Three years after the cataclysm, dark energy swept across the globe.
Lin Feng awakened the ability to rearrange flesh.
While others dragged the corpses of mutated beasts away in exchange for half a moldy loaf of bread, he hauled off entire bodies, taking apart their bones and reconnecting their tendons to create a fiercely loyal beastfolk army.
Rotting wolves became laborers. Ironclad bears became big Gs. With the complete skeleton of a Storm Wolf King, he directly rebuilt Grom, Blademaster of the Warsong Clan.
The stone tablet on Qingya Mountain bears the tribe’s one and only iron law:
Only I get to scold my cubs. Touch one of them, and I’ll tear down your entire base.
A rift in the void is widening in the distance.
Lin Feng wipes his bone blade, a feral red glint flashing in his eyes:
Come on.
My beastfolk army can hardly wait.
