Medieval Gacha Lord-Chapter 79: Wolves

Chapter 79: Wolves

The night deepened. A bright, clear moon hung high in the sky.

Hans, alone on horseback, patrolled the cordoned-off streets. The streets were deserted. Within the residences on either side, burning lamps and deliberately hushed conversations swiftly vanished as his horse’s hooves passed by.

The massacres the Crusaders had once inflicted upon the Saracens, though over a hundred years had passed, were still firmly etched in the minds of the infidels in this city.

Among Lothar’s company of Winged Hussars, only Hans possessed the qualification to patrol alone. The others had to travel in pairs at least, for mutual support.

"Whoa—" Hans halted his horse before a temple.

This was a temple named the Holy Fire Scripture Hall; legend said it housed Zoroastrian theological classics translated into various languages, as well as manuscripts left by prophets. Many Zoroastrian monks traveled thousands of miles to come here to peruse and venerate the scriptures left by their ancient sages.

Sitting on his horse, Hans sniffed the air. Not far ahead, he detected a scent that was both familiar and strange: barbaric, cruel, wild, tyrannical.

He searched his mind and suddenly realized with a jolt: ’This is... a scent similar to Abelardo’s? It’s a werewolf of this world!’

Hans tethered his horse by the roadside and walked slowly forward. A moment later, he saw, under an olive tree in front of the temple, a man with a somber face kneeling on the ground, repeatedly making the sign of the cross before him and praying.

Hans walked up and stopped a short distance behind him, calling out loudly, "Werewolf! If you wish to repent to the Heavenly Father, why do you worship at an infidel’s scripture hall?"

The man’s body shuddered. He said in a low voice, "I prayed to the Heavenly Father, but received no response."

Hans said nothing, merely waiting quietly.

After a long while, the man spoke again, "You are only one person. Why do you dare to expose my identity?"

"Though I am only one, I alone am enough to deal with you." Hans’s expression was calm. He was now a five-star retainer, his strength many times greater than before. A mere werewolf—he felt he could still handle it with ease.

"That corpse in the drainage ditch, it was your doing, wasn’t it? I heard your prayers, but unfortunately, that will not erase the sins you have committed."

"I... I didn’t mean to. I can’t control my hunger."

"Please, leave quickly." The man’s face wore an expression that was neither crying nor not crying.

He raised his hands. "You simply cannot imagine what terrifying power a werewolf possesses! I have... fallen into the devil’s embrace. Even here, in the Holy City, closest to the Kingdom of Heaven, I still feel no redemption—the Heavenly Father’s power simply cannot contend with the devil’s!"

Hans murmured, "Blasphemous words."

Then, he too felt a wave of confusion. He was also a werewolf now, not that squire of the Knightly Order obsessed with armed proselytizing with sword and spear. If one spoke of blasphemy, his very existence was a desecration against the Heavenly Father.

"I can’t control it anymore! Get the hell away!"

The man’s face contorted in pain. A black hair, like a steel needle, pierced his cheek. And this was only the beginning. What followed was a scene that would make someone with trypophobia faint. Dense black fur, as if possessing a life of its own, burst through the man’s skin, growing madly, covering his entire body in the blink of an eye.

His muzzle became long and pointed, two rows of sharp fangs extending from beneath his lips. Accompanied by the creaking sound of violently expanding joints, his legs and arms elongated.

In an instant, the man had transformed into an imposing, three-meter-tall black werewolf.

Hans was thoughtful. ’So, this is what it looks like to witness a werewolf transformation from a third-person perspective. It seems quite similar to my own back then.’

"Heh-heh." A low chuckle sounded. "You asked for this. I gave you a chance." Amidst the chilling laughter, the werewolf bared its mouthful of fangs.

Hans remarked, "Your transformed body is much larger than mine. Let me assess... what’s the difference between you and Abelardo? Is it the breed, or the number of humans you’ve eaten?"

The werewolf found Hans’s calmness and composure somewhat difficult to understand, and even more incomprehensible were his words about transformation, Abelardo, and the like. With a suppressed, low growl, the werewolf suddenly pushed off the ground, its taut muscles acting like springs, launching its massive body towards Hans.

