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The Beast King, Varg, was the third man to stand at the pinnacle of the Great Savannah.
Because three generations of his line had all worn the crown, it was easy for outsiders to suspect hereditary succession. Yet unlike humans, beastkin did not consider inheritance by bloodline a given.
Being acknowledged as a member of a tribe was one thing, but to hold a position within it, one had to seize it with one’s own strength. The Beast King, the one above all others in the savanna, was no exception. The title was finally wrested away from Hackapel.
“Keugh!”
The Taurus chieftain, Bulls, involuntarily staggered back a few steps, his teeth clenched in frustration. The muscles that had never once failed him now meant nothing.
Before that overwhelming gap, his instincts froze. Even if he seized the axe hanging at his waist, it would make no difference. Varg’s might was already at a level beyond approach.
He’s become even stronger than fifty years ago… What a monster!
Swallowing dryly, Bulls recalled that day, more than fifty years ago, when the previous Beast King—Varg’s father—had died suddenly. The throne was left vacant. The law of the plains had always been the same: the strong alone...
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