The Vesper Knights pressed on toward Yubi City, their banners catching the wind as they marched along the well-worn roads. Each step carried a weight of urgency, for whispers of unrest and hidden dangers filled their ears.
Same as usual, Toby rode with Reu, perched a little awkwardly in the saddle as the horse clopped along the dirt road. Reu, holding the reins with ease, cast him a sidelong glance.
"Seriously now, Toby, you really need to learn how to ride a horse. One day you won't have me to lean on, and if that day comes, you'll regret not knowing how to handle yourself."
Toby stretched lazily, as though the idea weighed nothing at all. "I don't think so, Reu. As long as you're here, I feel there's no need to learn yet. You ride better than anyone, so why should I put myself through the misery of sore legs and falling off when I can trust you?"
Reu sighed, shaking his head, though a small smirk tugged at his lips. "You're hopeless."
From behind, Brea leaned forward with a teasing grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You two are adorable together, you know that? Like an old married couple bickering over chores."
Reu's face went crimson, and he snapped his head back toward her. "Don't you dare say another word, Brea!" His shout echoed down the road, startling a flock of birds from the nearby trees, while Toby just chuckled, clearly enjoying every second of his friend's flustered outburst.
Meanwhile, far away from their path, Lady Morwen traveled by wagon with two loyal lycans at her side. The creaking of the wooden wheels and the rhythm of hooves on dirt were the only sounds as the forest gave way to plains.
One of the lycans broke the silence."Lady Morwen," he asked cautiously, "why is Alfonso Aurelios spoken of with such reverence among our kind? Why does his name matter so much to us?"
Morwen's golden eyes drifted to the horizon, her voice softening with memory. "Because, once, Alfonso Aurelios was the only man who dared to treat us as more than beasts. He stood with us at Wulfsar, in Siralab Province, when I was just a child."
Her mind slipped back to those haunting days. She remembered the shadows of the forest, the fear etched into every face. Lycans were driven deep into hiding, treated as vermin. Men hunted them for sport, trophies, and cruel amusement. "We lived in constant terror," Morwen continued, her voice edged with sorrow. "My father, a leader of vision, sought peace above all. But when humans came with fire and steel, he forbade us to fight back. Many died. Those days… we called them the 'Dark Days.'"
Her hands clenched against her knees, recalling the smell of blood and the cries of the fallen. "Then Alfonso came. As magistrate of Grimholt City, he passed laws granting us the right to live beyond the forests. He gave us Ironford, a home alongside men. For the first time, hope touched our people."
One of the lycans lowered his head. "But it did not last."
"No," Morwen admitted, bitterness lacing her tone. "Ironford was shared with quarry workers, men who feared and hated us. Wat Tyler himself lived there with his kin. Violence never ceased. Alfonso tried, but his dream of unity failed. My father and his human ally believed Ironford could be different… but it remained only a dream."
Her voice hardened. "Many humans felt abandoned, believing Alfonso favored us over them. And Wat Tyler… he lost his family and blamed Alfonso for it. Now he seeks vengeance. His hate burns deeper than fire."
The wagon jolted as they neared the edge of Hollow Village. But all thoughts of the past vanished when smoke filled their noses and firelight stained the sky. Flames roared from houses, sparks dancing against the black night. They leapt from the wagon and ran forward, only to find death waiting.
Bodies of men lay scattered across the dirt, their weapons still clenched in stiff hands. They were no helpless villagers—they were fighters. Morwen's sharp gaze caught sight of a figure gasping for breath among the wounded. She rushed forward and knelt. It was Headman Andros, bloodied and broken.
"Headman!" she called urgently, cradling him. "Who did this?"
His eyes fluttered weakly. With the last of his strength, he whispered, "A paladin captain… and Wat Tyler…" before coughing blood.
