Chapter 39: Wrapping Up

(PS: This chapter is not suitable for animal rights activists, bleeding hearts, those who are generous with others' sacrifices, one-sided disarmament advocates, fans of Twilight-style Mary Sues, or people who aren't good at thinking critically. This list may grow, depending on just how foolish humanity can get.)

Solomon leaned out of the car window, making sure the chatty driver didn't come back prematurely.

The nearest vending machine was over 200 meters away, in a rundown residential area mostly inhabited by fishermen. Solomon's target lived here.

It was still daylight. The streets in the neighborhood were mostly barren of trees, with patches of yellow and green grass. Clearly, the residents didn't have the time or inclination to care for their lawns. Old tires, empty beer cans, and dilapidated RVs were scattered between the houses, with weeds growing up to the axles. As Solomon got out of the car, he stepped on a large bolt hidden in the grass, rusting away in this desolate sea.

A light spring breeze rustled through the chaotic yard, causing a rusty, dilapidated swing set to creak softly, shedding bits of red rust in the process.

There weren't many people around, which suited Solomon just fine. After spotting his target exiting the house, he sent the driver away to ensure no one witnessed the upcoming battle.

After the Collins family disappeared from the town, their British relatives swiftly took over the fishing industry, as if they had been prepared all along. And after Barnabas was petrified, the local police suddenly realized the need to investigate the pile of unsolved murder cases.

Perhaps due to the sheer number of cases, the police didn't want to make a big scene, fearing accusations of negligence. Instead of sealing off streets or interrogating suspects, they opted for quieter investigations, hoping to gradually downplay the crimes.

Solomon's actions in hunting vampires and werewolves had attracted some attention, which is why he hired the local driver to help navigate the backstreets and avoid unnecessary eyes. He kicked the bolt out of his way and casually followed the werewolf in front of him.

The werewolf, a typical fisherman, had graying hair, sun-weathered skin, and wore a crumpled dark plaid shirt, as wrinkled as his face. Wood, as he was called, habitually walked close to the walls, even stepping sideways down the stairs as he left his house.

It was likely a professional habit, but as he prepared to leave the neighborhood, Solomon's unfamiliar face finally caught his attention. Not to mention, Solomon's attire wasn't something ordinary people wore. Anyone with a keen eye could see that the seven silver chains adorning Solomon's sacred relic robe were quite expensive.

Wood was someone with such an eye.

Once Solomon was spotted, he gave up trying to follow discreetly and boldly approached. But before he could speak, the werewolf beat him to it.

Squinting his wind-reddened eyes, Wood sized up the young mage and rasped, his voice gravelly from years of inhaling smoke. "What's a little lord like you doing here? Nothing fun around these parts, and this ain't a place you should be."

"I want to talk to you," Solomon gestured toward a secluded corner. "Come with me."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed over. Wood glanced around, hesitated for a moment, and then followed. Solomon's vintage attire reminded him of the witches from fairy tales. Ever since Angelique vanished, he had cut off contact with his fellow werewolves. Otherwise, he would've noticed that the werewolves in town were gradually disappearing.

"What do you want, kid? Make it quick," Wood growled impatiently after they reached the back of the house. "I've got work to do, no time for kids' games."

"You're not going anywhere, Mr. Wood," Solomon replied after confirming they were alone. "I'm sorry, but I can't let any werewolf leave here alive."

All it took was a single bite for the werewolf's filthy saliva to pass on the curse of lycanthropy. Under the full moon, a new werewolf would emerge, and the cycle would continue.

This was something that could not be tolerated.

"You're a wizard? Damn it! I knew it. Wizards are freaks!" Wood snarled. "Look, I haven't been in touch with the other werewolves for a long time, okay? I never wanted to work for Angelique. What could I do? I was born a werewolf! My father was too! So was my grandfather! If I didn't work for her, I'd be dead!

And Angelique's been gone for thirty-one years! I finally broke free! Now, I'm just an ordinary fisherman! I fish to support my family, save up for my kids' education, I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wood. Whatever your reasons, being a werewolf in this world is an original sin," Solomon said coldly. "I can't guarantee that you won't bite anyone, or that your children won't become werewolves."

