“Don’t get cocky! I was careless just now!” The female knight captain’s face, noble and resolute, was full of defiance.

  “Again!” she shouted, stamping the ground, and charged at Glen once more.

  This time, a pair of pale golden wings unfurled behind her, and her knightly sword seemed to elongate with a subtle, extraordinary transformation.

  Glen could feel her speed surge. He lowered his center of gravity, bracing himself for the incoming strike.

  The knight’s sword lunged forward, and in an instant, a dozen ghostly replicas of the blade followed, covering every possible escape route!

  “Playing it like this too?” Glen’s eyes widened slightly. His leg muscles tensed as he leapt five or six meters upward, soaring over the reach of her assault.

  Grabbing the treetop, he planted his legs against the trunk and launched himself toward her from behind.

  The knight, having noticed his evasion, retracted her attack with full force. Feeling the rush of air behind her, she activated another knightly skill.

  A colossal spectral knight’s shield materialized out of thin air behind her, barely intercepting Glen’s downward strike.

  Landing on the ground, Glen looked at this opponent adorned with all manner of visual effects and shook his head. “Captain, playing like this takes all the fun out of it. I’m using a wooden staff, yet you rely on all these flashy tricks. If you have the skill, use your sword to defeat me—that’s what’s interesting about combat.”

  His previous strike had carried barely any force; otherwise, the wooden staff would have snapped.

  He had wanted to test the caliber of knightly swordsmanship in this world, but he hadn’t expected knights to rely on such flashy skills. There was no way to truly appreciate the art of weapon-to-weapon combat.

  “Fine.” Glen’s remark had been casual, yet to his surprise, the female knight captain actually deactivated her effects.

  Glen froze, then a thrill ran through him.

  “Captain!” The two other knights exclaimed from afar.

  “Don’t worry, I have it under control,” the captain said softly.

  With her shout, they engaged once again.

  The gallant captain unleashed nearly all she had learned at the Knight Academy, her exquisite sword techniques flowing effortlessly in a torrent toward her opponent.

  Yet Glen, armed with nothing but a wooden staff, parried each strike, twisting and weaving, ensuring the staff remained intact. His movements were fluid, almost effortless.

  By now, Glen had roughly assessed her swordsmanship. In his previous world, she would have ranked among the elite, capable of claiming a place at the very pinnacle.

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  But she faced Glen—hailed by his family and the outside world as a once-in-a-century martial prodigy. At sixteen, he had mastered all the family’s techniques in fists, blades, and staves, and his years of military training had further honed his prowess. How strong he had been before crossing worlds even he couldn’t fully gauge.

  However, this body lacked muscle memory. All his techniques relied on memory and the coordination of his werewolf physiology, meaning his current level fell short of his past peak.

  After hundreds of exchanges, the knight had struck almost every part of his body, yet not a single werewolf hair was grazed. Her frustration grew with each failed strike.

  Slap!

  Another resounding smack landed on her rear, producing a crisp, unpleasant sound. The high-ponytail captain hurled her sword to the ground and cursed, “Damn it!”

  Glen and the two other knights jumped in surprise.

  “Did I… strike the wrong place?” Glen thought, a twinge of guilt in his mind.

  The captain’s chest heaved violently, teeth grinding audibly as she glared at Glen with a ferocity that could pierce stone.

  “Uh… actually…” Glen had meant to offer some words of reassurance, perhaps something like, *you’re strong, I’m just stronger*, but she spoke before he could.

  “I will defeat you…” she said, then retrieved her sword and rejoined her companions. A whistle summoned the griffin, which descended amid a whirlwind. “Let’s go.”

  “And what about this werewolf…” one of her subordinates began.

  “Ignore him. This werewolf hasn’t harmed anyone,” the captain said.

  The two knights exchanged bewildered glances, unable to fathom what their captain meant.

  They had no way of understanding her feelings. In her duel with Glen, her knightly instincts recognized that this creature bore no malice, and its spirit resonated subtly with her own.

  Coupled with his earlier remark that he didn’t consume humans, the captain found herself believing him—at least somewhat.

  Furthermore, she knew that he hadn’t revealed even half of his strength. If he had wished, the three of them might not have escaped his grasp. Yet he had shown no intent to kill, which was reason enough for her, as captain, to withdraw.

  Watching the massive griffin ascend into the sky, Glen remained silent, unsure of what to say.

  He couldn’t very well ask them to stay—he had just smacked her rear moments ago.

  As he pondered this, the captain’s voice rang out: “Remember this, Mister Werewolf. I am Windsor Bayard, squad leader of the Seventh Division of the Griffin Knights. The next time I find you, I will personally defeat you!”

  I can hardly wait… Glen smiled, checked his bearings, and departed.

  …

  A modest farmer’s home.

  The old man sat beside a chicken coop, idly nibbling on a loaf of bread he had somehow procured.

  Not far off, several villagers were conversing, occasionally glancing this way with wary eyes.

  The old man paid them no mind, lost in his own thoughts.

  A stone suddenly flew from somewhere, striking his knee. His eyes cleared as he turned toward its source.

  In the bushes some ten meters away, a pair of glowing points pierced the darkness.

  The old man seemed relieved. He stood, grabbed his backpack, and walked toward them.

  “Old man, get me a set of clothes first,” Glen whispered urgently as the other approached.

  The old man paused, expressionless, and walked over to the villagers. He spoke briefly, and one of them, trembling, handed over a few copper coins and quickly returned with a simple set of clothing for him.

  Once Glen had changed, the old man asked, “Did you kill the Griffin Knights?”

  “My killing aura isn’t that strong,” Glen said, rolling his eyes. “They were three incredibly well-built female knights. Realizing they were no match, they withdrew.”

  “Almost all Griffin Knights are female,” the old man said casually, nodding.

  “Why?” Glen asked curiously.

  “Because female bodies are generally more coordinated and lighter,” the old man explained simply.

  Glen nodded in understanding. Then the old man added, “You should head back yourself. I still have matters to attend to.”

  “Fine, settle the payment first,” Glen replied, more concerned with his reward than the old man’s business.

  The old man had anticipated this and tossed a pouch to Glen.

  Without even checking, Glen stashed it in his pocket. They were all neighbors; the old man had no reason—or courage—to deceive him.

  “Do you know the way, or shall I show you?”

  “You really think I’m a child?” Glen muttered.