CHAPTER 60: WEREWOLVES

A quarter mile away from the scorched, blood-soaked battlefield, three bandits ran like madmen, desperate to flee as far as they could.

These three were the only ones lucky enough to survive the dragon’s breath, but even then, they didn’t escape unscathed. Their bodies were covered in burns and bruises, their eyes full of terror, and their minds in utter chaos. One of them sobbed loudly while fleeing, another stared blankly at the ground.

The most rational of them mumbled with a shocked expression:

"He’s a monster."

"A monster."

"He’s not human like us. He killed everyone he spared no one. Not even his own followers." Every time the bandit remembered Arvan’s cold face and mocking gaze, he trembled from the depths of his soul.

He wasn’t someone with weak resolve. He was a veteran bandit who had robbed and killed people for years, had fought in small skirmishes, and stared death in the face many times. But this time was different. The massive flaming dragon head that wiped out everything in one breath made him realize just how pathetic, weak, and worthless he was. Inside, he vowed to abandon banditry and turn his life around.

"Ah..."

Lost in thought, he suddenly heard a faint scream nearby. His body trembled in fear, thinking that the mad Arvan had found them. He turned quickly toward the sound but saw nothing. More accurately, he didn’t see the second bandit who had been fleeing with them.

"Ah!" Before he could process what was happening, the other bandit screamed. He turned toward the sound again, but once more found nothing. His face twisted in horror, and he picked up his pace, but suddenly tripped over a tree root and crashed to the ground.

"Damn it!" he cursed bitterly.

"What did I do to deserve this?" he cried out loud, then quickly stood up to flee again. But the moment he rose to his feet, he found a strange man standing before him. His body froze, and his heart nearly stopped.

He stared at the figure in a black cloak and a blank wooden mask. He opened his mouth to beg for his life, but in that instant, a sudden realization struck him—begging wouldn’t save him.

"Screw you!" Rage ignited in his chest, and he punched the man with all his might.

Before his fist could land, a sharp thorned root shot up from the ground near his feet and impaled his chin. With terrifying force, it pierced straight through his skull and exited from the top of his head, carrying parts of his brain.

The bandit died without even understanding how. And the masked Arthur, simply stood still, staring at the corpse with cold eyes. Then, roots emerged from the ground and lifted the body high into the air like a scarecrow, alongside the other two survivors’ corpses.

After a brief pause, Arthur sighed: "Sorry, but there can’t be any witnesses."

Immediately, he turned back toward Arvan’s location. In truth, Arthur had observed most of the battle between Arvan and the bandits, but the moment he saw some survivors fleeing, he went after them to finish them off. If they survived, they might tell someone what happened and unfortunately, word travels fast.

After sprinting for a few minutes, he returned to the burning battlefield. He hid behind a scorched tree and carefully observed, ready to intervene at any moment.

’Good. Everything’s going as it did in the novel.’ In the novel, Novarian had intervened at the last moment to save Arvan. But now that Novarian was out of the equation, Arthur didn’t know what would happen. Arvan’s death wasn’t guaranteed, so he was prepared to step in and end things himself.

As he thought, a furious Arvan pushed the healer aside, pulled out several magic scrolls, and rapidly fired them all at Thalia, who had no way to escape.

’The time is near.’ Arthur prepared to make his move.

...

At the same time, magical attacks rained down on Thalia from all directions. But she didn’t flinch. Despite her injuries, she moved with extreme agility, dodging the attacks smoothly. But it couldn’t last—Arvan kept hurling scrolls at her, all types, and within moments, she was cornered. Panic overtook her, and she couldn’t keep her composure. In truth, if not for her beast-like agility, she would’ve fallen much earlier.

Slash!

While dodging a burning fireball, a magic arrow struck her left arm, causing her to stumble but she regained her balance quickly.

Thorne, who had been fighting the knight commander, widened his eyes at the sight. Without hesitation, he unleashed all his strength and began transforming. His size increased, muscles bulged, his body was covered in soft yet firm silver fur, claws grew like tiny daggers, his fangs extended and his teeth became saw-like. His eyes glowed faint blue, and a savage bloodlust radiated from him. In just one second, he transformed from a human into a beast.

The knight commander’s face twisted. "A werewolf? This?" He hadn’t seen Thalia’s earlier transformation, so he was shocked. Thalia’s beast form was still somewhat human-like, unlike Thorne’s, who now looked like a literal monster.

