Chapter 65: Combat

Listening to the werewolf's roar full of anger and sorrow, Wayne remained unmoved and said calmly:

"Revenge for a loved one may not be wrong, but involving innocent people and harming them is absolutely not the correct behavior."

"Werewolf, if you still retain human reason, release the lumberjacks you have captured, and I can help you find the culprits who harmed your wife."

"If you have already become a murderer of innocent people, then you are no different from those scoundrels who harmed your wife."

The werewolf seemed even angrier at these words, let out a roar through the wooden door, and then said:

"You are indeed just like the legends, emotionless monsters."

"For the sake of revenge, I no longer care if my hands are stained with blood. Those guys were unwilling to cooperate with me; they are all accomplices who shielded the culprits."

"As long as I cannot find the culprits from that day, I will keep searching, even if I have to kill every lumberjack in this vicinity, I will not hesitate."

Hearing this answer, Wayne understood that it was, after all, a cursed monster; anger and slaughter had already filled its mind.

It was estimated that this attack on the lumberjacks was not the werewolf's first action; perhaps because it was too difficult to find a few culprits in the vast sea of people, the werewolf had transferred its hatred for the culprits to the entire lumberjack group.

He silently cast an enhanced Quen Shield on himself, took an alchemy bomb from his belt with his left hand, and shouted into the house:

"In that case, werewolf, come out then."

"As long as you kill me, no one here will be able to stop your actions anymore."

"Perhaps revenge is just your excuse; you simply enjoy the slaughter."

Facing Wayne's provocation, the werewolf could no longer suppress the destruction and impulse in its heart, let out a roar, burst through the door, and lunged toward Wayne outside.

Wayne's eyes narrowed, and the alchemy bomb held in his left hand was instantly thrown toward the lunging werewolf.

With a muffled bang, not the sound of gunpowder exploding, a large amount of silvery-white dust instantly burst open, forming a dense silver mist that directly coated the werewolf in a layer of fluorescence.

This was a Moon Dust bomb; its main component was silver powder, a small amount of Dimeritium, and other herbal powders specifically targeting curses. It had miraculous effects against monsters formed by magic or curses, as well as ghosts, wraiths, and other monsters without a normal physical form.

And it was the werewolf's nemesis; not only would it cause continuous damage to the werewolf's body, but it could also effectively suppress the werewolf's recovery ability, causing them to lose the ability to fight for long periods.

The werewolf in mid-air was hit squarely, couldn't help but let out a painful roar, and shouted in an angry voice:

"Despicable witcher!"

Wayne, however, did not care; in the principles of a witcher, dealing with monsters meant using any means necessary—poison, traps, bombs, using everything to the extreme; being insidious and despicable was instead a compliment.

Otherwise, how could a witcher, who was merely flesh and blood, fight against the thousands of terrifying monsters in the world?

He raised his Master-level silver sword, quickly stepped aside, and dodged the sharp claws swiped by the angry werewolf.

Taking this opportunity, he slashed at the werewolf's belly, which was unprotected by bone, successfully leaving a bloody wound on its flank. The Cursed Oil on the blade also entered its body through the wound, beginning to damage its internal organs.

After all, it was just a werewolf transformed from a hunter; it did not possess true martial arts and could only fight based on the wildness in its bloodline.

The werewolf let out another roar mixed with pain, but its movements did not stall at all. The claws on its feet gripped the ground, it forcibly twisted its body, and swung its two sharp claws at Wayne on the side.

A werewolf is a monster that balances agility and strength; the speed at which it swings its claws is no less than the slashes of a sword master.

Wayne held his sword with both hands, accurately parried the claw strikes, then fiercely kicked the werewolf's slashed flank, sending blood splattering. Amidst the werewolf's painful wails, he used the force to flip back several steps.

Just as he stood firm, his left hand quickly drew an Igni Sign in the air, then pushed forward fiercely, and a flame engulfed the werewolf not far away.

