Because Father will come home. I know he will.

Lively and energetic, the creatures like to follow Flameruffs around. Once their fluffy charcoal-like fur starts to burn, they grow.

Emberpups living in the mountains have rock-like fur colors and a shaggy coat created by the mountain winds.

Emberpup living in sunny mountain forests have warm golden-yellow fur tips that seem to leave traces of sunshine as they run.

Vines in the way? Annoying wooden crates? If Emberpup does not like it, one fireball burns it all away.

Lively Emberpup finds it fascinating when these light, cloud-like sheep float into the air.

Emberpup’s flame may be tiny now, but it’s training like it’s got something to prove. Give it time—that little spark’s going to turn into a wildfire.

Those fiery little paws just can’t stand the cold sneaking around the mountains.

Its graceful movements are as dazzling as a blazing fire.

Becoming an Icho has been our dream since the day we’re born. I don’t even know why... Maybe it’s because we all long for powerful flames.

But I’ll wait for him to come home. No matter how long it takes.

Pack creatures that prize loyalty and unity, these hunters have calm, focused eyes that conceal their fiery hearts.

Flameruffs living in the mountains have perfect camouflage and lava-coated claws for running in extremely hot areas.

Living in mountain forests, the golden tips of its dark fur stand out prominently, a display of its confidence and pride as a wolf pack leader.

Flameruff always attracts Emberpup eager to grow stronger, and it does not mind teaching them a thing or two.

In a united pack, hurting one member is a challenge to the Omega. Flameruff will never let that slide.

Fire can be a powerful weapon, but Flameruff knows it can do far more than just win battles.

The fighting spirit ignited in its fists burns like fire.

Three heads resonate, condensing the soul of revenge.

The Omega Flameruff tells you the legend of the Immortal Warrior and recalls how he once defeated the old Omega to take his place. Now, younger challengers are constantly coming for him, and he often feels his age catching up with him. But after learning that his predecessor became known as the Immortal Warrior only after stepping down, he begins to wonder what he might still accomplish once he leaves the summit behind.

The scorch marks on their bodies are proof of victories in battle. They seek strong opponents to dominate.

Their front legs are covered in lava from hitting melted rocks, allowing them to inflict more damage on opponents.

Struck by thunder, their muscles are enhanced, and the flames all over them turn blue as they burn hotter.

Heat radiates as the Prismana pulls flames from their chests and weaves them around their bodies.

A Scorchhowl living in mountain forests appears to have absorbed all available sunlight into its fur, radiating brilliant golden light.

When there is no opponent around, Scorchhowl practices its fighting skills against an imaginary foe.

An unyielding will to fight erupts like flame from its chest, and it longs to test itself against a stronger opponent.

Scorchhowl’s Fire Kick excels at High Jump, using the force of its descent to increase its Might while also taking to the air to evade the opponent’s ATK.

When the strong fall, their bodies become part of Thousand-Fang Ridge. Without fighting spirit, they fade. With it, they burn.

Icho was born in Beast Fang Ridge, long ago. It did not take long for it to become the strongest Emberpup. Then the strongest Flameruff. Then, the strongest Scorchhowl that Beast Fang Ridge had ever known. The name Icho had always belonged to the strongest of each generation, but this one came to be known as the Icho among Icho. There was a fire inside it that never seemed to go out. That fire made it crave battle, crave something that could make it burn brighter. Back then, the only thing it cared about was finding someone with harder fists. Everything else? It barely saw it. It only wanted to grow stronger, stronger, and stronger still. Every fighter in Beast Fang Ridge was just another opponent waiting to fall. ———— Then, one day, there were no opponents left. It had fought everyone worth fighting and beaten everyone worth beating. Victory came too easily. Battle lost its fun. Standing in the middle of the Thousand-Fang Ridge, staring at the withered Ridgeback Trees, it suddenly felt... empty. It had lost its rivals. It had lost its goal. The fire still burned inside it, but it had nowhere to go. Those were lonely days. ———— Then an outsider appeared. His name was Lewis. They did not share a language, so ordinary words were useless. But Lewis was clever. He discovered that fists spoke well enough. They fought ninety-nine times. Icho lost ninety-nine times. Badly. Again and again. But Icho was not bitter. If anything, the dying fire inside it began to burn again. "Want to come with me?" Lewis asked after every victory. "You will become stronger." On the ninety-ninth defeat, Icho said, "Yes." It did not yield because it had lost. It yielded because it had finally found someone whose fists were harder than its own. It wanted to know how far it could go by following him. ———— Only after leaving Beast Fang Ridge did Icho begin to understand something. Winning was not the end. As a child, it carved its path with its fists. As a young fighter, it claimed the title of strongest among them. Later, those fists became the way it understood the world. After all this time, the one thing that has never changed is that Icho still trusts its fists. It has lost plenty along the way: the fire of youth, its rivals, even the title of strongest. But it is not alone. Maybe because that man is still standing across from it. Maybe because clenching its fists still feels exactly the same. ———— These days, Icho rarely leaves Lewis’s side. Not because Icho has grown weaker, but because Lewis has changed. The man who once defeated it ninety-nine times with his fists is now gravely injured, and has even lost the ability to Twine with Icho. What happened to Lewis? Icho does not know. Neither do you. But Icho knows one thing for certain. Lewis has not lost his fighting spirit. And neither has Icho. There will be no hundredth fight between them. Not because they no longer want one, but because some things matter more than winning. Icho once thought fists existed to defeat opponents. Now it understands: fists are what carry you to the next battle, and what help you find someone willing to stand beside you when it comes. The Thousand-Fang Ridge once bloomed for Icho. They once bloomed for the Inferlupa as well. Icho knows the flame will never go out. And it will not burn in the Thousand-Fang Ridge alone.

