xiu glanced at the wolf boy whose belly had grown larger, exaggeratedly touched his own belly, and said in an exaggerated tone:
“Ah~ I can’t eat anymore, Fenrir Abraham, my child, you have won.”

The onlookers from the Icefang tribe erupted in cheers. Some shouted Fenrir's name, while others banged on their shields, applauding the young wolf king.

Although Xia Xiu's acting was extremely exaggerated, a win is a win.

The myriad beings in the heavens and myriad realms simply love winning, regardless of the process, as long as they win!

Amidst the noise, Fenrir's veins were bulging.

You bastard, what do you take this competition for?!
He looked down at his bloated stomach, then at Xia Xiu, who was still standing straight and breathing steadily, and a strange, inexplicable feeling arose in his heart.

This father... gave him a feeling of being owed something.

After winning the first game, Fenrir was not happy at all.

Logically speaking, the gluttony contest was his most confident event, an instinct and pride honed since childhood by the warriors of the Icefang Tribe. But at this moment, that pride seemed to deflate instantly, as if gently poked by a fingertip.

He stood there, looked down at his swollen and tight belly, and couldn't help but look up at Xia Xiu opposite him.

That person...ate just as much as him.

Maybe even more.

But from beginning to end, his calm and almost perfunctory attitude, coupled with the final nonchalant "You won," was as if he was blatantly telling him that his opponent didn't take the competition seriously at all.

A feeling of being mocked came over me belatedly.

Fenrir clenched his teeth silently.

For the first time, he clearly realized that his victory was more like the result of being spoiled by his elders.

The elder himself, however, wore a kind and benevolent expression. Xia Xiu's gaze swept over Fenrir, finally settling on her noticeably swollen belly, his tone excessively relaxed:

"Would you like to take a break?"

"I ate a bit too much in this game, it wouldn't be good to get sick, especially since there are still two games to go."

The tone was just right.

Fenrir nearly choked on his breath.

He could tell, of course, that it was concern, teasing, and an undisguised message: "I have the energy, I'm just teasing you."

The problem is—his stomach really doesn't cooperate.

That heavy, bloating feeling was like being filled with lead; even breathing became heavy. The willpower forged on the icy plains seemed powerless at this moment. He remained silent for a few breaths, finally gritting his teeth and whispering:
"...Give me an hour."

Xia Xiu raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard an interesting suggestion, his tone even carrying a hint of teasing:
"Oh, an hour?"

"Is this enough? If you're not in a hurry, I can give you three days to digest it slowly."

Fenrir suddenly looked up, glared at him fiercely, and said angrily:

"unnecessary!!!!"

Xia Xiu, on the other hand, sighed as if facing a rebellious child:
"Alright, alright, whatever you say, whatever you say."

You...I...you...!!
The wolf child, unable to resist being teased, could only sit cross-legged on the ground, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, like a wolf cornered but refusing to bow his head.

The Ice Fang tribe members around them looked at each other, but no one dared to say a word.

They could sense that the atmosphere in the air was subtly changing.

From Xia Xiu's perspective, however, everything was so clear it was almost transparent.

He gazed silently at Fenrir, his great spirituality unfolding like a silent tide, effortlessly discerning the changes within the other's body.

That's not simply digestion.

Fenrir's stomach structure is far more complex than that of ordinary creatures; in essence, it can be compared to several sacred organs dedicated to energy conversion operating in parallel.

Food is crushed, broken down, and recombined, not simply transformed into flesh and blood, but directly refined into a primitive and violent fighting energy.

That energy flowed through his blood vessels, transforming into the blood mist, madness, and self-healing power that erupted during his battles.

It was the crimson aura that had surged around his body during his previous battle with Hapi.

Xia Xiu quickly understood what it was.

The Blood God's battle aura transformation...

For Fenrir, the more it eats, the greater the conversion; the better the food it eats, the stronger the conversion.

If he were to consume even stronger and more potent "ingredients," this child's blood spirit and fighting spirit could expand indefinitely.

Therefore, while Fenrir's mechanics may not be as elaborate as Lupercal's, they are still powerful enough.

Eat = Get Stronger!

What a simple and unpretentious mechanism!

after an hour.

Fenrir really did it.

When he opened his eyes again and stood up, the bloating in his abdomen had disappeared, his breathing had become steady again, and there was a hint of fighting spirit that he had forcibly suppressed in his eyes.

