Welcome to the ninth chapter of The Wolf! I had this chapter on deck, so decided to update a bit early because I'm in a good mood after putting out Chapter 2 of Harley Danger.

Thank you all for more than 2.1K views, and enjoy!


BRANDON'S POV

To this day, I don't know how I did it.

After seeing the article about my parents, and how I was believed to have killed them in cold blood, I should have been rattled. I should have been utterly unable to fight.

But that's not what happened.

From the moment Reyna blew that whistle, I was at the top of my game. I was ready for whatever came my way.

Somehow, don't ask me how, the other members of the Fifth Cohort seemed to work seamlessly together. Perhaps this was because they knew each other well and had forged strong bonds, or maybe they were just coming up with a plan on the fly. Whatever the case, they worked together very efficiently.

Dakota danced around the battlefield more gracefully than might be expected from someone his size. He stabbed his sword every which way, making sure that he inflicted minor, non-lethal wounds that were nonetheless disabling.

Imitate him, I remember telling myself. Dakota knows the best way to do this. He's a lot more experienced than I am!

Suddenly, carrying the blade around didn't feel so awkward after all. It was still difficult to wield it with any significant finesse, but I managed it in spite of myself. Perhaps, in situations like this, adrenaline really did kick in.

The First Cohort (at least, I thought they were the First) barged into the fortress. This strategy ran contrary to what Dakota had suggested, but if it helped provide a diversion for us to sneak inside, so be it.

I guess they have a reputation to uphold. They want to keep being seen as the mighty First Cohort, because they don't want to lose their crown. And I wouldn't either, of course.

"It's all part of the plan!" I exclaimed. "It's working!"

Even now, I don't know why I said this. It instantly reminded me of the time I'd seen someone say "Stick to the plan" on TV and watched that plan blow up in their face. It certainly wasn't wise, and I got a few odd looks from my cohort-mates as a few warriors entered the battlefield.

One of them was a familiar face. It was Frank Zhang, my former mentor, who was now my rival. He pointed a spear at Wardog, who raised two fists in the air in response.

"Know the power of Mars!" Frank exclaimed, raising the spear in order to strike.

Wardog, in the midst of battle, was still able to roll his eyes. "It cuts both ways, Zhang. We share those gifts."

Wardog grabbed either end of Frank's spear and used his knee to knock the other child of Mars to the ground. Frank didn't look too stunned, but it would take some time for him to get up; valuable time Wardog could use to make his getaway.

At the start of the battle, I'd held my sword like a TV remote, utterly useless as a weapon, but at the ready if needed. Now, though, I was swinging it wildly around, hoping it would serve as a deterrent to anyone wanting to get close.

"Be more careful!" Lindsay yelled at me. "Friendly fire is a thing, you know, and you don't want to be on its receiving end of it!"

It didn't take long for it to become clear that we were in trouble. It looked like the defending side were cutting down more legionnaires than the attacking side; if this pattern continued, we would lose.

"We've got to run in!" Wardog exclaimed as Frank staggered to his feet. "What are you waiting for? Let's go, Brandon!"

I didn't need any more reminders. I put my weapon in an iron grip and sprinted into the fortress.

The tide of the battle needs to change soon, I remember thinking. But to these people, perception is always reality. They'll know what's going on.

So I have to flip the script somehow.

The interior of the fortress was just as chaotic, if not more so, than the outside. Numerous legionnaires were either running around or fighting. In many cases, they were doing both at the same time.

Where is that banner? And more importantly, how do I convince these people that it's in a different place?

I fought a swordsman from the Fourth Cohort for about thirty seconds, during which time my arm wound from the wolf was reopened with ease. In the midst of battle, I was immune to the pain.

"It's over here!" I yelled eventually.

What the hell was I thinking? That'll only draw more attention to myself!

Even if the other legionnaires found my statement ridiculous (which it was), they still had to pause in order to realize this. A few looked side by side, just to confirm that the banner wasn't where I said it was.

I guess it'll give the others a bit more time to get it!

The stinging pain in my arm then kicked in, and I couldn't help but gasp. It was going to consume me; the broken piece of armor was digging into the reopened cut.

I need this battle to end quickly.

Desperate to put the pain in my arm behind me, I ran through the hallway as quickly as I could. Admittedly, it was probably more of a stumble at this point.

Soon enough I found the banner. It was giant, several feet in diameter, and contained the letters SPQR in gold against a bright purple backdrop. If it hadn't been surrounded by demigods duking it out, it would have been impossible to miss.

That insane strategy…could it work again?

