A Werewolf

Gris sat quietly in his room, finally able to relax after receiving treatment for his wounds. It dawned on him why Blayz wielded more power than even the influential church, especially in the aftermath of the first apocalypse wave.

The healing potion that Blayz made was extraordinary. Its real effects could be seen in just a few minutes.

After applying the healing lotion, the one-centimeter wound on Gris's lip disappeared instantly. A laceration would have left a scar, but there was none.

Blayz's brilliance was undeniable; no exaggeration. Yet, a darker aspect of his character lurked: he did not hesitate to test his product samples on those unfortunate humans affected by the Doomsday events.

"I should take advantage of him," Gris muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

Gris possessed a warm ivory complexion, complemented by a chiseled jawline, a sharp nose, and thin lips. His light blue eyes, devoid of joy, contrasted with his shiny gray hair, catching the light effortlessly.

Standing tall with a slender frame, Gris lacked bulging muscles but maintained a toned physique. His calloused palms bore witness to his frequent use of the shovel, a tool employed in his gloomy hobby of digging graves.

Driven by grief over his mother's passing, Gris delved into dark experimentation, turning to necromancy on the stolen corpses.

"Looks like I must train my body before going to the academy."

Necromancers and mages typically prioritized honing their magical abilities over physical prowess. Their dedication to mastering magic often rendered them formidable despite lacking physical strength.

Yet, Gris cared to build up his physical strength because he was not a mage who could acquire mana in various ways. His affinity was death; the dark energy he needed for his magic could only be gained from dead souls.

Another reason was that Gris recalled what happened in the Forest of Death, delaying him from checking the system.

Flashback

After killing the girl and the boy, Gris set out to find the map needed to get to the exit gate. And just as he had expected, the other children ran into him because they were also looking for the map.

"Hey, look who we have here!" A blonde boy with freckles on his face exclaimed upon seeing Gris. "He's the crazy kid from the Oleander Pavilion!"

The Silverth family residence had been filled with rumors about the insane kid who wished to bring his dead mother back to life. Almost all of the children were familiar with those rumors.

But they did not know his name because they had only heard rumors. Hence, they usually called Gris 'The boy from Oleander Pavilion.'

The blonde spoke again. "He never took any classes and only focused on his failed experiments. We can defeat him if we work together!"

The two boys beside him looked doubtful. They were not blind. The crimson hue staining Gris's hands and feet was unmistakably blood.

Gris stood tall before them while holding a dagger; in his left hand was a crossbow.

If he looked fine when his body was splattered with blood, it could only mean one thing. He had successfully killed his opponents.

"Don't be impulsive," the auburn-haired boy seemed to be wiser. He looked straight at Gris, asking, "Hey, do you want to join us?"

The blonde did not accept the idea of Gris joining their alliance. "We don't need weaklings!"

"Roldan is right. People who aren't as strong as us will only be a burden," the other boy said. His dark black eyes spread out hatred for Gris.

Roldan was pleased that Anrod shared the same thought. At this point, Daylen should agree with them.

However, Daylen still wanted to invite Gris. "You're alone, right? It will be easier if we work together."

"Daylen, you've lost your mind!" Roldan cursed. "We've been desperately learning the sword techniques for five years. Why should we take on a kid who doesn't practice as hard as we do?"

The dispute caused Gris to let out a rough breath. He then laughed softly, which caught their attention.

The first to be triggered was Roldan. "What are you laughing at?!"

"Who else?" Gris replied, raising his crossbow. "I don't want to join an alliance with internal conflict issues."

Roldan narrowed his eyes as Gris aimed the crossbow at him.

"What is this? You want to shoot me, huh? I guarantee you won't dare. You can only beat weak people. If it were me—"

Schlak!

In the silence, a 'splat' sound accompanied the arrowhead piercing into soft flesh.

Roldan cracked up as the arrow stuck in his stomach. He quickly withdrew it. "I've been practicing hard all this time. You think your weak attack can hurt me?"

"Yes, it can if I apply poison to the arrowhead."

The answer made Roldan's scornful expression disappear. His porcelain skin turned pale. Soon after, he let out a painful scream that echoed across the forest.

Daylen and Anrod watched in terror as Roldan's skin took on a sickly purple hue. Helpless, they could only witness their friend crumple to the ground.

If only they had stumbled upon an antidote for the poison, they might have spared Roldan's life. But the reality was that poisons and their remedies were rare treasures, far from easy to obtain.

Gris was lucky to find the poison. The opponents Daylen and Anrod faced never used poison, so they had low expectations of Gris having one.

"We underestimated him too much," Daylen stopped staring at Roldan and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

Anrod had also been in a set position to attack Gris. "Be careful with the dagger. He must have spread poison to it."

Daylen and Anrod were ready to strike Gris. They both lunged at the exact moment. Yet, the abrupt appearance of someone forced them to stop.

That was Alaric Silverth, with thick raven hair and piercing jade eyes. Everyone in the Silverth family residence knew him because his identity was unique; he was a werewolf.

Alaric appeared out of nowhere. Daylen and Anrod were leaping in the air when he kicked them.

"Thanks to your noisy friend, I've found new prey!" Alaric exclaimed, glancing at the dead Roldan.

He peeked at Gris briefly while waiting for Daylen and Anrod to stand up. Gris was warily staring back at him.

'Isn't he Gris from the Oleander Pavilion? The one who killed the blonde boy, huh?'

Alaric was interested in what happened before he came there, but Daylen and Anrod had gotten up.

"You two want to fight me? Fine. I will not hold back."

Alaric took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked tense, his breathing was heavy, and his eyes twitched as an odd power began to take hold of him.

He felt his flesh and bones shift. His skin started to prickle, and it sounded like his bones were crushing. An unbearable pain pierced his body.

Meanwhile, his hands gradually turned into sharp claws, and his nails grew long. Both of his legs lengthened and became strong.

Alaric closed his eyes, trying to endure this transformation. Finally, he opened his eyes, and sharp jade eyes flashed in the darkness.

With lightning speed, he leaped toward Daylen and Anrod. Before they could slash their swords, he had already ripped their bodies apart with his claws.

In the entire forest, the two boys' cries could be heard. Gris watched as Alaric brutally tore their bodies apart. Secretly, he was amazed and fearsome as well because this was the first time he had seen a werewolf.

It was a blood-pumping scene and incredible to watch. However, Alaric was going to target Gris next. Therefore, he had better flee at this point.

'I'm unlucky to have met Alaric. He's going to be Gris's supporter in the future. But now we are enemies!'

Gris understood when to retreat. Instead of being arrogant, it was better to give up and look for another opportunity.

Suddenly, arrows whizzed past him from both sides, catching him off guard mid-stride. Bracing himself for the imminent danger, he knew he had to prepare for the worst as the number of enemies had multiplied.