“A man capable of defeating a fourth-tier mage, and you repaid him with that little for avenging you? Were you two close, perhaps?” Derfa asked, her tone laced with irony.

  “Not in the slightest. In fact, he once killed one of my dogs.” The old man’s jaw tightened as he spoke, his words carrying a trace of bitterness.

  Derfa’s expression grew even more peculiar. “So you deceived him? Aren’t you afraid he’ll come for you when he finds out?”

  “Er…” The old man’s face stiffened. He cleared his throat lightly. “I didn’t know his worth at the time. Hardly my fault, is it?”

  Derfa was silent for a moment before speaking carefully. “Very well, then… is he a mage too? Or perhaps a fourth-tier knight?”

  The old man gave her a measured look. “He’s a werewolf.”

  “A werewolf?” Derfa frowned, instinctive disdain flashing across her refined features.

  As a true-born mage, she naturally harbored aversion toward such cursed creatures.

  Sensing her unease, the old man explained, “He may be a werewolf, but not like the rest. He’s… singular. When transformed, he retains full reason—and can even speak.”

  “Impossible!” Derfa retorted instantly.

  “But it’s true. I saw it with my own eyes.” The old man’s tone was resolute. “You know me well enough, Lady Derfa—I’ve no reason to lie to you.”

  “Perhaps… a new kind of species,” Derfa murmured, regaining her composure.

  “I’ve no idea. But he hasn’t been one for long. Before the infection, he was timid, weak, and cowardly. Afterward—he became someone else entirely. Confident. Unrestrained. Traits he never possessed before.”

  “You’ve piqued my interest.” Derfa’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

  “I advise you not to provoke him—you wouldn’t stand a chance,” the old man cautioned.

  “I’ve no intention of force. I prefer… gentler methods.” Derfa’s demeanor softened, a faintly seductive smile curving her lips. With her mature grace and flawless complexion, the allure was undeniable.

  The old man’s eyelid twitched. “He’s still just a boy,” he muttered.

  …

  The rhythmic sound of chopping echoed through the tranquil forest.

  With a sharp crack, another towering tree fell to the ground.

  To make money more quickly, Glen had decided to expand his trade.

  Raising pigs yielded decent profit, but not enough to meet the amount he needed within a short time.

  Moreover, there weren’t many black pigs left; even slaughtering one every few months would soon deplete the stock.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  He could, of course, capture more from the forest, but that was hardly a sustainable path.

  So he decided to let the remaining pigs breed freely and sell them once their numbers grew.

  In the meantime, he needed another way to earn.

  His choice—woodworking.

  Before his transmigration, one of his childhood neighbors had been a carpenter. Glen often played with the neighbor’s son and, through those visits, had picked up quite a bit of the craft himself—both in theory and practice.

  Thus, he had some confidence in his woodworking skills.

  After processing the felled trees into usable logs, he began crafting simple furniture.

  Cutting, drilling, polishing—all child’s play for him now.

  With his werewolf claws as blades and his needle-sharp hair as tools, he could complete nearly every task without conventional instruments.

  Soon, a finely made chair stood before him.

  He compared it to his memories—almost identical to the ones his old neighbor had crafted.

  Satisfied, and with daylight still left, Glen quickened his pace, fashioning more chairs, tables, and stools one after another.

  Nightroar was now fully in charge of the pigpens, and Glen only needed to check in occasionally.

  He could devote himself entirely to his work.

  …

  “Why are you making all these things?”

  As the sun dipped low, a voice chimed behind him. On a stone nearby sat Aina, the puppet girl, dressed in a pale pink gown fit for a princess.

  She had been around for some time now, quietly observing Glen with the wide-eyed curiosity of a child.

  This new resident of the town intrigued her—unlike the others, he was not silent or withdrawn but vibrantly alive, full of motion and intent. She couldn’t understand it, and it fascinated her.

  Glen had noticed her presence long ago but ignored it, focusing on his work.

  Now that she’d spoken, he couldn’t simply pretend she wasn’t there.

  “Of course—to sell them,” Glen replied casually.

  Aina nodded slowly, seeming to understand. After a pause, she added softly, “These are furniture, right? They’re beautiful…”

  Her gaze lingered on the pieces—each unique, each meticulously crafted—her wooden eyes glimmering with a faint yearning.

  “You like them?” Glen asked, glancing at her.

  The puppet girl nodded earnestly.

  Glen smiled. “Would you like one?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “Forty copper coins apiece.” He held up four fingers.

  Aina froze, then touched her spotless skirt and lowered her head. Her voice was barely audible. “I… I don’t have any copper coins.”

  Glen wasn’t surprised. Seeing her crestfallen expression, he said gently, “Since you admire my work so much, I’ll gift you one—free of charge, my lovely lady.”

  Give a little first, earn her trust later, he thought inwardly.

  Her face lit up with delight. “Really?! Oh, thank you!”

  With a graceful leap or two, she landed beside the crafted pieces, her movements light as air.

  Watching her agility, Glen couldn’t help but marvel inwardly. The wonders of magical creations… She moves like a dancer, not a doll.

  After much deliberation, Aina chose a small folding table—the most delicate of the bunch.

  “I want this one. May I?” she asked, holding it up with a hopeful look.

  “Of course,” Glen replied with a nod.

  Her joy was pure and radiant as she twirled with the table in her arms.

  All that for a little table? Glen thought, puzzled, but didn’t dwell on it.

  “I remember you have a companion, don’t you? Where is he?” Glen asked, glancing around.

  The puppet girl paused, then smiled mischievously—an astonishingly human expression on that crafted face. “I sneaked out. I heard noises and came to see. Brother’s still asleep.”

  Too lifelike, Glen thought. Were it not for the visible joints at her limbs, she could easily pass for human. As for her so-called brother… well, that design left much to be desired.

  Her vivid expression startled him for a moment, though he kept his composure outwardly.

  After a brief pause, he asked with curiosity, “You and your brother are magical constructs, right? Who created you?”

  He was genuinely intrigued and didn’t bother to hide it.

  Aina hesitated. She lowered her head slightly, lips pressing together before whispering, “Brother said… we must never speak of our master.”

  “That’s all right,” Glen replied easily, waving his hand. “I was just curious. Forget I asked.”

  To ease the tension, he changed the subject. “By the way, my name’s Glen Nibankru. A pleasure to meet you. I suppose that makes us friends now.”

  The puppet girl blinked in surprise, then suddenly grew flustered, performing a graceful noble’s curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Glen. I am Aina Tismorne. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”