[Your Fireball proficiency has reached max level.]

  The last flicker of flame died out.

  Sitting at the desk, the ash-haired young man finally let a relieved smile show on his face.

  This was Ethan's second year in this world, and for the past two years, he had done the same thing over and over again, practicing Fireball.

  After 4,015 prayers and cast after cast, he had finally pushed Fireball to the very limit of mastery.

  But the smile faded quickly.

  Compared to everyone else, all he really had was a slightly better grasp of one of the most basic spells in existence.

  And outside that window, the Old Gods were waking, new gods were rising, and their followers were every bit as dangerous as the beings they worshipped. Ethan wanted absolutely nothing to do with any of them.

  This world was full of trouble, and he still had a long road ahead of him.

  Ethan lit the gas lamp in his room.

  The desk was piled high with papers, and the one on top was a notice the Guild had posted a few days earlier.

  [Bounty target, Werewolf. Estimated threat level, Tier One.]

  The request had come from Mrs. Royce, a woman from town. A few days earlier, her husband had gone out hunting with a shotgun and never returned.

  When the Guild sent people up the mountain to search for him, they found half his body gnawed away. His chest had been torn open, and whatever attacked him had eaten his heart.

  Every sign pointed to a werewolf, the failed result of someone who had worshipped the Goddess of the Hunt and failed to ascend, reduced to a mindless monster that fed on human hearts.

  Ethan had written the bounty notice himself.

  He was a clerk at the town Guild. His job was to log strange incidents, post bounties, and keep track of commission progress. It was tedious work, but it let him stay indoors while still keeping up with everything happening in town and along the frontier.

  He could sit safely in the back and still know exactly what was going on.

  But today, Ethan had made a major mistake.

  The reason was the red moon hanging outside the window.

  It had a pupil in the middle, and every so often it shifted, like a giant eye slowly rolling in its socket.

  Ethan opened the old parchment book on his desk and checked the table of contents until he found the section he needed.

  The Blood Moon Rite.

  He skipped the descriptive passages and went straight to the important part.

  According to the book, under the influence of a blood moon, evil and mutated creatures became dramatically stronger. In the case of a werewolf, that meant sharper senses, greater strength, faster speed, and frightening regenerative ability.

  The blood moon also amplified the negative emotions inside human beings, fear, anger, greed, all of it, until people lost their judgment.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Put simply, it was a massive buff for dark creatures and a brutal nerf for humans.

  Three experienced hunters had taken the commission. The Guild had awarded all three of them Tier One badges. It should have been a guaranteed hunt.

  Then the sudden omen changed everything.

  In the end, even the sky itself had turned against them.

  Ethan felt his insides twist.

  Everyone knew werewolves were pack creatures.

  Which raised a very important question.

  Why was there a lone wolf wandering the mountains outside town?

  Why had it suddenly started attacking people from the town?

  Who had been firing Fireballs into the mountain at night?

  And why did his skill proficiency sometimes jump up by a small chunk for no obvious reason?

  Was this human corruption, or just plain moral collapse?

  At that very moment, the crimson moon outside the window seemed to stare at the suspect sitting by the gas lamp like some famous detective sizing up a criminal.

  Even nature itself seemed to pity the lonely werewolf in the mountains.

  Ethan could almost imagine it. Once upon a time, it had just been a carefree little wolf, living deep in the forest, cut off from the world but perfectly happy. It had a large pack, and every wolf in that pack had been gentle and friendly.

  Then one day, several Fireballs streaked across the night sky and landed right on their heads.

  Ethan knew there was one person in town who had launched more than ten thousand Fireballs into those deep mountains over the past two years.

  Twice, that person had even started forest fires.

  Every single point of proficiency practically reeked of guilt.

  The eerie red moon was getting to Ethan.

  The moment he closed his eyes, he could already see how the three hunters would end.

  A rustling sound filled his ears.

  His vision jolted violently, and suddenly it felt as though he had become one of the three hunters, stumbling through the forest in blind panic. The hunter's right leg had been pierced through, making it impossible for him to run properly. Every step sent a fresh burst of pain through his body.

  Something was closing in behind him.

  That fast-moving shadow tore through the underbrush, then leaped up into the branches overhead.

  The hunter looked up and caught a glimpse of the shadow sweeping past him. When the nearly ten-foot monster dropped down from above, a severed arm landed right in front of him.

  It looked like a woman's arm.

  There was still a Guild mark on it.

  The hunter collapsed backward in terror, screaming as he scrambled away with both hands and feet.

  But the massive creature only needed one light leap to pin him beneath its weight.

  The scream was drowned out by the crack of breaking bones.

  Its claws ripped open the hunter's chest. Inside was a heart still beating. The monster seized it like a treasure, tore it free, and swallowed it whole in a single bite.

  Ethan sucked in a sharp breath.

  Through that vision, he had felt the hunter's terror in the face of death, and the grief and rage buried in the werewolf's heart.

  No werewolf wanted to be alone.

  It should have been hunting beside its pack. The whole valley should have been full of wild, joyful life.

  This could not go on.

  Guilt slowly swallowed Ethan whole.

  Since all of this had started because of his Fireball, then it was only fair that Fireball should be the one to bring it to an end. He decided he would use the warmth of Fireball to soothe the wounds in that lonely wolf's heart.

  That way, they could both find peace.

  With that thought in mind, Ethan began his 4,016th prayer.

  As the devout prayer left his lips, a streak of light shot across the distant night sky.

  Rolling flames lit up the blood-red heavens, and for a brief moment, the town looked as bright as day.

  Ethan had heard people in town say that shooting stars meant hope.

  The streak of light in the sky drew closer and closer, until at last it came crashing down toward the mountain peak like a fallen sun.

  Sadly, he was still too inexperienced. All he could do for now was make Fireball look a little like a meteor.

  Still, he believed the lonely wolf in the forest had definitely seen it.

  And just like in a fairy tale, the little wolf would see its grandmother in that overwhelming light, gentle and kind, picking it up and holding it close before carrying it away to a world with no cold, no hunger, and no pain.

  That was the story of The Little Werewolf Who Bought a Fireball.

  The thought gave Ethan a little comfort.

  He looked up at the blood moon hanging high in the night sky. Clearly, the blood moon approved of what he had done. It had closed its eye and stopped judging him with that cold, merciless stare.

  He had done another good deed today.

  [Helped a lost child reunite with family.]

  Ethan lowered his head and wrote it down.

  Then he turned off the gas lamp and closed the notebook.

  Faintly visible on the cover were the words,

  The Willowbrook Book of Good Deeds.