Chapter 8: A Wonderful Night

Bang!

The blast of the shotgun erupted, and the spray of pellets blew the werewolf's head apart.

"Lost lamb, return to the embrace of the Lord," Rod muttered as he slowly reached out his hand.

Sacrifice!

In a flash of light, the werewolf's body vanished. Rod felt a surge of power flow into him, though it wasn't as significant as the last time. Clearly, the stronger he became, the more energy it took to further increase his strength. The same sacrifices now provided diminishing returns.

Rod holstered his gun.

The group of militia who had just witnessed Rod easily dispatch a werewolf looked on with expressions of shock, fear, and disbelief.

A powerful werewolf, taken down so effortlessly?

The militia could hardly believe what they had just seen, as if they were in a dream.

"Can I go in now?" Rod asked, noticing the mix of awe and reverence in their eyes. He wasn't surprised. In this world, people revered strength. In peaceful times, people might fear and shun his power. But for villagers whose lives were threatened by werewolves, his appearance marked him as a savior who could rescue them from their grim fate.

"Please, come in!" the militia leader responded quickly, leading his men to move the barricades aside, their eyes filled with caution and respect as they watched Rod.

Finally, unable to hold back his curiosity, the militia leader asked, "Are you the legendary demon hunter... Constantine?"

Constantine?

Rod paused for a moment but didn't deny it. He knew nothing about this world, and if assuming this identity would help him blend in better, then he would go with it.

Seeing that Rod didn't refute the assumption, the militia exchanged excited glances.

Demon Hunter Constantine—a name that echoed across the southern continent. A renowned hunter of powerful monsters. If this man truly was Constantine, their village was saved.

"Where are the werewolves?"

"Where are they?!"

"Kill those damned werewolves!"

Just then, the loud clamor of villagers erupted from the street. Carrying torches and pitchforks, they rushed over in a frenzy. But all they found was a handful of militia and an unfamiliar outsider.

"Didn't you sound the alarm? Where's the werewolf?" a man in his fifties, with a stern expression, stepped forward from the crowd and demanded.

"Mayor, there was a werewolf, but it's already been killed," the militia leader said excitedly.

"Killed?" The mayor's face froze in surprise. Though he didn't say anything, his eyes were full of doubt. These guys killed a werewolf? Do they think I'm a fool?

"Mayor, this is the famous demon hunter, Constantine. He's the one who killed the werewolf," the militia leader explained, leading the mayor over to Rod.

"Constantine? The legendary demon hunter?"

The villagers murmured amongst themselves, some gazing at Rod with a mix of doubt and fervent hope. Most of them, however, were excited. The presence of werewolves had kept this village in constant fear. While werewolves did have weaknesses, they became uncontrollably dangerous when starving. The village had been losing people regularly, and it was only a matter of time before it was wiped out.

If this outsider was really Constantine, then they might finally be saved.

As the militia bragged about how easily Rod had taken down the werewolf, the previously skeptical villagers slowly began to believe. After all, with so many people saying the same thing, it couldn't be a lie, right?

"Mr. Constantine, you must save our village! We'll give you everything we have of value!" The villagers surrounded Rod, pleading with him fervently.

Feeling slightly awkward in the midst of their enthusiasm, Rod glanced toward the mayor, only to notice that the mayor's expression wasn't as welcoming. In fact, he seemed displeased by Rod's presence.

Interesting.

"Looks like this village has plenty of secrets," Rod muttered under his breath.

Escorted by the villagers, he was brought to the finest inn in the village to stay the night.

"Mr. Constantine, it's already late. Please rest here tonight. As for clearing out the rest of the werewolves, we can deal with that tomorrow," the innkeeper, a middle-aged man, said warmly.

"This is the best room we have, and I'll send someone over with food shortly."

"I don't have any money," Rod admitted, somewhat helplessly. He didn't have the local currency of this world.

"You killed a werewolf. That makes you the hero of our village. Everything here is free for you, as long as you help us eliminate the werewolves outside the village," the innkeeper replied earnestly.

As he spoke, a sly grin spread across his face—a grin all men understood.

"Mr. Constantine, you must be tired. Make sure to enjoy this wonderful night."