Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Werewolf

After wandering aimlessly through the mist-shrouded region, it was no surprise that Viel, hopeless with directions, was lost. But even Buck, once a seasoned bandit who had roamed forests for years, found himself unable to tell where he was. There were few distinctive plants to serve as landmarks, and the dense, ever-present fog made every direction seem eerily identical. Buck stared about helplessly, then turned to Viel with a rueful grin. “Boss, looks like we’re lost…”

Viel, for once, didn’t seem particularly bothered by Buck’s admission. He simply glanced at the orc accompanying them. He refused to believe that a native of these wilds could get lost like the rest of them—after all, this was the Savage Forest, the orcs’ own domain!

True enough, the orc did not disappoint. He carefully surveyed their surroundings, sniffing the air with a forceful breath. After a moment, he seemed to catch a faint trace, then suddenly opened his mouth and let out a roar that sounded like a wild lion’s.

“Roar!”

Initially, Viel was startled by the orc’s piercing cry. But he soon realized it was more than a simple shout; the call shifted in length and rhythm, its cadence rising and falling like an incantation, woven through with guttural, twisting sounds that eluded clear understanding—almost like a spell spoken by a mage.

Beast-tongue?

Viel wondered silently. Just then, from the other side of the mist, there came an answering howl, reminiscent of a wild wolf. Judging by the sound, its source was not far.

After receiving this reply, the orc gave another brief call, then turned to Viel. “My kin,” he explained.

Moments later, several towering shadows began to materialize in the distance. Even from afar, Buck could smell the pungent, animalistic musk wafting from them, his brow furrowing as he instinctively reached up to cover his nose. But Viel, standing in front of him, suddenly handed him a leaf.

“Keep it under your tongue.”

Viel glanced at Buck coolly as he spoke. Buck, though unsure what his young master had given him, did as instructed. Instantly, a refreshing coolness spread through his body, and even the stench around them seemed to fade.

Buck’s eyes flickered with understanding—Viel had given him quite the treasure. He shot Viel a sly grin and nudged him playfully. “Boss, why didn’t you bring this out sooner? Would’ve made our trek through the woods a lot more bearable!”

“Shut it. I only found this after we entered the mist,” Viel replied, half exasperated, half amused. Buck seemed ready with another retort, but the shadows had by now reached them, and as their figures became clear, Buck’s expression shifted to one of odd discomfort.

The newcomers were three genuine beastfolk: one wolfman and two minotaurs, each towering well over two and a half meters, their bodies swathed in thick black fur that barely concealed the rippling muscles beneath.

The wolfman was bare-chested, wearing only a crude animal skin around his waist, and wielded a bone spear nearly three meters long. With just a couple of strides, he closed the distance, greeting his orc kin with a guttural exchange in beast-tongue and a heavy slap on the shoulder. The orc responded in kind. The wolfman’s gaze then fell on the bundle—Provis—slung over the orc’s shoulder, and he broke into a wide, toothy grin. But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Buck lurking behind Viel.

“Hmm… Buck!” the wolfman barked. With a single stride, he was at Buck’s side, clapping him heartily on the shoulder as if greeting an old friend. The blow sent Buck, the sharp-eyed rogue, crashing to the ground with a yelp.

Perhaps this was to be expected—after all, a human’s bones could hardly compare to those of a beastman.

The wolfman seemed unconcerned, bursting into laughter at the sight, though to human ears, the laughter of beastfolk sounded more like the howling of beasts in the night.

Did this wolfman know Buck well?

Viel mused, stepping forward to help Buck to his feet. From the beginning, the three beastfolk had focused their attention on their orc companion and then on Buck, scarcely sparing a glance for the small, slender Viel. But as Viel stepped forward, their eyes took on a strange glint. To these beastmen, unknown humans were no different from the magical beasts of the forest—simply prey.

Suddenly, blood-red light flared in the wolfman’s eyes, and a bone-chilling killing intent filled the air. Buck, recognizing the danger, flailed his arms in frantic gestures and stammered out a few awkward words in beast-tongue, but the wolfman had no interest in listening. He simply laughed, flung Buck aside with a swipe, and reached out with greedy intent to seize Viel.

“Damn it!” Viel cursed inwardly. His mind was utterly drained of magic, but there was no way he would let himself be caught so easily. He sprang backward, teeth clenched, and forced himself to draw a thread of magical energy from the surroundings.

To cast a spell while magically exhausted was reckless—one false move, and a mage could become a mindless husk in an instant. But Viel, though fully aware of the danger, gritted his teeth and raised his wand. As he summoned the magic, a searing pain stabbed through his mind, so intense it nearly knocked him senseless. His vision blurred, his body trembled, and he almost collapsed.

Gasping for breath, Viel steadied himself, fighting through the agony that pierced his skull. Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, he raised his wand once more.

The wolfman’s face twisted in surprise at Viel’s defiance. At that instant, a flash of white light burst before Viel, coalescing into a thin shield of ice. The wolfman recoiled instinctively, his massive arm smashing into the ice with a resounding crack.

Perhaps Viel’s hastily conjured shield was too weak, or the wolfman’s strength simply too overwhelming. With a single blow, the ice shattered, shards scattering across the ground.