Fur is weak to fire; the werewolf's back, full of gray fur, was instantly ignited by the flames, and even the werewolf's head, ears, and whiskers were all burning.

Ah! Ah! Ah!

The burning of the flames instantly provoked the werewolf's pain sensation, and the flames covering its head blocked its vision.

Fire is a fear carved into the bones of all living things.

The emotions of anger and fear made the werewolf even more manic; it swung its two claws wildly, attempting to use this wide-range attack to prevent the witcher from approaching.

And Wayne indeed did not approach; he took a Dragon's Dream bomb from his belt and threw it at the crazed werewolf.

With a bang, the power of the bomb was quite good; the flammable substances inside the Dragon's Dream not only intensified the fire on the werewolf but also directly sent the werewolf staggering, its whole body charred black.

Seizing this gap, Wayne immediately flashed forward, and taking advantage of the moment the werewolf's center was wide open, he held the Master-level silver sword with both hands and swung a full-force strike at the werewolf's heart.

Bones shattered, blood splattered!

This precious sword was worthy of being the work of a master blacksmith; slashing at the werewolf felt like slashing into a piece of rotten tree bark.

Wayne felt only a slight resistance before the sharp blade neatly cut through several of the werewolf's ribs and the heart protected by them.

With a wail mixed with pain and despair, the werewolf could no longer control its body, staggered back a few steps, and knelt on the ground on one knee.

Covered in silver powder, burned by raging flames, and now with huge wounds cut into its abdomen and heart, such injuries were something even a werewolf could not withstand.

The werewolf knelt on its left knee, covering its heart with its right claws, and a large amount of blood flowed onto the ground along the wound, mixed with many fragments of broken internal organs and bones.

It opened its eyes, which were almost blinded by the fire, looked at the witcher not far away with blurred vision, panted heavily, and said in a hoarse voice:

"Witcher, I am not a monster."

"I am just a man seeking revenge for his wife."

"I was just too angry, which is why I accidentally killed a few lumberjacks."

"But I cannot stop; if I die, who can avenge my wife, Paula?"

"She was a kind woman; she should not have met such an end."

Wayne held the silver sword with both hands, the tip pointing at the werewolf's head, and let out a turbid breath.

The battle just now, although it only lasted a few minutes, was extremely dangerous every second.

If not for the strength enhanced by the Thunderbolt potion, he would not have been able to block the werewolf's claw strikes, and the thin chainmail on his body would not have been able to block the werewolf's sharp claws either. If he had been grabbed in the abdomen or chest, it would have been at least a serious injury, almost declaring death.

Wayne looked at the werewolf, which was destined to die and almost in its final moments, vigilant against its death throes, and asked:

"You are about to die, werewolf."

"Perhaps you can tell me what clues you found."

"After you die, I might be able to seek justice for your wife."

"Let those bastards who harmed her pay the price they deserve."

The werewolf laughed miserably at these words, spat out a mouthful of blood, and said hoarsely:

"What clues could there be? In a vast forest, what clues could I find?"

"The only thing I can confirm is that the incident happened on the morning three days ago."

"And my wife told me that there were three people who harmed her: one bald, one with a black beard, and one small, thin man."

"Other than that, I found nothing."

Wayne sighed in his heart; indeed, even a thousand years later, in an era of advanced technology, it would be very difficult to find those who committed crimes in the wild, let alone in this barbaric Middle Ages.

However, the conscience in his heart still made him promise:

"I will try my best to help you find the culprits and bring them to justice."

"Do you have any other last wishes?"

The werewolf looked up at Wayne at these words. In fact, its eyes, burned by the fire, could no longer see Wayne's appearance clearly, but it still said in a sorrowful tone:

"Witcher, my wife is buried in the courtyard. After you kill me, please bury us together."

"If you find the culprits, please come back and pay your respects to us once, and tell us the good news."

Wayne nodded, looked at the werewolf that had lost all will to resist, raised the silver sword in his hand, and ended its suffering.

(End of chapter)