Xia Xiu withdrew his gaze, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips.

"interesting."

Since the child wants to play, I, as his father, will play with him and have some fun.

Of course, this is just the father playing tricks on his child.

……

……

The second match began soon.

This time, the Ice Fang tribe did not bring out mountains of meat. Instead, the tribe's warriors worked together to carry twenty huge wooden barrels, which were lined up and slammed heavily onto the ice, making a dull thud.

Before the barrel stopper was even removed, a pungent and acrid smell filled the air, like the scorching heat from the depths of a volcano mixed with the aroma of burnt wheat and sulfur, causing many soldiers to instinctively turn their faces away.

This is volcanic ale.

Fenris is the strongest, wildest, and most unreasonable spirit.

Brewed with rye grown at the foot of a volcano, fermented with hot spring water, and then distilled three times, each time removing impurities and reducing the intensity to leave the purest burning sensation.

An ordinary soldier would be drunk and pass out after one bucket; after three buckets, whether he could wake up depended entirely on how tough his life was.

And now, they are placed in front of the two people.

Fenrir stood in front of the barrel and took a deep breath.

The familiar spicy smell entered his nasal cavity, causing his blood to instinctively begin to flow faster.

Come on, I will defeat you!

Fenrir's eyes were filled with struggle. He had already converted some of the Blood God's Battle Qi into his own, so he decided to use it to aid in digestion.

In the Ice Tooth tribe, heavy drinking is never a pastime, but a way to prove one's will—only those who can remain sober in strong liquor can survive to the end in the cold winter, hunger and war.

"start."

The priest's deep voice faded.

Fenrir barely hesitated; he grabbed the nearest bucket, roughly pulled out the stopper, and poured the contents down his throat.

The liquor poured down his throat like lava, a burning sensation spreading from his mouth all the way into his stomach, as if he had swallowed a ball of fire. But that fire did not make him back down; instead, it ignited his fighting spirit.

He swallowed the first sip, then the second, then the third, completely ignoring the spilled wine that ran down his chin and onto the animal hide on his chest, leaving dark stains.

The bucket was quickly emptied.

The second bucket.

The third bucket.

Fenrir's movements did not pause for a moment, as if he were racing against time, or as if he were launching a direct provocation against the blond youth opposite him.

In contrast, Xia Xiu.

He stood still, not reaching for the wooden bucket, but instead casually picked up a rough stone bowl and scooped the wine from the bucket.

bowl.

One mouthful.

The movements were slow, but extremely steady.

The liquor entered his mouth, but his expression remained unchanged, as if the fiery liquor that could scorch his throat was nothing more than lukewarm water.

One bowl after another.

By the time Fenrir had drunk his fifth barrel, a distinct blush had appeared on his face, his breathing had become heavy, and the heat in his chest felt like it was about to explode, yet his eyes remained sharp, still carrying the ferocity of a wolf.

The eighth bucket.

His steps faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his footing, abruptly raised his head, and growled at Xia Xiu:

"Dare you drink with me to the very end?!"

It was a roar tinged with alcohol, mixed with the dignity and resentment of a warrior.

Xia Xiu merely glanced at him, a smile brimming with numerical beauty on his face, and said to the silly child:
"Of course, drink, drink more."

He picked up the stone bowl and continued drinking.

By the eighth barrel, Fenrir could clearly feel his consciousness starting to drift, as if the world was covered by a thin mist, but he could still grit his teeth and persevere.

Xia Xiu, however, remained standing ramrod straight.

Not only that, he even casually commented as he put down the stone bowl:
"This batch had too much frost grass, it's strong, but the aftertaste is short... That batch was distilled with the heat off by half an hour, so the off-flavors weren't completely eliminated."

The surrounding tribal warriors erupted in uproar.

Is this drinking alcohol, or testing it?
Another hour passed.

Fenrir, holding the tenth barrel of ale, had just taken two sips when he suddenly stopped.

His vision began to sway, the noise around him seemed to fade into the distance, his body swayed uncontrollably, and the wooden bucket crashed to the ground with a thud.

"I...I can still drink..."

As soon as he finished speaking, he leaned forward, but was caught by a tribal warrior nearby.

And the other side.

Xia Xiu put down the stone bowl in his hand, and there were ten empty wooden buckets in front of him as well.

He stood up, his steps steady, his breathing even, and his eyes clear as if he had just finished a simple meal, rather than having drunk strong liquor.

