Chapter 64: Werewolf

Seeing Wayne so confident, Deacon Ozck said no more and soon led the witcher to the vicinity of the work site where the three missing lumberjacks had been employed.

This was not any special place, just an ordinary clearing at the edge of the forest, though compared to the other lumberjacks' stations, this position was deeper inside the forest.

Perhaps this was the reason they had gone missing.

After arriving at the scene, Wayne immediately held his breath and focused, using his keen witcher senses to begin searching for clues in the surroundings.

Originally, he had expected some inscrutable cold case, but to his surprise, in less than ten minutes, relying on his sense of smell and sight, he discovered several scattered lumber axes in the nearby bushes, as well as some messy footprints on the ground.

At the same time, some fresh blood droplets on the ground were stimulating his sense of smell.

Wayne leaned in to sniff; besides the smell of evaporated sweat, there was only a sweet, cloying scent reminiscent of rust.

It was human blood, and not a large amount; clearly, some of the lumberjacks had already been killed or injured.

Wayne did not rush to follow the blood trail to find the lumberjacks' tracks, but instead squatted on the ground, carefully observing the messy footprints.

Soon, he discovered clues in the tracks; the four-toed indentations, like those of a large beast, allowed Wayne to rule out wild bears and wolves.

Standing to the side, Ozck saw the footprints, which were larger than a human palm and deeply embedded in the ground, and realized that the creature attacking the lumberjacks was a huge, ferocious monster.

He couldn't help but ask with some worry:

"Mr. Wayne, can you tell what kind of monster it is?"

Wayne rubbed his smooth chin, recalling the knowledge he had learned at Kaer Morhen, and said affirmatively:

"It was a werewolf that attacked them, but I find it a bit strange—what was the werewolf's reason for attacking them?"

"Logically speaking, you lumberjacks who just arrived here shouldn't have any connection to these cursed creatures."

Ozck clearly did not know what a werewolf was; he was a trusted aide who had come here from the southern kingdom with Reuven. He had only heard that various monsters haunted the North, but truthfully, he had never seen a single one.

This middle-aged deacon murmured "werewolf," then said:

"Mr. Wayne, are you confident you can find the location of this werewolf?"

"Should we go to the city and notify the guards to hunt it down?"

Hearing this, Wayne looked at this naive southerner with some amusement; not to mention that the guards in northern cities generally wouldn't bother with things happening outside the city.

Even if the City Hall had a lapse in judgment and, under pressure from the wealthy merchant Reuven, sent a squad of guards out.

With the werewolf's strong physique of up to two and a half meters, sharp claws capable of tearing through ordinary chainmail, and formidable recovery power that ignored ordinary damage.

Even if this squad of guards were all equipped with silver weapons, unless they were all warriors who feared no death, they would at most only be able to leave a few scars on the werewolf.

One must know that a werewolf is not a mindless Drowner; even many fledgling witchers would die at the hands of such a cunning and vicious cursed monster.

It was no wonder the system gave it an Expert-level rating.

Fortunately, he had a magic-inscribed storage bag on him, containing everything needed to deal with a werewolf: potions, bombs, and Cursed Oil.

Now that he also had the Master-level silver sword crafted by Master O'Henry, Wayne was still confident in dealing with an ordinary werewolf.

He stood up and said to Deacon Ozck:

"Deacon Ozck, a werewolf is a terrifying monster transformed from a cursed human. Before I return, you had best not scatter into the forest."

"I don't want to return only to find that you've lost more lives."

Regarding this monster expert highly recommended by his boss Reuven, Ozck dared not be negligent and immediately nodded, saying:

"Very well, Mr. Wayne. Today, I will arrange for the lumberjacks to stay together and handle work that doesn't require entering the forest."

"However, please be sure to be careful. You are the boss's friend; if something happens to you, the boss won't let me off either."

Wayne nodded. Considering that entering the forest to search for clues would be inconvenient, he entrusted his mount, Lucifer, to Ozck for safekeeping.

Without further pleasantries, Wayne immediately began his work.

He followed the scent of blood and the tracks, tracking them deep into the forest.

Clearly, this werewolf had no experience in anti-tracking; perhaps it never thought to cover its tracks, nor did it expect anyone to track it to its location based on them.

About an hour later, relying on his super-senses, Wayne passed through the outskirts of the forest and arrived beside a hunter's cabin far from the small town on the outskirts of Wyzima.

Based on the scent of blood and the tracks, Wayne determined that the injured lumberjack and the werewolf had both entered this cabin, roughly half an hour ago.

It was just unclear what the situation was now.

However, Wayne did not rush into the house to investigate; instead, he sat cross-legged in a hidden patch of grass outside the cabin.

He took out the magic-inscribed storage bag he kept close to his body and carefully removed three potions, one bottle of sword oil, and three alchemy bombs.

They were, respectively, the Thunderbolt potion to increase strength and damage, the Swallow potion to recover from injuries, and Petri's Philter to enhance Sign damage.

It wasn't that Wayne didn't want to take out more, but although his mutation level had reached level four, drinking three witcher potions simultaneously was his current limit.

Drinking even one more would instead place a burden on his body.

However, his level four proficiency was already nearing its peak; in about half a month, his mutation level would reach level five, unlocking a professional specialty skill.

Presumably, by then, he would be able to withstand one more potion and gain powerful improvements in other areas.

Enduring the disgusting taste of the three potions, which resembled rotten mud and dog feces, as well as sweet, greasy lard, Wayne closed his eyes and quickly drank them.

In a brief meditation, his body was quickly mobilized by the potions, gaining a powerful boost.

The most obvious was the Thunderbolt potion; Wayne felt his strength enhanced by about fifty percent, his muscles bulging slightly, and even his pain sensation was dulled by the strengthening of his power.

He drew his Master-level silver sword from his waist, carefully applied a bottle of Cursed Oil to the blade, and hid his other steel sword and scabbard in the grass.

This was a necessary action; real combat was not like a game. The extra steel sword and scabbard would not only be useless in battle but would instead hinder his dodging and attacking.

Only after all preparations before the battle were complete did Wayne take a light breath, walk out from the hidden grass, and arrive at the front door of the hunter's cabin.

He did not rashly rush into the narrow cabin; fighting a huge, thick-skinned monster in a confined space was an unwise move.

Instead, he called out:

"Werewolf in the house, you have been exposed."

"I am a witcher, here specifically to deal with you. If you have anything to say, you can come out and talk to me."

Calling out like this was both to lure the monster out of the house and because Wayne truly wanted to know.

Why this cursed werewolf would run to a lumber camp an hour's journey away and attack those total strangers.

There was no sound in the house, but Wayne's keen hearing could hear that after he called out, a creature with heavy breathing gradually approached the door.

Wayne could even see the dense gray fur on the tall figure through the tiny crack in the door.

Just as Wayne thought this werewolf might be the type that had lost its reason due to anger and could not speak.

A hoarse, angry roar, like the growl of a beast, came from the direction of the front door.

"Witcher, I have heard your legends; you are the legendary monster killers."

"However, this matter has nothing to do with you; I am acting for revenge."

"My wife, Paula, died in the forest, naked, covered in wounds, her blood staining the ground red."

"When I found her, she was on the verge of death; she told me that several lumberjacks had gang-raped her."

"She was the person I loved most, who didn't even mind that I was a werewolf. I must have my revenge for her."

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 65 =====