The sting in my upper left arm made itself known once again, and I grimaced. It was then that I knew I'd just have to go for it.

"Come over here, you idiots! The flag is over here!"

Again, although the other legionnaires knew that the flag was nowhere close to me, their attention wavered for several seconds. It wasn't that long, but it was enough time for another legionnaire to swoop in and seize the banner.

The rest of the battle is a blur to me. I only recall swinging my sword every which way, which created a good deal of confusion among the others. And then it was me and Wardog, running together behind the person with the banner.

Given that our team had just won the war games, Wardog should have been thrilled. However, if my social skills were anything to go by, he wasn't.

Rather, Wardog gave me a confused glance, as though I'd just committed a faux pas. I'd have to ask him about that later, perhaps to beg for forgiveness.

Reyna blew her whistle once more. "Everybody out of the fortress!" she yelled, in a voice that sounded rather like a war cry. Given her divine parentage, I shouldn't have been surprised.

It was easy to tell, just by looking at the other legionnaires, which side they had been on. You only needed to get a glimpse of their faces to know if they'd been attacking or defending.

Some of them sported cuts and scrapes here and there. Overall, though, it had been a relatively bloodless set of war games.

"I would like to congratulate the odd-numbered cohorts on their victory" Reyna announced authoritatively. "This victory cannot have come easily. I'd also like to recognize our newest legionnaire, Brandon St. Lawrence, for his unconventional, yet apparently highly effective, strategy."

My stomach dropped as though I were on a roller coaster. I could barely believe my ears.

"Brandon, could you please tell us more about your strategy?" the praetor asked, still sounding as though she were using an invisible microphone.

I gulped. I need to project confidence. I need to sound like I'm sure of what I say.

"Well", I replied, hoping my voice didn't break, "I had the idea to…create a distraction…in order to get people away from guarding the banner."

Now that the adrenaline was fading, my arm ached more intensely. Staying on my feet was proving an increasingly difficult task.

"And, well, I guess it worked. They say perception's reality, but that's not always true. Sometimes people just see what they want to see."

There was a collective gasp from many in the crowd. Personally, I didn't see what was so ground-breaking about the tactic I'd employed; anyone could do it. Why was there so much fuss?

"Enough about that," Reyna announced. "I will speak privately with Brandon about this, but there is to be no more speculation until we have further answers.

"In the meantime, we have an award to grant. Being that the individual who captured the banner is from the Fifth Cohort, it is that cohort that will be given the laurels. Congratulations to the attacking side, and now I ask Brandon to come with me."

Heart pounding so intensely I could hardly breathe, I followed Reyna away from the Field of Mars. I could only assume that she needed to deliver bad news; why else would she want an audience with just me? And then the question became: What was the bad news?

Once we were well away from the fortress, in a spot that appeared deserted, the praetor took a deep breath. She then glanced up at me, a rather "pleading" expression in her eyes.

"Don't discuss this with anyone else" Reyna insisted sharply. "And I really mean it. It is absolutely imperative that this information stays between the two of us."

I sighed, a rather difficult task amid all the internal tension. "What is it, Reyna? Whatever it is, just say it."

The praetor ran a hand through her hair. Although she was probably used to delivering news like this, it was still plain to see that she really didn't want to in this case. But she had no choice.

"The strategy you used, altering others' perception of events…what possessed you to do it? It's never been done in any of the other war games during my praetorship."

"I guess it just occurred to me" I replied, weighing each word carefully (which was rather unlike me.)

Reyna narrowed her eyes. "Really? That sort of thing just occurs to you when you've never been in a major battle before?"

"I have been in a major battle before" I said matter-of-factly. "If I hadn't won it, I wouldn't be here right now. Now, I will admit that I didn't think of manipulation like that during that fight, but that's because it was for my life. I didn't have any time to think."

"Huh. Well, did it feel natural to deceive others?" she asked, her tone making it sound like she was pelting me with words.

I grimaced. "I guess it did. Is that a problem?"

Reyna shook her head. "That's not the problem. All of us tell lies sometimes, for a variety of reasons. It doesn't mean you're always untrustworthy, or that we won't let you stay here."

"That's good" I responded, feeling as though some weight was lifted off my shoulders. "But it sounds like there's still a problem."

"There is. And the problem is this: Trying to alter others' perceptions of a situation is a key sign that you might be the child of a specific god. Or rather, goddess; far be it from me to be sexist against females."

"Uh, what deity?"

"I am rather hesitant to tell you that" the praetor admitted. "It may not be wise, because if the camp's borders weaken further, you'll have an even greater target on your back. Many demigods have been killed whose lives could have been saved had they not known as much."