As always, the old father demonstrated his kindness:

"You won this round again."

The sound was clear and without any hesitation, and the room fell silent for a moment.

By this time, Yingxue was already struggling to win, mainly because Fenrir's people were all red-hot, and the tribe was afraid that if they cheered again... it would be too hurtful to the child.

Fenrir frowned as he looked at Xia Xiu, his chest heaving with a mixture of alcohol and sobriety.

He knows his alcohol tolerance all too well.

In Fenris, no one could outdrink him.

But the person in front of me drank the same amount of alcohol, yet showed no signs of losing control whatsoever.

At that moment, Fenrir suddenly understood that the other person was not challenging him to a drinking contest, but rather keeping him company, using Fenrir's methods, the fairest and cruelest rules, to demonstrate a kind of control that he could not yet reach.

It was a kind of composure that looked down upon others, but without malice.

"How long will it take this time?" Xia Xiu asked the wolf boy with a smile.

Fenrir: "..."

The red-faced wolf child wanted to shout back, "I don't need your pity!!!"

But in the end, he could only wag his tail like a wronged puppy and say, with a pitiful expression:

"...half an hour."

"Wow, that's great!" Xia Xiu exclaimed with admiration, praising him in the same tone Old Deng used to praise Little Deng, "You've improved since then."

Fenrir: "..."

He's so angry!!!
Fenrir suddenly wanted to end the match quickly because he felt he was being severely humiliated by his so-called father!
……

……

After half an hour.

When the third match began, the area around Wolfsburg became quiet.

No one cheered or jeering anymore. Even the wind and snow seemed to slow down. All the warriors of the Icefang Tribe retreated to the outside of the circle, because they all knew that what was about to happen was no longer a feast or a game, but the oldest, most brutal, and most respected contest among the Fenris people—a duel with bare hands.

Fenrir stood in the middle of the ice field, slowly moving his wrists, his knuckles making a low, crisp sound as they rubbed together. His breathing gradually became heavy, and his blood surged through his body, like a wild beast that had been pushed to its limit by the cold winter and finally found an outlet.

He won the first two matches.

But he felt no sense of victory whatsoever.

The feeling is hard to describe; it's like being constantly led by someone, no matter how hard he tries or how desperately he tries, the other person can easily stay in place, even with a kind of indulgent patience.

This made him resentful and angry.

“This match,” Fenrir raised his head, his eyes fixed on Xia Xiu, his voice low and with a beast-like growl, “I don’t need you to go easy on me!!!”

He took a step forward, and the ice beneath his feet made a faint cracking sound.

"Either I fall, or you admit defeat."

Before he finished speaking, he had already moved.

That wasn't the charge of a human warrior, but the explosive burst of a wolf's pounce. Leaning forward and lowering his center of gravity, his fists whistled through the air as he aimed straight for Xia Xiu's vitals—that punch contained all the power he had amassed on the ice plains, hunting mammoths, tearing apart giant beasts, and battling the harsh winter, enough to shatter volcanic rock.

At the same time, a blood-red mist filled his surroundings.

Xia Xiu did not back down; he even used his great spirituality to compress his physical strength to the same level as Fenrir.

How could we not give them water? If we slapped them and made them autistic, that would be terrible.

He raised his hand, palm facing up.

The moment the fist and palm collided, a dull thud echoed across the ice field, like a heavy hammer striking thick iron.

Fenrir felt a gentle yet irresistible force rebounding from his fist, his wrist suddenly went numb, and his bones were cracking slightly. He was startled, but did not stop. He immediately withdrew his fist, turned around, and advanced again.

He used the grappling techniques of a wolf pack.

His legs wrapped around Xia Xiu's waist and abdomen like locks, his body close, his arms clasped behind his back, aiming straight for his throat and collarbone. This was a close-range killing move that he had honed in countless hunts.

But the next moment, he felt his body lighten.

With a slight struggle, Xia Xiu broke free of his restraints as if shaking off a layer of frost. He then grabbed Xia Xiu's wrist firmly and twisted it.

Severe pain came.

Fenrir roared, his muscles bulging and veins standing out beneath his skin. He fought back almost instinctively, but the hand was so steady it didn't seem like flesh and blood. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't break free.

At that moment, a strange feeling arose in his heart for the first time.

It's not fear, it's the gap between expectations and reality.