"Go to hell."

In his stunned state, the knight froze briefly, and Thorne used that moment to punch him brutally in the chest, sending him flying and crashing onto his back. The knight rolled quickly and got up without losing momentum. Once steady, he stared at the werewolf in front of him in disbelief, then looked down at his dented chestplate.

’He’s stronger now. But how is a half-beast here?’ His confusion was justified. Most half-beasts lived in a distant place called The Wild Plains, far from the Kingdom of Teravelle. Not to mention, half-beasts weren’t welcome—they were hunted, killed, and even enslaved when discovered.

That’s why they never dared enter human kingdoms, especially since their distinct appearances made it impossible to blend in. But some rare races like werewolves and fox-kin could take on semi-human forms, allowing them to live among humans undetected like Thalia and Thorne.

Ignoring the knight commander, Thorne charged toward Arvan and his guards, determined to stop their attacks. Now in his true form, he could access his full power. He was faster, more agile, and most importantly he felt free. Within a second, he reached the white carriage.

Arvan panicked at the sight of a massive, wolf-like humanoid charging him. He quickly pointed and shouted, "Stop him, you idiots!"

The nearby mage cast Flame Fist and punched at Thorne, but Thorne leapt high, easily dodged, and landed atop the carriage, making it shake violently. Inside, the girls screamed in terror.

Thorne wanted to leap again and pounce on Arvan, but a sudden danger forced him to retreat. A flurry of knives sliced past him. He turned quickly and glared at the sniper, then roared like a beast and charged him.

The sniper panicked, threw all his knives, and fled. Thorne dodged most, but one stuck in his shoulder. Still, the wound wasn’t serious—his tough hide was like armor.

Within moments, he caught up to the fleeing sniper and roared, "Die!" His claws sank into the sniper’s back, and he lifted him with ease.

The sniper screamed and writhed in pain before Thorne casually hurled him far away.

The time the sniper bought allowed Arvan to pull out a defensive scroll. When activated, a transparent shield formed around him. Feeling a little safer, he gathered his courage and cursed furiously.

"Filthy animals! Die, die!" He hated them from the bottom of his heart and no longer cared—he unleashed every scroll he had, whether low-tier E and D or high-tier C, releasing them all in an unbelievable scene.

Dozens of beautiful spells of all shapes and sizes rained down on Thalia and Thorne.

Thorne reacted quickly. Fortunately, most of the spells weren’t aimed at him, so he escaped with only minor injuries. But suddenly, a familiar scream full of pain hit his ears. He turned quickly—his sister was being struck by several powerful spells at once. She had nowhere to run and was already wounded. In the blink of an eye, she was hit by explosions, stabs, flames her location turned into a scorched land full of debris.

Thorne’s eyes widened. "Nooo!"

"No!"

"This can’t be!" He sprinted toward his sister with everything he had, praying she was still alive. Tears streamed down his face. She was the only one left from his family. If he lost her, he’d lose everything there’d be no reason left to live.

When he reached the cloud of dust, he saw her. She was alive or rather, barely clinging to life. Her body was torn, full of wounds and holes, her blood and flesh staining the ground. A normal human would’ve died instantly, but thanks to her strong body and life force, she barely held on.

Tears poured down Thorne’s face. He didn’t dare touch her, afraid of worsening her pain. He stared into her empty eyes gazing at the sky and listened to her choked moans—her death rattle was like thunder in his ears. He turned and glared at Arvan with a face full of fury, making him look even more monstrous.

But Arvan laughed loudly with joy. "Cry, mutt! Don’t grieve you’ll join her soon!"

Elsewhere, Arthur watched and sighed. "It’s time. That idiot Arvan doesn’t even realize what he’s unleashed."

Thorne kept staring at Arvan, then looked down at his sister with sorrowful eyes and said gently, "Just wait—I’m coming with you."

He turned slowly and bared his fangs at the humans before him. Strangely, the knight commander sensed something was wrong and became more cautious.

Thorne opened his mouth wide and howled.

Everyone clutched their heads, feeling like their ears would burst. Despite the pain, their eyes stayed fixed on Thorne, whose body grew larger. His fur turned pitch black, his eyes glowed blood red, and all signs of rationality vanished. All that remained was pure, terrifying savagery and an insatiable thirst for blood.