’Clang—’ The werewolf’s sharp claws met the blade in Hans’s hand. Hans was driven back several steps by the violent impact. But the werewolf’s sharp claws clamped down on Hans’s arming sword. He tried to wrench it free but was shocked to find that, in terms of strength, he was actually completely overpowered by this werewolf.

This was different from when Abelardo fought Lothar. Abelardo had to fight with his werewolf body confined within narrow armor and couldn’t use a werewolf’s greatest weapons—its claws and teeth—nor could he perform actions like pouncing. This had greatly limited the werewolf’s combat strength and was one of the key reasons Lothar had been able to win back then.

The werewolf Hans faced this time was not only fiercer than Abelardo but could also unleash its full power without reservation, which immediately put Hans at a disadvantage.

"Looks like I still can’t compare to Milord." Hans released his grip, no longer wrestling with the werewolf for the sword.

The werewolf, caught off guard and overexerting itself, stumbled back several steps. It picked up the knightly sword, now bent by the immense force, disdainfully tossed it aside, and grinned.

"Without a weapon, let’s see how you fight me now." Inwardly, the werewolf was also filled with astonishment. Hans was the strongest human it had ever encountered. Usually, after it transformed, let alone grappling with it, it could send those knights in heavy armor flying, head and all, with just a slight exertion of force.

"Mr. Werewolf, please allow me to remove my armor, lest it chip your teeth." Hans took off his surcoat and, sitting on the ground, calmly removed his chainmail shirt.

"Are you mad?" The werewolf looked at Hans with extreme vigilance, somewhat unable to comprehend why this person would remove the armor he relied on for survival. Without it, wasn’t a human’s frail body as fragile as a piece of parchment before him?

"Of course, I’m not mad." Hans removed his chainmail, then also took off his linen undershirt. "I just realized, I cannot possibly replicate my lord’s feat of killing a werewolf in human form. You think I am delaying for time, right?"

The werewolf, suspecting Hans was stalling, tensed. It crouched low, its legs pushing off the ground. Its muscles, hard as marble, launched it like a cannonball towards the unarmed Hans.

"So, let us have a duel between wolf and wolf," Hans murmured, his torso bare, revealing well-built muscles. Then, he too crouched low and, in a posture identical to the black werewolf opposite him, suddenly leaped.

While still in mid-air, white fur began to sprout all over his body. In the blink of an eye, Hans had completed his transformation from human to werewolf.

With a dull thud, the two crashed to the ground together.

The black werewolf let out a hoarse growl. "You too! You actually are one too! No wonder your strength is so great! As fellow God-forsaken ones, why do you attack me?"

Hans said softly, "I am not God-forsaken. I have a god. And he has actively responded to me."

Then, he swiped fiercely with his claws. The sharp claws left a deep, bone-visible gash on the black werewolf’s chest.

The black werewolf, enraged, kicked Hans away. It panted as it climbed to its feet. "Damned beast! A little two-meter wolf! I’ll teach you to respect your elders!"

Hans stood up, completely unharmed. Unlike this world’s werewolves, his transformation had a time limit, but he didn’t lose his sanity, nor did he follow any principle of "bigger means better."

The next moment, the two werewolves were once again locked in a tangled fight. They had abandoned all civilized forms of combat, resorting instead to their most barbaric claws and teeth, using every means possible to try and kill each other.

The black werewolf was astonished to find that this white werewolf, Hans, though so much smaller than itself, possessed even more terrifying strength. Initially, it could still gain a temporary upper hand with its superior fighting skills.

But as time passed, this white werewolf seemed to become increasingly familiar with its lupine form, figuring out how to fight with claws and teeth. Though merely a clumsy imitator at first, it grew stronger and tougher with each passing moment.

The black werewolf watched, helpless, as it was step by step overpowered by Hans. Until, Hans’s sharp, double rows of teeth sank into its neck.

’Crack—’

In the werewolf’s eyes, the lizard-like, yellowish-brown vertical pupils gradually lost their light. Its lips twitched, and it whispered softly, "Lilith... my world... is all dark."

Hans, his wolfish head bloodied, raised it high, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. He looked at the bright moon. Then, he let out a long, melodious howl!

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