Read Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Novel by Only For You Updated 2025 -26 - Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Chapter 3117

Rising from the Ashes (Andrew and Lauren) Chapter 3117

The dagger in Nyx’s hand carved a streak of blue light through the air. By the time the werewolf behind her—still standing upright, mid-roar—fell silent, she was already gone. His head hit the ground a heartbeat later.

Nyx moved through the werewolf encampment like a blue phantom. Wherever she passed, bodies dropped. Heads were severed cleanly before their owners even realized death had arrived. Yet killing low-ranking werewolf soldiers meant nothing to her. Her figure flickered as she reached the camp’s first defensive line.

Her dagger traced cold arcs of blue light, and the werewolves stationed there died without ever knowing how. In the same instant, the Highland warriors crashed through like a storm, shattering the first line of defense.

Hershel led from the front. His battle axe left his hand and split a werewolf’s skull open. He followed through with wide, brutal swings of both arms, sending two more werewolves flying. Charging forward, he ripped the embedded axe back into his grip and roared as he plunged into the slaughter.

Black blood sprayed everywhere, coating his body. Still, he never slowed—fierce, relentless, unstoppable.

Roars of rage and agony echoed across the camp. Soon, those roars faded into dying whimpers and panicked cries as werewolves began to flee. High above, Kaelan unleashed thunderous howls, forcing order back into his collapsing ranks. Among werewolves, high-ranking bloodlines held absolute dominance over the lower ones.

Just as the chaos showed signs of stabilizing, Othniel arrived—riding crimson lightning.

He dove from the sky straight at Kaelan. The two titans collided in the center of the camp, crashing to the ground and rolling as they tore into each other.

“Othniel, the Highland Tribe is asking for death!” Kaelan bellowed, flames rising around him.

Othniel snarled back, “Kaelan, the ones who should die are you filthy beasts. Tonight, this ends between us.”

The charge of five thousand Highland warriors was like a hurricane. Everything in their path was swept away. The werewolves were already exhausted from constant battles—harried by the Cathedral’s army and terrified by Arya. Their morale had been crumbling long before this night.

Being ambushed by their mortal enemies, the Highland Tribe, was the final blow.

The massive encampment was torn apart in moments. Fires raged across the field. Werewolves fell by the second. Above them, the blazing sun filled the werewolf soldiers with rage and agony. Their vision was unrivaled at night, capable of piercing even absolute darkness. But under daylight, their senses dulled, and the harsh sunlight scorched their eyes.

That weakness gave the Highland warriors an overwhelming advantage.

Soon, hundreds—then thousands—of werewolves lay dead, their bodies strewn across the ground as black blood pooled beneath them. At last, the werewolf camp collapsed entirely. Survivors fled in all directions, howling in blind terror.

Kaelan’s eyes burned with fury.

With his army annihilated, the werewolves could no longer mount any real resistance. They were slaughtered with ease. This army had been everything to him—the full measure of his power as a Werewolf Prince. Twenty thousand werewolves, forged through eight hundred years of blood and ambition, erased in a single ambush.

Driven mad, Kaelan revealed his true werewolf form and fought Othniel with everything he had.

In the distance, Arya arrived swiftly alongside Lysander.

“Highland Tribe warriors?” Lysander said, recognizing the long-lost people of the Wastelands at a glance.