Chapter 1: The Shining Gold Ring

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The sky was pitch black, shrouded in thick clouds, with thunder and lightning tearing through the heavens. A torrential downpour hammered the earth, water streaming in furious torrents. The enraged howls of wild beasts and the thunderous stampede of herds trampling the ground echoed endlessly, sending chills down the spine of any who heard it.

A wretched monsoon thunderstorm!

A silver serpent of lightning arced across the sky, its dazzling brilliance splitting the night and rain for a fleeting moment. In that instant, this miserable world was illuminated, if only briefly.

This was the vast African savannah.

A Boeing airliner, broken in two, had plowed a deep furrow through the grasslands. The cabin was strewn with passengers, their fates uncertain, mingled with the wreckage. Amid the chaos, over a hundred black men braved the rain, scavenging through the debris.

“Hurry up, hurry! Take the living with us, load anything valuable onto the trucks. I’ve no desire to spend the whole night here with packs of wild wolves in this damn weather,” shouted a black man with matted dreadlocks, clutching a battered rifle of “Iraqi” provenance. Wearing little more than tattered shorts and broken slippers, he wiped rain from his face impatiently, then casually raised his gun and shot a wolf sneaking toward the bodies.

The pack of hyenas that had gathered to feast on the corpses saw their companion whimper and die. Glowing green eyes glared with fury, but they clearly understood the power of human weapons and slowly backed into the tall grass.

“Boss, won’t this get us into trouble? If those white pigs find out, I’m afraid...” stammered a bald black man.

With a resounding slap, the dreadlocked leader struck the bald man’s head, sending rainwater flying. “Remember this, Omur—we’re on an international humanitarian rescue mission. Those white pigs love to talk about human rights. I think they won’t mind paying a little rescue fee. It’s a fair transaction.”

“Right, right, we’re offering humanitarian aid, perfectly within their rules. Boss, you’re so clever—making money without offending those peacekeeping troops,” Omur replied, his eyes glinting as though he could already see the cash. The discomfort from the rain melted away at the thought.

The dreadlocked leader was pleased with the flattery, proud of his own “wisdom.” He grinned, showing off his large teeth.

Just then, another black man ran up, holding a phone wrapped in a red plastic bag.

“Boss, Doma just called. Several groups are driving over from town—they’re probably foreign peacekeepers. The rain can’t delay them for long; at most, they’ll be here in two hours. The Tamutu King warned us—the National Army has stepped up operations. We can’t afford a conflict right now. It’ll take us over an hour to get back to the tribe.”

“Damn those meddling bastards,” the dreadlocked man cursed, then barked, “Forget the rest of the loot. Everyone, get in the trucks and head back the way we came—now!”

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“Boss, wait! There are two yellow-skinned people still alive. The woman’s already been dragged out, but the man’s trapped under a seat and some metal—he’s hard to get out!” someone shouted from not far off.

“Yellow-skinned?” The dreadlocked leader, about to climb into the truck, stopped and called back, “Which country?”

“The woman’s passport says Panda Nation; we haven’t found the man’s passport, but I bet they’re together.”

“Panda Nation? Then forget it—not worth our time. Take the woman. Yellow women aren’t worth much, but they can have children, and their bodies are... quite something. When we get back... heh heh.”

Hearing they were from Panda Nation, the dreadlocked youth lost all scruples, grinning lecherously as he pinched his chin, barely able to contain his excitement. He slapped the dented roof of the truck and shouted, “Move, move! Let’s go! The rest of you, hurry up!”

(For the record, all country names borrow from “That Year, That Rabbit,” but “Rabbit” is replaced with “Panda” as it fits better. If you don’t know, look it up; or maybe fellow readers can explain.)

“You’re lucky, you idiots. When I have time, I’ll wipe you all out and treat the brothers to a fine pot of wolf stew,” the dreadlocked man growled as he issued his commands, casting a final, dissatisfied look around. Dozens of glowing green eyes flickered in the darkness. He opened the truck door and climbed inside.

After years of indirect influence in Africa, Panda Nation now wielded far more power than a decade ago, and most African countries were friendly toward it. Only this group, in the Hippo Republic, remained an exception—an outlier in the third world, unfriendly to Panda Nation and closer to “Traitor Province.”

With the roar of engines, the convoy of pickups sped off, the noise drowning out the sound of the rain as they disappeared into the night, leaving behind chaos and mud.

The crash site fell silent once more, save for thunder and the relentless downpour.

But this was only the bloody beginning.

A piercing wolf’s howl rose—a trumpet of war, or perhaps the signal for a feast.

With the humans gone, the savage beasts of the grasslands emerged from the tall grass, stomachs growling, jaws gaping, as they charged toward the scattered, helpless survivors.

The sounds of flesh being torn apart soon filled the air. Blood flowed freely, and the stench of carnage grew ever thicker.

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Not even the heavy rain could mask it.

“Aaah, it hurts! At least... at least I can feel pain? That means I’m not dead yet. Wait, no—” The searing pain in his arm dragged Xing Xiaolong from unconsciousness. Before he could celebrate surviving the crash, he felt a powerful tug on his arm and a rush of putrid breath. Instinctively, his back went cold.

As he opened his eyes, lightning lit up the sky, granting him a brief, shocking glimpse.

A wolf!

A wolf with a head as large as a barrel, its eyes glowing a terrifying green, mouth smeared with fresh, unknown remains. In the flash of lightning, the monstrous creature, over a meter long, looked every bit like a black devil from nightmare.

“Shit!”

Xing Xiaolong was struck dumb with fear, screaming as he struggled to free his left hand.

But the giant wolf had the same idea.

Xing was pinned by a seat and the cabin wall, only a gap of less than thirty centimeters allowing any movement. He couldn’t break free, nor could the wolf feast properly.

All the wolf could do was clamp its jaws around his left hand, trying to drag its prey from the wreckage.

Though Xing Xiaolong stood 1.81 meters tall and was a recent veteran of the guard platoon, with his body trapped he couldn’t muster any strength.

He watched in horror as the wolf’s teeth tore at his flesh, blood spurting out and flowing toward the ring on his left index finger—a ring of unknown material, covered with intricate, beautiful carvings.

As the blood washed over the ring, it suddenly emitted a brief, golden glow, turning a seductive red beneath the blood. The miniature carvings on its surface began to shift and merge before his eyes.

If one looked closely, they might discern tiny reliefs—shapes reminiscent of weapons from a familiar game, their designs burned into memory.