Chapter 75: The Devil

The one-eared werewolf paced to the truck, flared its nostrils, sniffed the cargo crate, then bared a row of sharp white fangs.

“What’s inside?”

It asked.

“Dragon, dragon blood!” The apprentice hadn’t finished when Nick cut in: “Jixue stone—just cheap jixue stone.”

The werewolf ignored him, slashed with its claw, and the crate’s lock snapped open.

As the lid flew open, the pile of red jixue stone inside glowed bright under the sun—vivid in color, but utterly devoid of magical energy, pure junk, useless to the monster clans of the wilds.

“Do you have black oil, mana stones?”

The one-eared werewolf growled, eyes blazing with menace.

Nick’s gaze flickered, and he hurriedly said: “Mighty werewolf, I regret to disappoint you—we didn’t carry these goods on this trip. But if you need them, I swear I’ll return with black oil and mana stones next time, offering you the best price.”

The werewolf bared its teeth.

“Pups! Knock these humans out and bind them all! Kill anyone who resists on the spot.”

Nick froze: “Wait, wait!”

Before he could finish, the one-eared werewolf swiped at him.

The world spun wildly.

Nick’s vision locked onto the blazing white sky as his companions’ screams and the werewolves’ low growls echoed in his ears.

With Scarface the driver as a warning, the others dared not resist—resistance meant death—so they submitted quietly, knocked out and bound.

Crescent Valley, territory of the Howling Moon Clan.

Beneath a velvet-black night sky, the unconscious humans were dragged here.

Red Iron Dragon sat silently at the mouth of a shadowed cave, hidden from view, calm and composed behind the scenes, watching the humans below.

More precisely:

Humans—and one “Devil’s Child.”

Garos noticed the sorcerer’s antler-like horns and green eyes, and sensed the peculiar aura around her—evil, chaotic, yet oddly human.

At first glance:

Garos wondered if some human had formed an unnatural bond with an antelope, giving birth to this horned sorcerer.

In the next instant, the Dragon’s inheritance naturally surfaced the knowledge—he understood the truth.

This sorcerer was not pure human, nor a hybrid of human and antelope; their race was called [Tiefling], which in Common also meant “Devil’s Child.”

Tieflings were humans bearing devil blood.

Descended from human lineage, they appeared mostly human, but devil ancestry left clear marks: horns on their heads, tails behind them, marking them as other.

In the human world:

No—in the world of sentient civilizations—Tieflings, because of their devil blood, were unwelcome wherever they went.

Due to others’ stares, fear, and distrust:

Even though Tieflings were not inherently evil, most would turn to darkness, reinforcing the prejudice against them, creating a vicious cycle.

“A despised, unwanted Devil’s Child, paired with a poor, shabby caravan—this pairing makes sense.”

Garos thought.

“But why does this female Tiefling have pupils? The inheritance says their eyes are solid color—no whites, no pupils.”

Red Iron Dragon flicked its tail, puzzled.

Could this Tiefling have mixed blood from elsewhere? Interesting.

Meanwhile:

The adult werewolf splashed cold water on several humans, jolting them awake.

Through the semi-magical skill of telepathy, Garos’s thoughts reached the old shaman’s mind directly.

He remained hidden, behind the scenes; the old shaman carried out his will, gazing at the Tiefling and saying: “Devil’s Child, your green eyes resemble an elf’s, not a Tiefling’s.”

Maggie blinked in surprise.

She hadn’t expected these wild monster clans to know her identity.

In her mind, wild monster clans, though intelligent, were shallow, brutal, and hard to communicate with.

On the other side, Nick’s eyes brightened slightly at the old shaman’s words.

This old shaman was different—it knew of Devil’s Children, knew the term Tiefling, possessed knowledge other werewolves lacked. Perhaps it could be reasoned with.

If they could talk, if they could negotiate:

Nick was confident—his silver tongue could at least secure their lives.

With luck, he might even establish a stable trade link with this werewolf clan—buying their furs, claws, and ores at low prices. A chance to make fortune.

Merchants knew how to find every profit opportunity.

Nick immediately interjected, smiling, explaining for the inarticulate Maggie: “Oh, to know of Tieflings—you clearly are a wise and far-sighted elder werewolf.”

“Her eyes are fitted with thin lenses that enhance iris color—a little invention by alchemists, wildly popular in the southern kingdoms.”

Nick flicked his eyes.

Maggie silently removed her colored contacts, revealing a pair of solid, strangely alluring green eyes.

“If you like such trinkets—or anything else—you may count on me to bring them, at the best price, provided you spare us and give us a chance to build trust.”

Nick smiled broadly.

So she was just wearing colored contacts—I thought her eyes looked odd.

Garos remained expressionless, shifting his gaze from the Tiefling sorcerer to Nick.

This ordinary-looking merchant, radiating shrewdness, had not initially caught Garos’s attention—but his bold attempt to haggle amid a circle of wolves had drawn his interest.

“This man might be useful.”

He thought, then transmitted the thought to the old shaman.

The old shaman understood, asked Nick’s name, then cut straight to the point: “Human, I want black oil and mana stones. Can you bring them?”

Black oil and mana stones?

What did wild monster clans want with these?

Both the shaman and the one-eared werewolf had mentioned black oil and mana stones.

Nick glanced around—no large alchemical golems in sight.

Though some werewolves wore alchemical gear, none required black oil or mana stones.

For example, the steam cart he used to haul cargo ran on burnstone—a cheaper mineral than black oil.

Black oil had higher applications—it powered alchemical golems or large alchemical devices; mana stones served similarly, with even greater efficiency.

“Of course, of course.”

Nick straightened his chest, even stood up, brushing dust off his coat.

He bowed respectfully to the old shaman and said: “Black oil has wide uses—many legitimate sources in the southern civilized kingdoms. As for mana stones, though harder to obtain, I can guarantee I’ll bring you some.”

Garos flicked his tail lightly, eyes narrowing.

Indeed—things scarce in the wilds could be easily acquired if a channel to the southern kingdoms was established, just as jixue stone, worthless here, was prized as jewelry material in the south.

Some things:

Were worthless in their place of origin.

But gained immense value elsewhere.

And in that process, securing a reliable, controllable, sustainable “channel” was the most important thing.

“You’ve earned yourself a chance to live.”

The old shaman smiled faintly, baring his fangs, then added: “But humans are insatiable and untrustworthy—especially merchants.”

Nick’s heart jolted.

He hurriedly said: “I swear by the souls of all my departed ancestors—I’m different from other merchants. Everyone who’s traded with me trusts me for my honesty.”

(End of Chapter)