The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 132

**Chapter 132: Who Are the Losers?**

The Wolffang Base lay shrouded in a haze of dust, swirling ominously across the training field, a fitting backdrop for the tension that crackled in the air.

Harvey burst into the center of the chaos, his eyes ablaze with fury, radiating a fierce energy that demanded attention. Luke and Ashton, his loyal companions, hurried after him, their expressions a mix of concern and determination.

Without a moment’s pause for pleasantries, Harvey zeroed in on the man standing before him. “Tristan! Speak up! Was it your team that filed a secret report and locked up Shirley?” His voice was a thunderclap, resonating with urgency.

Tristan was no stranger to the scene; just days ago, he had been perched on a tire, meticulously cleaning his weapon. In the short span of two days, he had ascended to a position of dominance among the veterans, earning their respect through sheer, raw power.

With a sneer that hinted at danger, Tristan replied, “Let go of me.”

“Answer me!” Harvey pressed on, his voice rising, fueled by a mix of anger and desperation.

In a swift, brutal response, Tristan unleashed a roundhouse kick.

Bang!

The impact was jarring as Tristan’s boot collided with Harvey’s chest, propelling him backward. He crashed to the ground, the dust erupting around him like a cloud of despair.

“Harvey!” Ashton and Luke rushed to his side, their concern palpable as they helped him to his feet.

Ashton’s temper flared, the wolf within him stirring restlessly. He could feel the surge of power coursing through his veins, threatening to erupt. Just as he was about to shift and retaliate, Luke seized his arm, holding him back with a firm grip.

“Think, Ashton! You’re not his match,” Luke whispered urgently, his voice low but insistent.

The truth hung heavily in the air; none of them could stand against Tristan. Luke had already perused the records, and the tales of Tristan’s prowess were legendary. The Astralis Army had dubbed him the “Battlefield Reaper,” a title that spoke volumes. At the tender age of 22, he had already logged a decade of service, rising to the rank of Major General.

What sent shivers down the spine of every soldier was his unparalleled skill in close combat. Whether he fought as a man or transformed into a wolf, no one had ever escaped his grasp unscathed.

In just two short days, Tristan had effortlessly bested Harvey multiple times.

Harvey, despite his fierce spirit, fought with the raw instinct of someone forged in the underground fight clubs. He lacked formal training, and the chasm between his abilities and Tristan’s was staggering.

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