On the southern side of the village lay a stretch of marshland.
Because of the weather, the swamp was covered by a sheet of black ice.
When John arrived, the stench of blood was thick in the air.
He crouched beneath a tree and pulled something from its roots.
"Wolfsbane."
He stared at the aconite, stuffed a few into his satchel, then moved in another direction.
"Awooo—!"
A howl split the air, and John looked up.
An upright werewolf was tearing into a small animal, its belly ripped open.
The scene was sickeningly bloody.
Suddenly, the werewolf stopped its cruel work, lifted its head, and sniffed the air.
John noticed signs that Pekel was beginning to stir as well.
He promptly kicked her in the neck, sending her head lolling to the side.
"Looks like it's still a while until dawn."
John calculated how long until sunrise, then hung Pekel from a tree.
The moment he climbed up, the swamp werewolf came charging over.
It searched the area but never thought to look up.
John watched it, thinking if he leapt down from above, he could probably take its head off with a single strike.
After a moment's thought, he stayed still.
He remained in the tree for a long while, until the sky began to pale.
Beside him, the fur on Pekel's body gradually receded, revealing her original human features.
Pale skin, a few freckles scattered across her face, and brown hair.
As she shifted back into a human, she slowly regained consciousness.
The swamp werewolf curled up in a thicket and finally turned into the shape of a young man.
"What is this…?" Pekel muttered groggily as she opened her eyes.
She had assumed she'd killed someone again, her tears already on the verge of falling—until she looked down and saw her legs dangling, her body painfully restrained by ropes.
"Pekel."
The call from below made her realize where she was.
It was there—that place of nightmares.
"Nooooo! Stay away! Don't call my name!! Ahhh.." Pekel saw the young man and let out a piercing scream.
The youth, wounded by her frightened and distant reaction, stumbled back two steps.
"Werewolf, state your name." John sat cross-legged on the tree branch, one hand propped against his cheek.
Only then did the young man notice there was another person present.
His gaze lingered on the sword strapped to John's back, and his heart sank.
"My name is Malon. Sir… could you let Pekel down first?"
"Malon?" John smiled faintly. "Interesting."
He waved his hand across the rope, and a lick of flame flared up, burning it through.
Pekel screamed as she fell, but Malon threw himself forward without hesitation, taking the impact as her cushion.
"Get away—get away from me!" Pekel sobbed, struggling in his arms. "Stay away, you disgusting monster!"
Malon quickly got up and retreated, while Peckel tore off the loosened rope, ready to leave.
"Pekel, don't you want to know the truth?"
The voice made her pause in her tracks.
She looked up at the man in the tree and asked, "W-Who are you?"
"You can call me Yadani," John shrugged. "For now, let's just say I'm a witcher."
"Witcher?!" Pekel and Malon's expressions shifted instantly.
Especially Malon—he suddenly produced a stick as thick as a rolling pin, apparently a wand.
"No wonder they call you a wolf-sorcerer. So you really can use magic." John looked at Malon with surprise.
Werewolves had always been at the bottom of the magical world's hierarchy of disdain. For one of them, in this era, to actually learn magic was unexpected.
Malon gripped his wand tightly. Pekel, thinking he meant to harm her, cried out and ran to hide behind a tree.
John jumped down from the branch—his legs tingling a little from sitting too long.
His eyes stayed fixed on Malon's wand, curiosity in his tone. "So, what kind of magic can you use?"
"The magic I know is beyond your imagination," Malon said, as if those words alone could give him confidence.
"Alright then." John stretched his limbs, stepped forward toward Malon, and extended his hand. "I have a few questions you need to answer."
"Stay back!" Malon shouted, voice harsh but hollow.
John, already impatient, raised his hand and cast a summoning charm.
"Ah—!" Malon, never expecting a witcher to wield magic, was dragged helplessly toward him.
John grabbed Malon by the throat, his eyes turning into vertical pupils. "Grr.. Don't test my patience, wizard."
He twisted the rolling-pin-like wand out of Malon's grip, flung him to the ground beneath the tree, and drew his sword before tossing it.
The silver blade pierced straight through the trunk, the tip jutting out the other side, cold sweat dripping down Malon's face.
Even Pekel, hiding behind the tree, was startled.
If that sword had been angled just a little higher, it would have been one strike for two wolves.
After that, John heard a very different story from Malon.
He had been a wizard, bitten by a werewolf during one of his travels, and turned into one himself.
Each full moon, Malon would run off to deserted places to endure the transformation.
Only once did he accidentally hurt someone...
That was the night Pekel appeared. Dawn was near, the full moon about to fade.
