The living legend of the Great Savannah: Hackapel.0

Surprisingly, even within the Fenrir tribe, few knew he was still alive. In this age, only Skoll, Hati, and Varg carried that secret. Thanks to Hati, Leon’s group had learned of him, but as for outsiders who had laid eyes on him, Leon was the very first.0

This man is that…!0

Only after Varg had greeted him did Leon turn, his eyes going wide. It made him doubt all he had heard about Hackapel’s failing mind—for his back had been taken perfectly. If Hackapel had struck in that instant, Leon would already be dead or fatally wounded.0

And his bearing was anything but ordinary. By rough measure, he stood just under two meters, his body lean and honed, his muscles not inferior even to Varg’s. His skin was taut, his frame vigorous. If he shaved the thick fur that sprouted along his body, he could be mistaken for a man in his prime.0

“Hm? Did you say grandfather?” Hackapel repeated Varg’s question, confusion evident in his face before chuckling and clapping Varg once on the shoulder. “Hah! Calling an unmarried man ‘grandfather’? That’s a joke that’s gone too far, stranger. Hardly worth humoring.”0

“Do you not know my name…?” Varg asked, his face grim.0

“How would...0