CHAPTER 6
THE WEREWOLF
Mark trotted into the small farming village on his trusty white horse. He had been on his way to the town of Ikronion, hoping to find some work. As he entered the village's dusty road, he spotted a middle-aged woman sobbing inconsolably. A few others surrounded her, trying to offer comfort. "My little boy!" she cried. "My little Greg!"
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Mark said, approaching them. "What happened to your son?"
"He was slain by the beast!" the woman managed to say between sobs.
"I've dealt with beasts before. Can you tell me more about it?" Mark inquired.
The woman struggled to speak, overcome with emotion. One of the women beside her spoke up instead. "You should speak to Bob, the mayor. He knows all about the beast. His house is in the center of the village."
Mark nodded. He made his way to the heart of the village, easily spotting the mayor's house towering over the humble wooden dwellings. Dismounting from his horse, he knocked on the door. A moment later, a stout, bearded man swung it open. "Ah, a traveler," the man greeted. "Welcome. I'm Bob, the mayor. What brings you here?"
"I saw a grieving mother, mourning her son. She mentioned something about the boy being killed by a beast. I'm a swordsman for hire and have dealt with such creatures before. For a fee of sixty gold coins, I can rid you of this menace."
"Sixty coins? That's steep!" Bob exclaimed.
Mark sensed the reluctance wasn't due to poverty but rather greed. "Very well, I'll be on my way. Good luck with the beast."
"W-wait. Alright, I agree to your terms," Bob relented.
"Good. Now tell me about this creature."
"We... we haven't actually seen it. At night, we hear howling, like a wolf, from the nearby hill. Some young men went to investigate once, but we found them mutilated the next morning. This isn't an ordinary wolf. I ordered everyone to stay indoors after dark, but poor Greg didn't make it home in time yesterday. We found his body this morning."
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"Well, whatever that beast may be, I'll be putting an end to it."
Mark departed from the mayor's house and made his way to the local inn. There, he indulged in wine and pork, savoring the well-cooked meat. As night fell, with only the moon casting a dim light, Mark left the inn and ventured outdoors. The air was filled with a haunting howl, reminiscent of a wolf, echoing from the nearby hill. Sword in hand, he headed towards the source, prepared for whatever awaited him.
He ascended the grassy hill and spotted a figure standing tall at the summit. Drawing nearer, the moonlight revealed the figure to be a werewolf - towering, muscular, and howling fiercely. Without hesitation, the werewolf lunged at Mark, striking him with formidable force and sending him tumbling to the ground. Mark's sword slipped from his grip as the beast pinned him down, aiming to sink its teeth into his face. Unarmed, Mark delivered a powerful kick to the werewolf's groin, causing it to howl in agony before retaliating with razor-sharp claws, leaving a gash on Mark's cheek. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mark landed a solid punch to the werewolf's face, eliciting a gruesome reaction as the beast spat blood.
Seizing the opportunity, Mark swiftly rose to his feet, retrieved his sword, and retreated a few steps, assuming a defensive stance. As the werewolf lunged towards him, he swiftly dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding its claws. With a swift stroke of his sword, he slashed at the beast's back, sending chunks of flesh and blood into the air. The werewolf let out a howl of agony, its fury intensifying. Wheeling around, it struck at Mark with ferocious force, its claws tearing through his armor, shattering the rings of his chainmail and leaving his chest exposed. Blood trickled down his chest, and Mark cried out in pain.
As the werewolf lunged with its sharp claws, Mark swiftly swung his sword, slicing off all the fingers in one clean sweep. The creature howled in agony as blood spurted out. Without hesitation, Mark drove his sword deep into the beast's chest. Despite its attempts to retaliate, Mark kept twisting his blade, causing the werewolf to collapse onto the grassy ground, surrounded by its own blood. With a grim expression, Mark withdrew his sword from the creature's chest, its blade dripping with blood.
“That was one hell of a fight…” Mark admitted.
He swung his sword, aiming for the werewolf's neck. It took a few tries, the creature's tough skin making it difficult to sever its head. Eventually, he succeeded and carried the gruesome trophy back to the village. He knocked on the mayor's door. Bob, dressed in a white nightgown, opened it, clearly surprised to see Mark return alive. Without a word, Mark tossed the werewolf's head at his feet. "My reward," he demanded.
Bob needed a moment and returned with a pouch of coins. "So it was a wolf," he remarked as he handed over the pouch.
"A werewolf, to be precise. And a formidable one at that. No wonder it caused so much havoc. But now your village is safe."
Mark headed to the inn, planning to spend the night there. The next morning, he had the local armorsmith repair the damage to his armor caused by the werewolf's claws. With his gear restored, he mounted his horse and bid farewell to the village, setting off towards the town of Ikronion. Such is the life of a wanderer – always moving, never staying in one place for long.