The cold night air wrapped around the quiet border outpost. Only the crackling of the campfire filled the silence as Captain Muller stood before his unit, his expression firm. Leonhardt stood beside Alistair, arms crossed, listening to the orders about to be given.
"Listen up," Muller began, his voice steady. "We're splitting up to investigate. There's no sign of enemy forces yet, but we can't take any chances."
He took a step forward, scanning each of them. "Leonhardt and Alistair, you'll investigate the church. The graveyard is right next to it, so check that area as well."
Reiner and Garrick exchanged glances before Muller turned to them. "You two will scout the village for any signs of struggle or survivors. If anything feels off, regroup immediately."
"And I'll take the watchtower," Muller continued. "No one gets in or out of this village without my knowing."
Sylvaine leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed. "And me?"
"You'll search the forest alone," Muller said. "You're the best at moving unnoticed. If anything is lurking out there, I want you to find it."
She smirked slightly. "Understood."
Muller's eyes swept over his unit once more. "No heroics. We don't know what we're dealing with yet. Stay sharp and report back if you find anything unusual."
With that, the unit dispersed.
---
Leonhardt and Alistair walked toward the church, passing through the graveyard. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, but something else lingered—a faint, unpleasant stench. As they moved deeper between the rows of tombstones, Alistair suddenly tensed.
"…Do you feel that?" the old mage muttered.
Leonhardt narrowed his eyes. He wasn't magically inclined, but even he could sense an eerie presence hanging in the air.
The ground ahead was disturbed. Several graves had been dug up, their coffins broken open. Pieces of corpses were scattered around, torn apart by something with inhuman strength.
"This isn't just desecration…" Alistair said grimly. "Some of these bodies have been eaten."
Leonhardt exhaled slowly. He had seen death before, but this was different.
As they neared the church's entrance, Alistair's hand suddenly shot out, gripping Leonhardt's shoulder.
"Move."
Leonhardt instinctively ducked as a blur of movement shot past him. A cloaked figure lunged from the shadows, aiming straight for him. Leonhardt rolled aside and drew his sword in one smooth motion, slashing at the attacker. His blade cut through fabric but met no flesh.
The cloak tore away, revealing a monstrous sight beneath.
A werewolf.
Its glowing yellow eyes locked onto Leonhardt, muscles tense, but something was off—it wasn't attacking recklessly. It hesitated.
Alistair quickly analyzed the situation. "Hold back. It's not fully feral."
Leonhardt hesitated for only a moment before sheathing his sword. If this thing wasn't attacking at full force, then it meant something.
He clenched his fists. "Fine. Hand-to-hand it is."
The werewolf snarled and lunged again. Leonhardt stepped to the side, dodging its claws before delivering a crushing punch to its ribs. The beast staggered, but recovered fast. It swiped at him, and he barely avoided the sharp claws, countering with a knee to its gut.
Leonhardt moved with precision, striking at its weak points, wearing it down. The werewolf fought back viciously, but its movements weren't as wild as a normal beast—it was as if it was holding back.
A final, well-placed strike sent the creature crashing to the ground. Leonhardt quickly pinned it down, breathing hard.
Alistair knelt beside them, pulling the werewolf's tattered clothing aside to reveal something etched into its skin. A seal.
"…It's cursed," Alistair muttered. "Someone did this to him."
Leonhardt's eyes darkened. This mission was no longer just about investigating missing villagers.
Something far worse was at play.
Leonhardt and Alistair exchanged glances, their breaths still heavy from the fight. The unconscious werewolf beneath Leonhardt remained still, its body trembling slightly.
"This isn't just some random attack," Alistair said grimly. "Whoever did this turned the villagers into these creatures."
Leonhardt clenched his fists. "Then we need to find Captain Muller and the others—now."
With no time to waste, they rushed out of the graveyard, heading back toward the village square. The moment they reached the open streets, Leonhardt's instincts screamed at him.
A deafening howl shattered the night.
From the rooftops and alleyways, shadows moved. Glowing yellow eyes peered from the darkness. One by one, werewolves emerged, their claws scraping against the stone and dirt.
Then came the realization—these weren't just monsters. They were the missing villagers.
Before Leonhardt could react, a group of them lunged forward, aiming straight for him and Alistair.
"Damn it," Leonhardt growled, drawing his sword, but just as he was about to strike, something stopped him.
They're still people.
A split second before his blade could cut into the first werewolf, he twisted his wrist, striking with the flat side instead. The impact sent the creature flying backward, but it was still breathing.
"Don't kill them!" Leonhardt roared. "They're still the villagers!"
A few meters away, Captain Muller, Reiner, and Garrick emerged from their own battles.
"We figured that out already!" Muller barked, dodging a clawed swipe before countering with a heavy punch. His gauntlet-clad fist cracked against the werewolf's skull, sending it tumbling across the dirt.
Reiner fought with his usual aggressive style, but instead of going for the kill, he adjusted his attacks—using blunt strikes to disable rather than destroy. He slammed the hilt of his greatsword into a werewolf's jaw, knocking it unconscious in one brutal motion.
Garrick moved in tandem with him, his defensive style proving invaluable as he used his shield to bash back another attacker, sending it crashing against a wooden post.
Alistair, meanwhile, had his own approach. With swift hand movements, he conjured glowing runes mid-air. A shimmering barrier expanded around him, forcing the attacking werewolves back. With another flick of his hand, magical chains emerged, wrapping around the limbs of the closest one, pinning it to the ground without harming it.
Leonhardt fought with pure technique, ducking under swipes, weaving between lunges. He caught an incoming claw with his bare hand, twisting the werewolf's wrist before flipping it over his shoulder, slamming it into the ground with a heavy thud.
More werewolves poured from the alleyways, their howls merging into a horrifying chorus. The unit tightened their formation, back to back.
"This isn't good," Reiner muttered. "We can't hold back forever."
Leonhardt exhaled sharply, glancing at Alistair. "Can you do something about that curse?"
Alistair gritted his teeth. "Not in the middle of a damn battle!"
Captain Muller grunted as he threw another werewolf over his shoulder. "Then we need to find whoever's behind this—now."
Leonhardt's eyes flickered toward the church in the distance.
Something told him the answers were waiting inside.
TO BE CONTINUED....
End of Chapter 11.