The two lycans wasted no time, darting through the burning homes with desperate urgency. They tore through flaming doorways, their powerful claws ripping apart fallen timbers to uncover trapped villagers. With smoke stinging their eyes and sparks searing their fur, they dragged survivors out from beneath collapsed beams and shattered walls, carrying children clinging to their necks and elders who could no longer walk.
Their ears twitched at every cry, every muffled sob beneath the roar of fire, and they answered each one with fearless determination. When they finally returned, their once-proud coats now blackened with soot and streaked with ash, they stood before Morwen, panting heavily yet resolute. One spoke, his voice rough but steady: "We saved who we could. Many still live, though the village is scarred beyond recognition."
Morwen rose slowly, her body trembling with fury so fierce it seemed the earth itself quivered with her. A guttural growl ripped from her chest as sinew stretched and flesh tore, the sound of snapping bones echoing like drumbeats in the fire‑lit night. Her spine arched, her limbs elongated, claws pushing free with a sickening crack as she surrendered to the primal beast within.
The transformation was agonizing yet glorious, every motion a testament to her wrath. When at last it ended, she stood towering in her werewolf form—her silver‑white fur shimmering like molten light against the backdrop of burning houses, her eyes twin furnaces of golden rage that cut through smoke and ash. Her fangs bared, saliva hissing as it struck the flames below, she leveled her gaze toward the forest. With a snarl that shook the very air, she spat his name like a curse: "I will never forget the stench of that man… Wat Tyler!"
The two lycans transformed beside her, growls rolling from their throats. Together, they lowered their snouts to the ground, tracking his scent through smoke and ash. Morwen's ears twitched as she caught the trail. "My nose never lies. He is close. It is him."
They dashed into the dense forest, weaving between trees with supernatural speed. Branches whipped past, the earth trembling beneath their strides. The trail led them to a clearing, where the moonlight poured like silver across the grass.
There stood Wat Tyler, cruel as ever, his blade glinting. Beside him knelt an old man, his head bowed, frail hands bound—Alfonso Aurelios himself. Morwen froze for only an instant before rage ripped from her throat.
"WAT TYLER!" she roared, her voice echoing through the forest. "You bastard!"
Wat Tyler turned slowly, a twisted grin stretching his scarred face. "The white dog herself," he sneered. "You finally came."
Morwen's claws flexed, her voice a guttural growl. "Let him go, Wat. Release Alfonso, or face me."
Wat's laugh was sharp, bitter. "I think not. I searched too long to find him. His life is mine to take. His debt must be paid in blood."
Morwen's hackles rose. "Then you leave me no choice. I endured your slaughter of my kin. I bore your hatred. But I will not allow you to slay the man who gave us a chance at life."
Wat's grin widened. "AHAHAHA! You think that old fool cared about you? You know nothing, Morwen."
She narrowed her glowing eyes. "What do you mean, Wat?"
The two lycans behind her exchanged glances, startled by the way Wat spoke—as if he and Morwen shared a history she had kept from them. Morwen glanced back, her voice firm. "You two—free Alfonso. I will deal with Wat."
They nodded, readying themselves. Wat shifted his gaze to Rickstar, who stood not far behind him, his armor dimmed by soot and battle. "Rickstar," Wat said coldly, "hold off those two dogs."
Rickstar's jaw tightened. "I will try," he muttered, though his eyes betrayed hesitation.
As Wat and Morwen stepped toward one another, the tension cracked like thunder, sharp enough to split the air. Every heartbeat seemed to echo in the clearing, the silence between them heavy with years of blood, betrayal, and unspoken truths.
The moonlight gleamed against Morwen's silver fur, every strand shimmering as if the heavens themselves crowned her. She towered over him, her massive shadow swallowing his form, and when she finally spoke, her guttural voice rolled like a distant storm gathering strength over blackened seas.
"You've left me no path but this, Wat," she growled, each word laced with sorrow as much as fury, as though she were mourning the fight even as she welcomed it.
Wat clinched his fists tightly, smirking with venom. "Then come, white wolf. Tonight we see whose truth survives."