The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey Chapter 132: Who Are the Losers?

Third-person POV:

At the Wolffang Base, dust swirled across the training field.

Harvey stormed into the middle, eyes blazing with anger. Luke and Ashton hurried after him.

He wasted no time on greetings.

He grabbed the guy in front of him by the collar and demanded, "Tristan! Speak up! Was it your team that filed a secret report and locked up Shirley?"

Tristan had been the guy sitting on a tire cleaning his gun a couple of days ago.

In just two days, he'd become the top dog among the veterans, commanding respect with raw power.

Tristan sneered, his voice dangerous. "Let go of me."

"Answer me!"

Harvey got a brutal roundhouse kick in reply.

Bang!

Tristan's boot smashed into Harvey's chest, sending him flying back several feet. He hit the ground hard, dust erupting around him.

"Harvey!" Ashton and Luke rushed over and helped him up.

Ashton's temper flared, wolf power surging uncontrollably. He was about to shift and attack when Luke grabbed him tight.

Luke shook his head and whispered, "You're not his match."

None of them could match Tristan.

Luke had already checked the record.

The Astralis Army called Tristan "Battlefield Reaper".

At only 22, he'd served ten years and already reached Major General.

What everyone feared most was his close-combat skill. Whether in human form or wolf form, no one had ever survived his grip.

In just two days, Tristan had already floored Harvey several times.

Harvey fought with all he had, but it was street-fight grit from the underground fight club. He'd never had formal training, and the difference between him and Tristan was massive.

The scarred veteran, Aaron Pearson, sneered. "Kid, with moves like that, you think you're a soldier? Go home and train for another two years."

"All you've got is muscle, and you think that makes you elite?" another vet added.

Tristan stepped closer, eyes sweeping over the three of them. His disdain was obvious. "I expected the special recruits to be strong. After watching you for two days, you're all just losers. They wasted slots on a bunch of green kids who've never seen real combat."

"You—"

Ashton couldn't take the insult. He broke free from Luke and swung at Tristan.

Tristan moved like lightning, dodging.

He grabbed Ashton's arm and elbowed his waist. Then, he clenched his open hand into a fist and pounded Ashton's chest.

Ashton grunted, his body going slack. Tristan pummeled him like a punching bag, and Ashton barely stayed upright.

"Ashton!" Harvey and Luke shouted in panic, but the other vets stepped in, keeping them at a distance.

Tristan held one hand on Ashton's shoulder, the other fist raised, ready to strike again.

Suddenly, a silver blur shot through the air and struck Tristan's wrist dead-on.

"Argh!" Pain shot through his wrist, and his grip on Ashton broke.

Ashton stumbled back, hitting the ground hard. He coughed as his chest ached.

Just then, a pair of powerful military boots stopped in front of him.

A slender hand reached down and helped him to his feet.

Ashton looked up. The moment he saw who it was, joy lit up his swollen face, eyes blazing.

"Who said they're losers?"

The crisp, authoritative voice cut through the training field, sharp and deadly.

"Boss!"

"Boss!"

Harvey and Ashton shouted together, thrilled.