"So the more you know, the more risk you take?"

"Basically" Reyna replied. "Now, I'm not 100% sure you're a child of this goddess, but if you are, you're in trouble. The ability to manipulate the Mist…that's dangerous."

I suddenly remembered Upchuck Weldworth's rambling speech at the symposium. At the time, I'd proudly used the term "loony bin" to describe where he should be locked up. To hear Reyna, someone in such an obvious position of authority, talk about the Mist too, was quite startling.

"The Mist…how much do you know about the Mist, Brandon?"

"Some from the symposium." I briefly filled her in on the event I'd attended, the one that had started this whole mess. It was hard to accept that it had been so recent, and yet, the paper I was meant to write on it was a distant memory by now.

"With all due respect, Brandon, going there was tantamount to suicide. I mean, thank the gods you didn't die on the way here! Things could have gone so much worse."

"So the Mist. Is there anything else I should know?" I interjected, hoping to change the subject to something less frightening.

"Well", Reyna continued, "children of a specific goddess are able to manipulate the Mist. It's a gift, but it does come with a price, especially here."

I frowned. "Why especially here?"

"Well, that goddess is a Greek one. Although we're not in a 'hot war' with the Greek demigods, our relations have been anything but warm lately. I'm not quite sure of it, but if you truly are her offspring, that puts you in a bad spot."

"Because my godly parent is Greek?"

Reyna nodded. "Of course, that's not the only reason they will distrust you, but it won't help your case. If monsters attack this camp, you may be blamed for it; many other legionnaires already suspect it."

Very little angers me more than being accused of something I didn't do. "They really think I would call on monsters to attack Camp Jupiter? Jesus Christ, how sick do they have to be to believe that?"

Reyna sounded exasperated, but not at me, as she replied.

"You have to understand, Brandon. Even if these people aren't necessarily convinced that you did it, they'll want someone to blame. For better or worse, the newest legionnaire to arrive is typically the scapegoat."

I knew she was right, of course. Hell, looking for a scapegoat is a behavior I'm guilty of myself.

But to be on the other side of it hurt. It really did.

"So what do I do now?" I asked her, trying not to let my rage show.

"It's simple," Reyna replied. "All you have to do is keep a low profile if you can."

I snorted. "Fat chance of that."

"I said simple, not easy. But if you don't do anything to stand out for a while, they might forget all about it in a few weeks. Maybe."

I gritted my teeth and began stomping my right foot. "I don't like maybes."

"Well, you have to deal with them sometimes as a demigod. Some days, you don't even know if you'll live to see the next one. It's times like that when you must get a hold of yourself. Otherwise…".

She didn't need to finish that sentence.

"It had better all blow over" I grunted.

Reyna raised an eyebrow, narrowing her other eye. "That's up to you," she said.


Keeping a low profile was a lot harder than I had hoped, but only a little harder than I had thought.

From the moment I returned from my talk with Reyna, and the Fifth Cohort was presented with the laurels, it seemed that everyone in the cohort wanted to know how I'd done it. How had I thought of something so simple, yet so effective at the same time?

I mostly brushed off those questions by saying things like, "It was all dumb luck", or even "I don't know, I just thought of it." Little by little, it seemed that the rest of my cohort bought it; at a minimum, they didn't see the worth in continuing to bother me.

Once everyone had been healed up from their injuries sustained during the war games, including myself, I had returned to my barracks. I had climbed into bed and crawled beneath the covers, and I managed to fall asleep almost immediately.

However, I didn't stay asleep for very long, because what felt like seconds later, my cohort-mates were banging pots and pans together; it seemed like they'd taken literally all of the equipment from the mess hall, and they were putting it to use making all this noise.

"Wake up, Brandon!" Dakota exclaimed. "You won it for us, so you should share in the festivities!"

"Uh…thanks, I guess?" I replied. Truthfully, the only thing I felt like celebrating was the fact that I hadn't embarrassed myself as much as I could have. And even then, there was a good reason Reyna wanted me to avoid publicity.

"No need to thank us, you did all the work!" Wardog announced, handing me a plate with a slice of cake on it. I realized that several other demigods also had cake with them.

"Guys, we shouldn't be eating that much sugar right before bed" I muttered. "We won't be able to sleep."

"Who cares? The Ancient Romans, a lot like myself, believed that life should be enjoyed in glorious abundance!" That was Dakota talking, right before he chugged a glass of wine.

"How much will you be enjoying it if you've got a blinder of a headache in the morning?"

My words seemed to fall on deaf ears, though. Even Lindsay didn't seem to hate me so much anymore; she smiled when she saw my face.