A Flameruff who challenged the strong and lost. Having absorbed the souls of companions who fell with equal bitterness, it is driven by the desire for revenge.

Driven by Prismana, the flames of vengeance burn ever more fiercely, scorching Inferlupa’s body. The drifting soul-heads at its side let out frenzied howls, releasing a chilling aura of overwhelming pressure that strikes fear into the heart.

Three heads mean three opinions. Even deciding which foot to move first can turn into a full-blown argument.

Even after life ends, the soul remains bound by its obsession with growing stronger. Is that a blessing, or a curse?

A world-weary Inferlupa tells you: come back during the day if you want a real fight. At night, the old-timers have nothing left to give. Still, if you insist, they’ll humor you.

That’s perfect. I study wolf-type Aniimo, especially the most mysterious kind—the Inferlupa. Supposedly, it emerges from a pack of Flameruffs, so I keep several of them. They’re unusually combative.

The more I learn about Inferlupa, the more fascinated I become. Born from the flame of refusing to accept defeat, it overcomes itself again and again through loss, until it can no longer be beaten.

Graymane was one of the most legendary Flameruffs in his clan. He carried an intoxicating scent of flame, a trace left by countless battles, as if every strand of his fur burned with fighting spirit. On the day his daughter was born, Graymane stood at the entrance to their den and looked toward Thousand-Fang Ridge in the distance. He made a vow: "Someday, I will make that tree bloom for me. When that day comes, my daughter will know her father is the strongest Scorchhowl." But Graymane had one fatal flaw. He got lost very, very easily. Whenever he set out to challenge a powerful foe, only one-twentieth of his time was spent fighting. The rest was spent finding his way. He once took a three-month detour to challenge a Glynsera in the north, only to stumble into a Bonesky family’s territory and send them scattering in fright. He also once chased prey all the way to the edge of Bloomville, where perfumers mistook him for a rare source of fragrance and chased him for three days and nights. But Graymane never saw it as a problem. "Getting lost is training, too," he always told his daughter. "Every time I lose my way, I meet unexpected opponents and learn unexpected things." His daughter grew older and slowly got used to her father coming home late. She no longer worried about whether he had been wounded in battle. She worried about whether he had gotten lost at the ends of the world again. Then one day, Graymane told his daughter, "I am going to Thousand-Fang Ridge. I will earn the Ridgeback Tree’s recognition, just like Icho did. Once I make the Ridgeback Tree bloom for me, I will come home." Graymane set out. This time, he did not get lost. He found Thousand-Fang Ridge without a single wrong turn and stood before the withered Ridgeback Trees. But he failed. No matter how fiercely his fighting spirit burned, the dead trees gave no response. They stood in silence, as if quietly mocking his weakness. "Maybe I am still not strong enough," Graymane told himself. So he waited. He heard that Icho had appeared, and that Thousand-Fang Ridge had bloomed like flame. Graymane saw hope. If Icho could do it, surely he could, too. He challenged Icho again and again, and lost again and again. "As long as I become the strongest Scorchhowl, the Ridgeback Tree will recognize me." Graymane clung stubbornly to that belief. But what he did not know was that the Ridgeback Tree had never bloomed for "the strongest." Day after day, year after year, Graymane changed from a spirited wolf in his prime into an old wolf with gray-white fur. His fighting spirit wore away with each defeat, and his flame slowly died beneath the withered Ridgeback Tree. Then one day, Graymane realized he could no longer leave Thousand-Fang Ridge. An invisible chain had appeared around his feet. It was a shackle he had placed on himself, forged from his obsession with "becoming the strongest" and his shame at going home to face his daughter. He became an Inferlupa. He no longer got lost, because he had nowhere left to go. Trapped in Thousand-Fang Ridge, he withered alongside the Ridgeback Trees. Sometimes he remembered his daughter, how she chased her own tail in circles when she was little, and the sparkle in her eyes when she asked, "Where did you get lost today, Dad?" "Home... home..." Graymane the Inferlupa murmured. "Do I still have to keep fighting?" What he did not know was that his daughter had never blamed him. That little Emberpup still waits outside the dead forest, believing her father is only a "lost fighter" who has not yet found his way home.