Wood panicked and spread his hands, "Hey, listen, I've never bitten anyone, I swear! My kids aren't werewolves either! I'd rather sell my soul to the devil than let my kids become werewolves."

Having worked for Angelique, Wood knew the terrifying power of witches. Even werewolves feared the power and cruelty of that witch.

According to their elders, Angelique had lived for over two hundred years, staying young and powerful throughout. Wood suspected that the wizard in front of him was the same—young in appearance, but likely much older.

"I'll investigate that myself," Solomon wasn't swayed by Wood's plea. "But you must die here. I'm not some rogue like Angelique. I come from Kamar-Taj, and your existence violates the laws of the Sorcerer Supreme."

"Fck! Fck! I didn't do anything!" Wood cursed as he quietly edged closer to Solomon.

Magic required chanting, and the best way to stop a wizard was to close the distance quickly and interrupt their spell.

This was the plan his forefathers had devised when they wanted to resist Angelique, though they never got the chance before she disappeared. Now, however, the plan might finally prove useful.

"Bang!" A heavy thud of flesh hitting the ground echoed as the werewolf's head was slammed into the grass, bounced up, and then smashed down again, leaving a shallow dent in the ground.

The sudden blow left Wood dizzy, almost knocking him unconscious. He hadn't even had the chance to transform before being taken down. Solomon's Tiger Descends the Mountain strike had given him a concussion. Wood's vision swam, everything blurred, and a ringing filled his ears. Despite his efforts to breathe, he couldn't even lift his arms.

"All sins are mine to bear," Solomon muttered as he relaxed his stance. He stepped forward, planting his foot on the werewolf's neck, using his toe to pin Wood's jaw, ensuring the werewolf couldn't lift his head to bite his ankle.

The mage leaned down, placing his palm on the werewolf's temple. "Goodbye, Mr. Wood."

"Ugh… cough…" But Wood didn't hear what Solomon was saying, nor did Solomon wait for a response. He pulled a small dagger from his waist, pressing its sharp edge against the side of Wood's head.

"Goodbye, Mr. Wood," he repeated before driving his other hand down hard on the dagger's hilt. The gleaming blade sank into the werewolf's temple in an instant.

Solomon felt the werewolf beneath him twitch a few times before going still. He pulled out the dagger, wiped the blade clean on Wood's shirt, and returned it to its sheath.

This was the weakest werewolf he had ever hunted.

"Wasn't it boring sitting here?" The driver asked as he returned to the car with a bottle of beer and a bottle of Coke. Clearly, he had stopped somewhere other than the vending machine. He handed the cold Coke to Solomon, who was sitting in the passenger seat. "Here, ice cold."

Solomon popped the tab and clinked his can against the driver's.

"Cheers! Damn, that hits the spot!" The driver downed half his beer and then asked Solomon, "So, where to next?"

"Wherever. The job's done." Solomon exhaled and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

He hadn't just killed one werewolf.

How could the werewolf's child be an ordinary person?

(PS: Please give a recommendation! One last note—lycanthropy is incurable, even Wish can't cure it. For those who want the protagonist to use Wish to cure the werewolves, it's impossible. The curse of lycanthropy triggers uncontrollable, violent rampages, much like what you see with werewolves in Harry Potter. Once bitten, a person has to pass a DC 12 Constitution saving throw to avoid becoming a werewolf. Most people have a Constitution modifier of 0, meaning there's about a 60% chance they'll turn.

Of course, this is assuming they survive the werewolf attack and aren't torn to shreds first.

And for those comparing it to COVID... COVID can at least be cured. Lycanthropy cannot.

If anyone can't stand this and thinks the protagonist is too ruthless, believing werewolves are just stronger humans... well, I hope the innocent people bitten by werewolves can forgive them, too. After all, it's easy to speak from the safety of the shore, but things change when you're the one getting bitten. You'll probably be wondering why no one killed the werewolves sooner.

It seems

 some people enjoy being kind at others' expense, ignoring their safety to satisfy their own bleeding heart. The protagonist's humanity is for humans.)

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