Five corpses were scattered along the alleyway.
Among them stood the hooded figure, looking over the bodies
With the hunters dead, the hooded figure removed their hood, revealing a young man with dark-brown skin, curly hair that landed just above his neck, dull gray eyes, and a mid-muscular physique with slightly above-average height. His facial expression looked exhausted but rageful.
He looked to be in his late teens, or maybe early twenties.
He wasn't sure. A side effect of losing his memories as a child.
Fenris was his name. A lone wolf.
He observed the scene and played back the entire confrontation.
"Fakes," Fenris said, puffing slightly. "That's all they could be. The way they attacked was uncoordinated. Not to mention, they didn't seem trained in the least."
Fenris stared at his palm. It had healed with no problem.
"They weren't laced with wolfsbane."
"The scam earlier with the liquid and the girl was suspicious, but this just confirms it.".
Fenris knelt and looted the bodies. They might have been fakes, but maybe they had something useful on them.
He stopped, not because he felt guilt over any he had knifed.
He sniffed the air more than once. Something had traveled through it. Little gray flasks, with a burnt and familiar scent.
"Death," Fenris whispered. Human ash, to be more specific. It was the girl. It had to be.
"She burned faster than I thought she would. But how? Does this town have pyromancers?"
It didn't matter. Fenris closed his eyes and listened. Footsteps. None heading in his direction—yet.
But given enough time, they would. The execution of the innocent girl would have gathered the attention of most, if not all, of the town. Not that it was over—
He had to leave.
He stood, but then stopped, taking a look at his clothes.
"Damn it," Fenris cursed. They were blood-soaked. Not that he minded. He had spilled too much blood for it to be a bother now.
But the people just outside the alley might react differently.
He looked to the sky. It was dim, but not dark. He couldn't even feel the moon.
And he'd rather avoid killing people if he could.
While lost in thought, his eyes landed on the dead.
"Maybe I can salvage this situation," Fenris said, breathing heavily.
Silver chains were worn as accessories around his neck and wrists.
His eyes were fixed on it, filled with rage and disgust.
"Another one of you destroyed. Soon all of you will be wiped from this world," the man said.
"Hey, buddy, I'm here for my payment," a voice said.
The old man turned to his back and found Fenris— in a clucky and rusted armor set.
The old man observed Fenris for a moment longer.
"I don't remember seeing you with the others."
"Well then, your old age must be getting to you. I was with them. And I'm here to collect payment. So are you and I going to have a problem?"
Fenris frowned as he extended his arm, expecting something to be placed in it.
The two stood in a stalemate. Fenris didn't break eye contact.
'Come on. Take the bluff,' Fenris thought.
The old man let out a slight sigh of defeat and placed a gold coin into Fenris's palm. Fenris looked disappointed.
"What is it, son? Expecting silver instead?" the old man asked.
"Actually, I was."
The superstition of silver being a weakness of werewolves had made it more valuable than gold as currency.
The old man scoffed. "Your group only killed one werewolf. Take it or leave it."
Fenris pocketed the coin. There was no more use in arguing.
"I need something else."
"Didn't you hear me? You're not getting anything else!" the old man snapped.
"Calm yourself, old one," Fenris said, raising a hand. "I need a mage. A Blessed One or a Faith who specializes in travel will do just fine."
The old man clicked his tongue.
"No respect for a fellow hunter, I see."
The old man wasn't wrong. Hunters, or rather former hunters who were too old to fight, were given the role of silverbacks. If one didn't wish to leave the Hunter's Guild, they could serve by doing menial tasks such as polishing armor, passing on information, or, in this case, paying hunters what they were owed.
Fenris stared into the man's eyes without saying anything, clearly not giving a damn.
The silverback huffed and pointed behind Fenris, a vein popping out on his forehead.
"Look for the tallest building in town. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for."
"Now, was that so hard?" Fenris said, smirking mockingly. He left the silverback stewing in his anger.
The smile faded as Fenris walked away. He wanted whatever satisfaction he could get, but what would have truly satisfied him was ripping that hunter's throat out.
It didn't take too long for Fenris to find the building. It was definitely the tallest in the town. In fact it was the only building in this town that seemed maintained.
Everything else was just sticks and stones poorly wrapped together, worn and burned by the weather. The building Fenris stood in front of, however, seemed to be made of molded stone, able to withstand this nation's climate.
Banners of the flame god Pyros hung from every side. Fenris stood at the front door, observing the handle.
There were no wolfsbane branches on the knob. Fenris eased himself.
Nearing the door, he looked for anything that could help him. He saw stalls clamped together from many businesses. Magical ones—blacksmithing, jewelry construction—and non-magical ones: healing potions, charms, runes, and more.
Fenris didn't ask for directions on where he needed to go. He listened. Closing his eyes, clusters of voices and vibrations crashed into his ears, making nonsense of it all.
He had to filter them, only for words he deemed useful. Magic was the word that took priority.
He found two conversations that piqued his interest. One about a Faith who specialized in travel on the floor above, and the other about a spellbook compartment not too far from here.
He could've gone to the Faith first. After all, that was one of the reasons he came to this town, but not the only reason.
Locating the door of the spellbook shop, he passed through it and sneezed immediately, an irritation scratching at his throat.
Dust.
Looking around the stacks of books, it seemed no one had been here for some time. He found another old man in robes behind a counter, resting his face on his palm, his eyes closed.
'Two old men in one day,' Fenris thought, surprised. Fenris's observation wasn't that unusual. After all, commoners barely made it past fifty, especially those in small towns such as this.
Fenris banged on the wall, creating an echoing sound that woke the mage.
Startled, the old mage stumbled as he spotted Fenris, his expression shifting to excitement.
"Welcome! Welcome!" he greeted. "There are many books in my shop, fitting for the most powerful and talented of mages. Now tell me, which are you? A Faith, or a Blessed One?"