"You did well, Brandon," she said, though rather tepidly. "You did well."

"I'll have to pass on the cake" I muttered. "Not feeling very hungry right now."

"I'll leave it by your bed, then" Dakota responded. "You can eat it before breakfast in the morning."

I sighed. "Well, I guess. But I don't deserve all the honor you're giving me."

"Don't be so modest, Brandon" another of my cohort-mates, whose name I didn't know, responded. "To be able to wield that skill in your first battle…I've never seen anything like it."

Perhaps I wasn't as useless as I'd feared. However, the fact remained that whenever I thought of picking up a sword again, I was shocked that it hadn't gone terribly wrong just a few hours ago. I felt lucky even to be alive.

"If you all want to thank me for winning the war games for our team, then that's fine" I said, still rather sleepily. "But I'd rather you did that by letting me sleep."

"Fair enough," Dakota responded. Turning to the other members of the Fifth Cohort, he commanded them to leave me alone for the rest of the night.

After that episode, however, I lay awake for some time.

My thoughts turned to the fight that had gotten me to Camp Jupiter in the first place. It hadn't been an easy one, and yet the weapon I'd held there, the six-inch steak knife from my bedroom, had seemed far more natural to me than the Imperial gold sword.

I couldn't help but dwell on what must be happening in Los Angeles. It had been several days since my foster parents had been mauled to death. They'd probably been laid to rest now; perhaps a funeral had occurred. There would certainly be enough people to attend it, during which they'd curse me for causing their deaths.

And then that left me. By the sound of it, no one else involved in that news story - not my deceased foster parents, not the police, not the friends left behind by the murder - knew about the existence of Camp Jupiter. They had no idea that there lay a world beyond their comprehension, hidden from them by the Mist.

Really, it made some sense. As an aspiring journalism student, I knew full well that humans had their own biases. People saw what they wanted to see. As grisly a story as it was that the mortal authorities had come up with, it at least made more sense than Roman mythology being true.

And ultimately, that's their job: To figure out what makes sense. I only wish that were so easy for me.


For the next few days, things were more or less okay at Camp Jupiter.

After the initial shock of all the revelations the first day, everything else seemed to matter significantly less. It is a strange thing, but even after a major triumph, such as winning the laurels in the war games, life can get back to normal before long. Well, as "normal" as life can be for a demigod.

As it turned out, there were many other commitments that came with being a legionnaire. For one, I had to help scrub out the stables every day. The smell was rancid, but since it was something I had to do, there was no use complaining about it.

Another chore, for lack of a better word, was learning Latin. I'd always thought of Latin as a dead language that was only ever spoken by Catholic priests performing important rituals, but apparently that wasn't the case. "It's still relevant today," the girl who tried to teach me the language said. "And your brain should be hard-wired for it."

Regardless of what that girl told me, Latin did not feel natural at all. Much of the text was tiny, so even with my perfect (or at least, good enough) vision, I had to squint to make it out.

"Can you translate this paragraph for me, Brandon?" she asked after a while, pointing at a number of sentences on parchment that looked totally intelligible.

I frowned. "How am I supposed to do that? These words make no sense - I can't believe anyone used to talk like that."

"Well, they did," the girl responded coolly. "And you can too, if you put in the effort. It's not that hard for someone like you."

Newsflash: It was that hard. I had an inescapable inkling that I should be able to understand the language, since it was closely related to many of the words we use today, but that inkling just wasn't based in reality.

"Just do it sentence by sentence, Brandon," my teacher told me. "Perhaps that will make it less daunting."

But it didn't. Even starting with the first few words, I had no idea what some of them meant.

"I can't," I admitted, feeling tears in my eyes. "I know I'm supposed to be able to, but I can't."

The girl frowned. "Have you ever heard of beginner's luck? You showed us some of that on the battlefield the other day."

"Yes, but I don't have beginner's luck with this" I muttered bitterly. "Perhaps if you replace that L with an S, that'd be more accurate."

"Fine," the girl replied. "I mean, no, it's not fine. Regardless of how long it takes, I will teach you Latin if it is the last thing I do."

I didn't voice this concern, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was indeed one of the last things that girl would do.

Tensions within the camp were thick; even the sharp steak knife I couldn't escape would not have been nearly sufficient to cut them. Thankfully, the tensions were not between the cohorts, but the reality was almost as frightening.

Reyna took the "stage" at one memorable dinner. While sitting on her throne, she blew her whistle with what must have been all the air in her body.

"I need everyone's undivided attention," she announced. "Because I have some news to share."

