"Mr. Constantine must be exhausted. Please, enjoy yourself tonight."
Enjoy myself?
What exactly does that mean?
Rod watched the innkeeper scuttle away with a lecherous grin, feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion.
Moments later, a soft knock echoed on his door.
"Mr. Constantine? May I come in?"
The door creaked open. Rod, who was in the middle of stripping and cleaning his revolver, looked up.
He froze.
A blonde woman, her figure dangerously voluptuous, stepped into the room carrying a tray of food.
She wore a crimson dress with a neckline that plunged well past the point of modesty. Her heavy breasts were pushed together, practically begging for attention in the candlelight.
If Rod's memory served him correctly, this woman was the innkeeper's wife—or at least his partner.
She set the tray down on the table but didn't leave.
Instead, she swayed her hips toward him, her movements practiced and predatory.
"Please," she purred, stopping directly in front of him. "Enjoy your dinner to the fullest."
She looked up, offering him a smile that was equal parts seductive and submissive.
Hiss.
So that's the "service."
Things were taking a turn for the bizarre.
But then again, life's unpredictability was what made it scenic.
Golden hair cascaded down like a waterfall.
Rod leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head, deciding to simply enjoy this rare moment of leisure in a chaotic world.
Later, when the room had finally fallen silent.
The blonde woman began to rise, intending to leave. But a voice—like a delightful nightmare—whispered from behind her.
"Where are you going? We've only just begun."
Her eyes widened in a mix of panic and awe.
Outside, the innkeeper paused by the door, listening to the renewed activity within.
"To be young again," he muttered, shaking his head with a wistful smile.
He walked away, completely unfazed. It seemed this was standard hospitality in Red Leaf Village.
...
"Mr. Hunter, were you satisfied with last night's... accommodations?"
Early the next morning, a fresh-faced Rod came downstairs to find the innkeeper looking at him with undisguised shock.
The seismic activity on the second floor had lasted half the night.
Even for a man of the world like the innkeeper, such stamina was unheard of.
Any lingering doubts about Rod's identity vanished. Only a legendary Demon Hunter could possess such superhuman vitality.
"It was adequate," Rod replied, his expression stoic, ignoring the innuendo. "Now, I need information."
"When exactly did the werewolf scourge begin?"
The innkeeper's playful demeanor evaporated. He sighed heavily.
"It all started three years ago."
"Red Leaf Village was originally part of a Baron's fiefdom. It was prosperous. Merchants stopped here often. But then... everything changed."
"In the span of a few days, seven or eight villagers vanished without a trace. The Baron sent his knights into the forest to investigate. None returned."
"Shortly after, the Baron's manor was attacked. Everyone inside—the Baron, his family, his guards—was slaughtered in a single night."
"Since the wolves appeared, the trade routes died. The village has been isolated, slowly rotting away."
Rod frowned. "Why haven't you tried to leave? Migrate somewhere safer?"
"We tried," the innkeeper said, his voice grim. "Groups have attempted to break out. To seek help. But anyone who steps foot outside the village walls never comes back. They're just food for the pack."
"Occasionally, a lost traveler stumbles in, bringing news from the outside world. But no one ever goes out."
A one-way trap.
Rod rubbed his chin, processing the data.
"Those travelers who stumbled in... where are they now?"
"I don't know," the innkeeper admitted. "They usually stay for a while, then vanish just like the others."
After extracting what he could, Rod left the inn.
He wandered aimlessly until he found himself in the village center, standing before an old stone church. The sound of fervent prayer drifted from within.
Rod narrowed his eyes.
Based on the innkeeper's testimony, he could construct a rough timeline and a list of anomalies.
The Timeline:
3 Years Ago: The Event. Werewolves appear. The Baron is killed.The Siege: No one can leave. Attempted escapees are hunted down.The Visitors: Travelers enter but eventually "disappear."
The Anomalies:
The Logistics: The village has been besieged for three years. With no trade and no ability to farm outside the walls, they should have starved long ago.The Source: The Village Chief supplies the food. He claims it's from a "stockpile" prepared for famine. But a stockpile that feeds hundreds of people for three years without depletion? That's statistically impossible.The Defense: The villagers learned their anti-werewolf tactics (fire, silver, holy water) from the local Priest.** The Grandmother:** No one he asked had ever heard of an old woman living alone in the forest.
Something stinks.
It wasn't just the wolves. The entire ecosystem of this village was artificial.
The Chief's endless food supply. The Priest's convenient knowledge. The disappearing travelers.
It was a closed loop.
And in a closed loop, energy has to come from somewhere.