When she appeared, Malon regained a shred of his sanity. After biting Pekel, he immediately tried to heal her with his wand.
In the chaos, he had thrown together a mixture of herbs for her to use.
Wracked with guilt afterward, he wanted to take Pekel away with him, but the village chief blocked him at every turn.
Worried, he had no choice but to remain in the swamp... But on every full moon he still transformed, unable to stop Peckel, so all he could do was quietly spread word of werewolves.
He hoped others would drive them out in his stead.
"You wanted someone else to kill me?" Pekel stared at him in disbelief. "I thought you liked me."
Malon turned his head away, unable to look at her. "It would only bring you pain."
"I know you, Pekel. You're a kind girl. You wouldn't want to become a monster like me."
Pekel covered her mouth, uncertain whether she was touched or not.
John held the rolling-pin-like wand in hand, listening to Malon's story.
…
Watching, Alexei felt a little awkward.
Anton, ever the one to bring up the worst topics, asked, "So you never asked back then?"
Alexei gave a couple of dry coughs. "Faced with a werewolf, how was I supposed to know what he was saying?"
"Yadani has a sensitive and delicate heart," their grandfather sighed. "Just like his mother—my daughter."
The other uncles all nodded in agreement. This nephew had perfectly inherited Mrs. Wick's virtues.
What?
Watson Wick's?
He only contributed some male conditions—what virtues could he possibly have?
Just a mere tool.
Compared to that foreigner, what they really wanted to know was John's choice.
Under the watchful eyes of the Jovonovic family, John made his decision.
Learning that Malon was cursed, Pekel also realized that being bitten that day hadn't been his intention.
She was deeply moved.. then slapped Malon across the face!
"You bastard, you called people to kill me."
Malon silently endured it.
Now it was time for John to choose.
Would he kill the werewolves to erase the threat, or spare them?
As a witcher, John would unhesitatingly choose to kill them.
But as a wizard…
He pulled his sword from the tree, the gleaming tip pointed straight at the two of them.
"Pekel, even if you became a werewolf by accident, the fact remains—you bit villagers to death."
Pekel stepped forward and knelt, guilt weighing on her. "Witcher, I feel ashamed for the sins I've committed."
John placed his sword against her slender neck. Pekel closed her eyes, accepting death calmly.
Malon was torn. He felt he was the true culprit.
"Wait," Malon rushed forward and knelt. "I was the cause of everything. If I hadn't come here, Pekel would never have become a werewolf."
"If someone must die, let it be me!—Spulch!"
He had barely finished his righteous declaration when John drove the sword straight through his body.
John smiled. "Did you think I'd spare you?"
Malon froze in disbelief.
John yanked the blade free, and Malon collapsed into a pool of blood.
Pekel screamed and threw herself at him.
As life drained away, Malon's vision blurred. His trembling hand brushed Pekel's cheek. "Pekel … forgive me."
"I forgive you, Malon. Please… please don't die."
Pekel, eyes brimming with tears, pleaded desperately for Malon not to die.
As the two put on their tragic scene, John looked on, expressionless. "You're a wizard. One stab like that isn't fatal."
Malon, who had truly thought he was dying, froze. He struggled to lift his head and saw that John had no intention of finishing him off.
Terrified, he asked, "Urg.. What exactly.. arg.. are you trying to do?"
John glanced at Pekel. While she was still bewildered, his sword pierced straight through her as well.
The blade drove cleanly through her abdomen, and he pulled it out in one swift motion.
"As punishment, you will leave this village," John said as he flicked the blood from his sword.
He did not strike a third time.
Malon was both shocked and relieved, though he couldn't understand why a witcher like John would spare an uncontrollable werewolf like him.
Even the watching grandfather and uncles were baffled. Sparing a werewolf meant risking future danger, inevitable bloodshed.
At that moment, the grandfather even thought John was being far too softhearted.
But John only smiled faintly. "Werewolves… naturally, there's a way to deal with them."
As one of the inventors of the Wolfsbane Potion, his gaze swept over the herbs.
"But a life still needs someone to atone for it." He looked at Pekel coldly. "You'll need to earn one hundred gold coins as compensation for the people you killed."
A hundred gold coins—in this era, that amount was enough to make people forget their hatred.
After all, the entire village had only managed to pool together ten gold coins as a bounty to kill the werewolf.
This task was nearly impossible, yet if Pekel didn't want to die, it was the only path left to her.
"Pekel, I'll always stay by your side."
"Malon…"
Malon pressed against the bleeding wound in Pekel's abdomen. The two locked eyes, filled with deep emotion, and at last, they agreed.
In that instant, a white light rose from their bodies and flowed into the runes on John's sword.
One of the runes lit up.
________
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