"Good news or bad news?" Dakota asked in between sips of wine.

"Bad news," Reyna replied. "Which is why you need to hear it sober, Dakota! Undivided attention means undivided. Attention."

Dakota grunted and dropped his wineglass. It fell to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

"As I was saying", the praetor continued, "I wish I could deliver good news tonight. I really do. But I cannot."

"Whatever it is, just spit it out!" another legionnaire bellowed.

"I will" Reyna insisted, rolling her eyes in that legionnaire's direction. "Anyway, our scouts have received intelligence that monsters are planning an attack on this camp."

"That's not a problem, though, is it?" someone interrupted. "Doesn't this camp have excellent defenses through Terminus?"

Reyna sighed. She didn't even seem that angry with the person who'd just interrupted her, which was probably a mark of just how scared she was. Another such sign was that she betrayed any fear; I wasn't an expert, but shouldn't a leader be as outwardly fearless as possible?

"We did," the praetor responded after a while. "But in case you all haven't heard the news, Terminus has vanished. We do not know where he is, and until he returns to Camp Jupiter, we will not be safe here. It's been confirmed that our borders are significantly weakened."

Well, that's not good.

"So what do we do about it?" Frank Zhang asked.

"Well, given that you're a son of Mars, you should know exactly what we'll do. It's time for our largest military mobilization since last year. Only this time, it will be purely to defend ourselves."

Purely to defend ourselves. After my battle against the wolves, I thought I knew a thing or two about self-defense.

"Of course, this will be somewhat new for us. Romans typically favor offense as opposed to defense, but now we'll have no choice."

"If they attack, we need to be ready" an African-American girl with curly dark brown hair responded.

"It's not a matter of if, Hazel. This is what the monsters have always wanted. Imagine if the NAVY Seals went to Osama bin Laden's compound, broke down the doors, and decided to go get some coffee. That wouldn't make much sense, would it?"

"So in other words, we're totally boned," Dakota blurted out.

"Not helping!" another legionnaire exclaimed, though I couldn't tell who. "We can't just give up now. This is our home we'll be defending!"

"I appreciate the attitude, Leila, because it's the right one to have. We'll have the home field advantage, and we can exploit it for all it's worth, so long as we're smart about it."

The rest of dinner wasn't so festive. After the meal was over, Dakota pulled me aside. We made our way to the other side of the dining hall before he said anything.

"What is it? Please just tell me" I instructed the centurion.

Dakota looked as though he were a doctor preparing to announce to a patient's family that their loved one wasn't going to make it. He hung his head low as he glanced at me.

"How do I explain it…do you think you're ready for battle?"

"I don't know," I replied morosely. "I'd like to think I am, but I'm just not sure."

"Do you think you can defend yourself with a sword? I know you won the war games for us, but that wasn't really on the strength of your swordplay."

I looked up at the sky, then at the distant arena where I'd sparred with Frank.

Our sessions hadn't been going well. Every swing of my weapon only made me feel clumsier, as though I weren't meant to fight with a sword. According to Frank, some demigods had their own weapons, such as daggers and spears (what Frank himself usually fought with), but those usually didn't come until you were claimed by your godly parent.

"I'll be honest" I said. "I think it's better to tell the truth: I'm not great with a sword. The only weapon I feel comfortable using is the steak knife."

"What knife?" Dakota asked, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

"There's a steak knife from my house in Los Angeles. At least, it used to be my house; who knows if it is now. Anyway, that feels a lot more natural to me."

The centurion frowned. "Without a tremendous amount of finesse, that's not going to cut it. I'm sorry to say that."

"No, I understand completely," I said. "I just…don't know if I can get good enough with a sword in time for the battle. And I hope the battle never happens, but Reyna certainly seems to think it will."

Dakota nodded grimly. "They could come at any moment, those monsters, and we'll have to be ready for it. So whatever you've been doing to practice? Double it, triple it. There's no such thing as being too prepared.

"By the way, how did the steak knife get here? When you were found on the riverbank, it wasn't on your person. Everyone is searched upon arrival in New Rome; at least, that's how it was with Terminus present."

I grimaced at the mental image of my unconscious body being strip-searched for all sorts of contraband. It was best not to imagine that.

"I guess it just keeps showing up," I replied, feeling my face turn the color of a tomato.

"There was another demigod like that. He had a magical sword that would never leave his side; I think he called it Bitchute or something. Ha, bit chute…you could also say it as…".

"Dakota, have you had one too many?" I shot at the centurion, because his breath was thick with the smell of wine.

The centurion burped, then held up his right hand. "I…think I've had one too many."