Cinderclaw was once an Omega Flameruff of an Emberpup family. In his youth, he was the flashiest Emberpup around. Every day, he chased the old Omega’s tail and challenged him, getting a mouthful of mud every time he fell, only to climb back up again. Then one day, he finally won. The old Omega gave him one last look, then turned and walked down from the peak. "I won," Cinderclaw told himself. "I am the strongest now." But he soon learned that becoming the strongest was not the end. It meant more challenges. Young Emberpups challenged him one after another, each trying to prove they were stronger than the Omega. Cinderclaw defeated them again and again, but every victory left him a little more tired. "Am I getting old?" Cinderclaw began to ask himself. His flame still burned bright. His strength was still mighty. But his heart had begun to age. He started to fear defeat, not because of defeat itself, but because defeat would mean, "I am old. I cannot do this anymore." That feeling reached its peak on the day he was defeated by a young Emberpup. That day, Cinderclaw lay on the ground and looked up at the young Flameruff standing before him, eyes full of hunger for victory. Cinderclaw remembered himself from long ago, the Emberpup who would not stop chasing the old Omega’s tail. "I lost," Cinderclaw said. "The Omega’s place is yours now." He felt a wave of relief, followed by a crushing sense of loss. He did not know what else he could do. He had been the Omega for too long, grown too used to the pack looking up to him, and forgotten how to be an ordinary wolf. "Maybe I should go to Thousand-Fang Ridge," Cinderclaw told himself. "Now that I have set down the burden of being Omega, maybe... I should go wild one last time." He challenged Icho. Then, everything ended. With a single strike, Icho knocked Cinderclaw down. Cinderclaw lay on the ground of Thousand-Fang Ridge, gazed at the withered Ridgeback Trees, and suddenly laughed. "I really am too old," he said. "So old I do not even have the strength to stand." But after he fell, something he never expected happened. A legend began to spread across Beast Fang Ridge: the "Immortal Warrior." They say that after the defeated old Omega left the peak, he still left his footprints all across Beast Fang Ridge. He taught young Emberpups how to fight, helped injured Emberpups find their way home, and even drove off an entire Bonesky family alone during one raid. "He did not grow old. He just found another way to fight," said the Emberpups he had helped. But Cinderclaw did not know any of this. He was trapped in Thousand-Fang Ridge and became an Inferlupa. Around his feet was a chain called "old age," and over his heart lay a layer of dust called "powerlessness." "I am too old," Cinderclaw told himself. "Too old to do anything." But he did not know that beneath the peak, flames can still burn. Leaving the summit may not be the end. It may be the beginning of passing on the torch.

Blazehowl was the only Flameruff in the Emberpup family to leave behind the legend of "one hundred victories." He was a lone wolf, without a family or companions, with only a pair of claws that never stayed sheathed and a heart always craving battle. One hundred victories. One hundred in a row. That record made Blazehowl an idol to many Emberpups, who told stories of every battle, mimicked every move, and dreamed of one day becoming as strong as him. But Blazehowl was not happy. "Winning is too easy," he once told an admiring Emberpup. "I do not want victory. I want the fight itself." The Emberpup did not understand, only gazing at him with even greater admiration. Then Icho appeared. On that day, Blazehowl tasted defeat for the first time. Icho felled him with a single claw. Blazehowl rose and charged again. Fell. Rose again. Fell again. In that battle, he lost seven times. "Impossible," he said, lying on the ground of Thousand-Fang Ridge, staring at the withered Ridgeback Trees. "I should be invincible. I should be the Undefeated Warrior..." He obsessively challenged Icho. Once, twice, three times... and each challenge ended in defeat. His famed speed meant nothing against Icho, and his crushing strength felt as weak as a breeze. By the tenth defeat, Blazehowl began to doubt himself. By the fiftieth defeat, Blazehowl began to fear battle. By the ninety-ninth defeat, Blazehowl had lost his fighting spirit completely. On the day of his hundredth defeat, Blazehowl stood at the center of Thousand-Fang Ridge and howled to the sky. It was not a battle cry. It was a wail. "I lost. I lost completely," he told himself. "I am not the Undefeated Warrior. I am the Hundred-Loss Warrior." At that moment, a chain appeared around his feet. It was called "fear of failure" and "the inability to accept his imperfect self." Blazehowl became an Inferlupa. He no longer challenged anyone, nor did he accept anyone’s challenge. He simply stood in a corner of Thousand-Fang Ridge, silent as a withered tree, cold as stone. "The Undefeated Warrior is dead," he told every wolf who asked his name. "Now there is only the Hundred-Loss Warrior." Yet in his heart, a voice still echoed. It was what the admiring Emberpup had said long ago: "I really, really cannot wait to hear your next victory story!" Blazehowl closed his eyes. The next victory story... would there ever be one?