A near-cruel realization—that one's own strength and skills, even at the same level, are like those of a young wolf in front of the opponent.

"You're still letting me win!"

Fenrir suddenly looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, his voice hoarse and stubborn.

The little wolf cub completely broke down!

"Use your full strength! Otherwise, I won't admit it!"

Xia Xiu looked at him without mockery or impatience, remaining silent for a moment before nodding.

The nod didn't mean he wouldn't add water; rather, it meant the father was indicating that there was no need for further explanation, and he would add a little less water.

He released his grip and took a step back.

At that very moment, the air changed.

That originally gentle and reserved aura seemed to have been unlocked from some invisible lock, and a sense of pressure that made people instinctively hold their breath was added to the calmness, as if the stars looking down on the earth from high above had finally lowered their gaze.

Fenrir's heart skipped a beat.

Instead of retreating, he let out a low growl and charged forward again.

This time, he held nothing back.

Fists, elbows, knees, shoulders—every part of the body that can be used is turned into a weapon. The moves are brutal and deadly, and every strike is carried with the will to completely defeat the opponent.

Xia Xiu finally made a move.

His movements remained slow, yet they were so precise they were chilling. He always managed to evade a fatal blow at the perfect moment, while simultaneously launching a counterattack.

It wasn't a heavy blow.

Instead, it was a series of penetrating blows.

Shoulders, chest, thighs.

Each strike wasn't enough to send a person flying, but it felt like hitting deep into the bones and tendons, constantly diminishing Fenrir's power and causing the body to sluggish uncontrollably.

After dozens of rounds, he was drenched in sweat, breathing rapidly, and covered in bruises that were rapidly turning blue.

He knew he couldn't win, but he wouldn't allow himself to fall.

The wolf king's pride wouldn't allow it.

Fenrir let out a low growl, squeezing out the last bit of strength from his body, and stomped forward, punching Xia Xiu in the chest.

This punch leaves no room for retreat.

It's about dignity, and it's also a gamble.

Xia Xiu no longer avoided it.

He raised his hand, and a faint layer of blood-red steam appeared in his palm, mimicking the Blood God Battle Qi technique used by the berserker Broly.

Fenrir's crimson mist wasn't pure enough. True Blood God's battle aura would evaporate like Broly's, giving him the aura of a super XX.

However, the old father showed the wolf boy in advance how to use the advanced version of Blood God Battle Qi.

boom--! ! !
The two fists collided.

A deafening roar erupted.

Fenrir felt an indescribable force coming towards him, his vision went black, and his body was thrown out, crashing heavily onto the ice, his bones trembling.

He tried to get up, but found that his limbs wouldn't obey him, and he could only lie on the ground, panting heavily.

Footsteps approached, and Xia Xiu walked up to him. Instead of continuing his attack, he squatted down and extended his hand.

Fenrir looked up at him, brushed the hand away, and said in a hoarse voice:

“I lost… Father.”

"As you wish, I will be called Fenrir Abraham from now on... I am your... child."

What should I do if my child throws a tantrum?
Of course, it's a matter of giving a slap and then a sweet treat. As the father of the perfect embryo, and not a bad person, how could he possibly cause the child's Dao heart to collapse just to tease him?

Xia Xiu was never the kind of person who liked to play around!

Everything that just happened was a trial!
"Would you like to learn that move?"

Fenrir, lying on the ground, stiffened almost imperceptibly for a moment.

Xia Xiu was amused. This child was more fun than Lupercal. The son of the first ruler was like a leader and not easy to tease; this child, on the contrary, wore his heart on his sleeve.

“If you want to learn, I’ll teach you,” Old Deng said patiently.

Fenrir definitely wanted to learn, but he was too embarrassed to admit it, after all, he had just been thoroughly humiliated.

Xia Xiu, like the genie in Aladdin's lamp, continued speaking with an alluring air and a tone that teased a child:

"Besides these, I have other things I can teach you~"

"If you learn these things, you will be able to unify the entire Fenris tribe, fulfill King Kiel's last wish, and ensure that all Fenris people are well-fed and no longer live in fear."

Xia Xiu reached out his hand again, and this time, the wolf boy did not slap his father's hand away.

Fenrir Abraham's hand clasped Hugh Abraham's hand, symbolizing the return of the second perfect embryo.

……

……

……

P.S.: Stayed up all night to finish this draft, only managed 1+ words this time~