From the two bodies, Glen gathered nothing but a handful of gold, silver, and copper coins, along with a few trinkets — maps, a pocket watch, and other odds and ends.

  “Wait! We can talk about this! We’re all werewolves — there’s no need to fight to the death!” the fallen leader shouted, his strength barely returning. “We’ve witnessed your power. You could easily replace the old Wolf King! That fossil has ruled for far too long — it’s time for new blood to take the throne!”

  He pleaded desperately, yet Glen continued to search their bodies in silence.

  “Listen to me! Don’t you want to be king? The ruler of our entire kind? We could follow you — yes, follow you! Together, we could overthrow this decaying kingdom and build a mightier empire! Imagine it — doesn’t the vision stir your blood?”

  The leader’s voice brimmed with passion, but Glen seemed deaf to his words. When he finally finished counting the coins, he let out a quiet sigh and said coldly, “Be grateful you brought your wealth with you. I’ll make your deaths swift.”

  Sensing the rising intent to kill, the leader screamed in panic, “No! You can’t—”

  Slash!

  Glen didn’t let him finish. One brutal strike ended both their lives.

  Rule the werewolves? he sneered inwardly. With what I’ve seen of their kind — selfish, disloyal, and rabidly self-serving — they’re not a pack. They’re parasites with fangs.

  Tia approached timidly, her voice small and weary. “Mr. Glen… they made such a mess of the house, I—”

  “You’ll get two silver coins. Clean it up.” Glen lowered his wolfish head and handed her the money from his massive palm.

  “I’ll do my best!” she promised, carefully taking the coins.

  Gotaya came forward as well, her tone edged with resentment, still brooding over her earlier humiliation. “You’re not like any werewolf I’ve ever seen.”

  Glen ignored her. He found a spot to sit, then told the maid, “Tia, go to my room and fetch me a coat.”

  Most of his clothes had been torn or lost during the fight.

  “Yes, Mr. Glen!” came her cheerful reply from inside.

  Glen then stripped a pair of trousers from one of the corpses, forcing himself not to grimace, and pulled them on.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Nighthowl crept over, lying beside him with drooping ears — the picture of dejection. Glen could guess why. The beast had been beaten up so many times lately, it was probably suffering from bruised pride.

  Once dressed, Glen settled down beside him.

  Gotaya hesitated, then stepped closer. “Human, what’s that fighting style you used? Is it some kind of human martial art?”

  Glen’s ears twitched. He cast her a sidelong glance. “To be precise — it’s my martial art.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Kung Fu.”

  “Kung Fu?” she repeated softly, testing the unfamiliar word. “Can you teach me?”

  Glen yawned, his sharp teeth gleaming. “Why would I?”

  She had expected as much, though her mind was already working on a plan.

  From inside, Tia’s humming drifted out — a tune she’d learned from Glen, pleasant and cheerful. He nodded in quiet approval.

  Moments later, she emerged, carrying a brown set of clothes. “Here, Mr. Glen.”

  He took them, transformed back into human form, and dressed. Then he said, “I’m going to fetch my deer cart and tidy up the pigsty. You don’t need to work today. Stay here or help Tia, whichever you prefer.”

  Gotaya nodded silently.

  Before leaving, Glen turned to Nighthowl. “Drag the corpses outside and clean up the blood. Make it neat.”

  The beast rumbled in response and got to work.

  Glen left for the outskirts of town, retrieved his cart, and spent the afternoon busying himself with chores. By sunset, he had finished, though a quick trip to Dood Town left him disappointed — still no new hires. He dismissed his two workers for the evening and purchased fresh baking supplies, just in case his old stock at home had been ruined.

  When he returned with Rawel in tow, the maid and the elf had already cleaned the entire house. He gave Gotaya a long look and nodded approvingly. She flushed and turned away with a faint huff.

  “Mr. Glen, the cake—” Tia began, eyes shining.

  “After all that, you’re still thinking about cake?” Glen raised a brow, amused.

  “Well, you handled everything, didn’t you?” she said brightly.

  Her cheerfulness drew a small laugh from him. “Fine then. We’ll bake — at the old man’s house.”

  “That’s grea— wait, whose house?” she asked, startled.

  “My kitchen lacks the proper tools. His is well-equipped — even has a baking room. Much easier there.”

  “But… will he even let us use it?” she asked nervously.

  “He’ll lend it. Grab the supplies — we’re going.”

  Without waiting for agreement, Glen led the way. Gotaya followed, curiosity winning out; she wanted to see what kind of cake he would make.

  Rawel stayed behind, retreating quietly to his workshop once they were gone.

  Glen knocked on the old man’s door. Thud, thud.

  A crack opened, revealing a wary face. “What do you want?”

  “To borrow your kitchen,” Glen said with a disarming smile.

  The old man’s gaze flicked to the maid and the elf behind him, then back. “Don’t you have your own kitchen? Why mine?”

  “Yours is… more advanced. I’m missing a few tools I need.”

  He sounded perfectly sincere.

  The old man hesitated, then grumbled, “Wait here.” The door shut, and Glen’s keen ears caught the rustle of movement inside — the sound of things being hastily hidden.

  He smirked inwardly. Hiding your food won’t help, old man. I can smell every crumb from here. Still, he respected the gesture. It was his way of showing trust.

  Soon, the door opened wide. The old man’s tall frame loomed in the doorway. “Fine. You may use the kitchen — but stay out of the other rooms.”

  …

  Out in the forest, where Nighthowl had devoured the slain werewolves, his body began to change — in strange, unsettling ways.