His expression changed instantly, the moment he heard me say, 'Werewolf'. Most of the people around Bortoli believe that witchcraft could turn a man into a wolf, relating lycanthropy as a demonic force.

Finishing his drink, William bursts into hysterical laughter. He turns to his group, hands on his waist, clearly seeking to draw their full attention.

"Did you hear that, lads?"

The group of men mimics his behavior, laughing at my comment. "A werewolf wiped a whole village; can you imagine that?" William yelled.

He sits back at the counter, snapping his fingers, ordering another drink.

"Don't get me wrong old man, you've got a way with words, but your story is pure rubbish!"

I choose to remain silent in response to his comment, fully aware that these men are not inclined to believe or even seriously consider the true events that unfolded in the Village of Bortoli.

William takes a sip of his ale, his eyes gazing at me with newfound curiosity.

"Are you trying to make a fool out of me, old man?"

I glanced at him briefly, conveying a silent message with my eyes, then turn my attention back to my bombard. My focus remains on the drink, choosing not to engage further in a debate that seems fruitless, given his evident disbelief.

"Well then? Spit it out!"

"I don't waste my time with fools like you. Now, let me be."

William stands abruptly, his irritation clear. In a dramatic gesture, he slams the bag of coins down on the counter, the sound catching the attention of everyone in the tavern. "What do you want, old man? I got some coins to spare."

I give William another look, somewhat amazed by his sudden interest in hearing my story, standing in front of him, eye to eye.

"You really want to know what happened?"

As he leans in closer, the heavy scent of alcohol on his breath is overpowering. It's clear to me that his sudden interest is likely fueled more by a desire to mock or discredit me in front of his group rather than a genuine curiosity about the events in Bortoli.

"Common old man, is going to be a long night. We might as well listen to a good old story, eh?"

I slide my bombard over to Phil, who promptly fills it to the brim. The foam overflows from the jack, making the ale all the more enticing.

"Give Phil back his money, and then I'll share with you a story worth more than any coin you could collect— a tale of a lifetime."

William, showing no reluctance, tosses the bag of coins back to Phillip. "Done. Now, let's hear this story of yours!"

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I stand from the counter, making my way towards the group's table. "Please, let me take a closer look at what you've killed."

"Have at it," William says.

He grabs an extra chair for him, sitting next to the wolf's corpse.

I reach the dead wolf and firmly grasp its jaw, opening it to reveal the details of its mouth. The small fangs and incomplete set of teeth are immediately noticeable.

"This young one here is no predator. There's no way she could be responsible for Philip's livestock losses. You're looking for something much bigger, much stronger."

William's expression turns to dissatisfaction upon realizing his error in identifying the wrong predator. I stare at him, knowing he killed this young wolf just to get the bounty.

"I've already returned the money, old man. I have to hand it to you, there was no way we could've fooled you. We thought it'd be an easy payout."

I take a seat at the table, settling in among the group. Phillip, noticing the shift in the atmosphere, moves a lantern from the counter and places it in the middle of the table, casting a warm, inviting glow over us.

⊱─━━━━⊱༻●༺⊰━━━━─⊰

Italy, 1622 - Village of Bortoli.

Bracing myself for the worst, I hunched protectively over the small frog, shielding it from a group of kids with the intent of harming the tiny creature. Stones pelt me from every direction, and some of the children, emboldened, started hitting me with sticks. Despite the pain, I refused to let them kill the frog. If they want to get to it, they'll have to go through me first.

As the onslaught continues, I feel the warm trickle of blood streaming down my forehead, the droplets reaching the tip of my lips. The metallic taste of my blood filled my mouth, the pain of every strike reverberating throughout my body.

Exhausted and fed up with the abuse, I unleashed a loud, powerful scream, "Leave it alone!"

The relentless attacks of the kids came to a halt, with the sudden arrival of the Lord of the manor on horseback, bringing an abrupt end to the children's laughter and cruelty. At the sight of him, the beating ceases instantly, and the kids disperse quickly, leaving the scene.

"Hey boy, why did you let those hellions treat you like that?"

In response, I slowly rise from the muddy road, my action revealing the small frog as it seizes the opportunity to stride away toward the safety of the nearby pasture.

"I see, I respect that."

He looks around, noting that the once chaotic scene has now quieted down, with everyone having retreated to their homes. The two of us are left alone in the middle of the road, facing each other in a moment of uncertain silence. The air is thick with anticipation, as I brace myself for what I assume will be some form of reprimand or punishment for the commotion.

Contrary to my expectations, the Lord's punishment I got was surprisingly different.

"Send a message to your parents. Tell them I want to see them at my house before sundown."

His words trigger a rush of emotions within me, tears starting to flow as the reality of my situation becomes evident. He seems unaware that I am an orphan.

"No parents then?"

"No sir," I said.

The Lord dismounts from his horse, his actions showing a gentler side than I had expected. He takes out his handkerchief and carefully wipes away the blood covering my face.

"When was the last time you had something to eat, boy?"

Fearful that my response might be misinterpreted, possibly leading to more trouble, I simply shake my head from side to side.

"What about a nice piece of smoked hog and a few pieces of wastel bread for dinner?"

I'm puzzled by his generosity. In a world where I'm often seen as nothing more than a nuisance, his offer of a hearty meal and a place to stay seems almost too good to be true.

"And after dinner, you can stay in my house, as long as you want."

Gently placing his hand on my head, he offers a warm, reassuring smile — a gesture of kindness that feels comforting and unfamiliar at the same time.

"My name is Arland D'amano. What's your name little one?"

For the first time, I find myself looking up at someone with genuine respect, not out of fear or obligation, but because he's extended a hand of kindness and the promise of a better life.

"My name is Randall, sir."

He responds by gently ruffling my hair, maintaining that warm, comforting smile.

"Alright Randall, let's go home."