After laying the unconscious Elena gently back down on the cave floor, John covered her ravaged body and wounds with the jacket he retrieved from his storage ring. He then turned his attention to his own injury. His left arm was still mangled, but the heavy bleeding had thankfully stopped. Without plastic bottles of prepared blood, and weakened from giving Elena most of his own supply, he was running on fumes.
"Damn, my arm is hurting like shit right now," John muttered, wincing with every minor movement. He was exhausted, in pain, and lacked the energy to go hunting.
He looked over at the massive bear corpse lying in the center of the cave. An idea—grotesque, yet practical—occurred to him. "Why don't I just eat this thing and drink its blood?" he thought.
Struggling slightly, John managed to push his body off the ground and walked slowly to the dead grizzly. He used his fixed-blade knife and began to saw through the bear's thick hide. He pulled back the skin and started to devour the raw, bloody flesh.
The strange thing was that this raw meat did not taste awful; in fact, it was the opposite. It tasted delicious, rich, and potent. John began to devour the bear's flesh and drink the blood leaking out like a person who had not eaten in weeks.
What John did not notice in his carnivorous haze was the astonishing sight occurring on his own body. His broken and mangled left arm began to heal itself. Bones slowly began to grind and snap back into place, knitting together under the skin. Next, the bite wounds closed rapidly, flesh and skin filling in the deep gaps as a final touch. Within minutes, the damage was completely undone.
With his strength fully restored, John checked on Elena one last time. He then walked to the river, filled one of his empty bottles with water, and returned to the cave. He poured some of the water over Elena's wounds and used strips cut from his own clothes to clean and cover the mauling injuries. Elena remained unconscious, showing no reaction to his gentle care.
John took a last, resolute look at Elena before picking up the primitive shovel he had fashioned earlier. He exited the cave and immediately plunged into the woods.
He began searching for the perfect location to set a booby trap for Jones. To increase his success rate, he knew the trap needed to be placed on an established animal trail—a route Jones would instinctively follow—and in an area where John himself could easily run without any hindrances.
However, John knew he could not simply wait for Jones to stumble into the pit on his own; that would take too long, and Elena was still in mortal danger. He had to lure the werewolf into the trap.
In John's mind, this was the only viable plan: he would complete the pit trap, allow Jones to get close enough to see him, and then run—making Jones chase him into the waiting hole. A desperate sprint to the castle could only follow this necessary distraction, because he did not know if Elena would live through another day.
John started by gathering his materials. He collected a large number of long sticks, some thin and pliable, others thick and short, suitable for different parts of his structure. He then used his fixed-blade knife to painstakingly remove the bark from each one, smoothing them out. Next, he carved rough, sharp points onto the ends of the thinner sticks. It was his first time performing this kind of strenuous, detailed work, and the points weren't perfectly uniform, but they were sharp enough to get the job done.
He set the collection of sharpened stakes aside and began scouting for a bigger obstacle. As he walked, he spotted a medium-sized tree log and stared at it for a few seconds. "I think I can make use of this log," he thought. He used his newly restored strength to drag the heavy log to the designated spot for the trap hole. His plan was to place the log right in front of the pit. He would use it as a hurdle to jump over when Jones was chasing him. Jones, running at high speed and focusing on his prey, would likely run over the log without noticing the sudden drop, ensuring a fatal fall. Although the log obstacle was clever, John knew it wouldn't be enough to hold a werewolf for long, so he needed to add more danger.
He grabbed his primitive shovel and began to dig, scooping the wet sand and earth out with both the shovel and his hands. He continued digging until the hole was approximately seven feet deep. He then took his sharpened sticks and carefully planted them upright into the bottom of the pit, ensuring the points faced skyward.
Knowing the trap needed to be truly effective, he added an extra deterrent: with great difficulty, he dragged a large, heavy rock and positioned it right next to the hole—a weapon for a follow-up attack, should it be needed.
Afterward, he needed to camouflage the pit. He collected more long, thin sticks, wove them together with strips of cut cloth to create a fragile screen, and placed it over the hole. Finally, he covered this structure with a meticulous layer of fallen dead leaves and large branches, making the ground look undisturbed. John had learned how to construct this basic hunter's trap from countless survival shows and videos he had watched on the internet—now was the time to put that dormant knowledge to brutal use.
With the trap complete, John hurried back to the cave. His heart sank when he saw that Elena was again losing colour. He did not hesitate; he carefully picked up her unconscious body and carried her to a new location, a few meters away from the trap, ensuring a quick and clear line of escape as soon as the werewolf fell.
Next, he needed to establish his bearings. He climbed the tallest tree he could find, ascending until he was high above the dense canopy. He scanned the distant horizon for a few seconds until he saw it: a huge castle sitting atop a distant mountain ridge. "There it is," he whispered. Now he had a direction of flight.
John waited until the day got a little darker. He didn't want Jones to see the trap or notice the slight disturbance in the soil. He needed a way to get the man's attention and bring him directly to the kill zone. The only viable idea was to make a fire; the smoke and the distinct smell of flame would attract the werewolf to his exact location.
He went a short distance away from his trap and used his remaining fire elemental stone to ignite a nearby tree. The initial whoosh of the fire and the sudden column of white smoke rising above the canopy was a visible declaration: I am here. Come and get me.
A thick column of smoke began to rise from the burning trees, slicing through the forest air. Some distance away, Jones, who was busy finishing off a freshly hunted rabbit, saw the dark plume against the pale sky.
A cruel smile stretched across his face. "I see you," Jones muttered, taking one final, large bite of the rabbit before dropping the carcass. He launched himself into a dead sprint toward the source of the thick smoke.
John had waited for about forty-five agonizing minutes, setting more trees ablaze, believing one fire was not a strong enough beacon. He then retrieved the Strength Potion and the Speed Potion from his storage ring. He waited just a little longer until he heard a sound—the snap of a branch that was too heavy for an ordinary animal.
A massive, intimidating figure stepped out from behind a thick oak.
"So, you decided to reveal yourself, kid?" Jones's voice was a deep, gravelly sneer. "Or are you expecting someone to come and save you? By the time anyone gets here, you will already be dead, and I will be long gone."
"I am not afraid of you anymore," John retorted, his voice trembling slightly but holding firm. He drank both potions he held in his hands. An immediate, powerful surge coursed through his body, making him temporarily stronger and faster. He beckoned Jones to come forward, a taunt which the werewolf happily obliged.
But the moment Jones started to move, John turned around and started running away. Jones was momentarily stunned. "Does this kid think this is a joke?" he growled, then grinned, a feral glint in his eye. "Fine. I like the chase." He started chasing John, closing the distance instantly.
John ran straight to the location where he had set his trap, weaving in a zig-zag pattern around the trees. He was moving with such speed—amplified by the potion—that he could barely believe his own eyes. He also ran straight through several thin trees, shattering them as he passed. Despite his incredible pace, John glanced back and saw Jones right on his tail.
"Fuck, he's gonna get me!" he thought, pushing harder.
Jones was relentless, focused, and rapidly catching up, now only an arm's distance behind. In response, John's left eye turned red, the raw, controlled power flaring up and giving him a temporary, massive speed boost. This explosion of velocity shocked Jones for a split second, forcing the werewolf to also pick up his pace to keep from falling behind.
John saw the log looming ahead—the final marker. He knew that just beyond it was the pit trap. All he had to do was maintain his speed and launch over the obstacle. The velocity he was running at, combined with the potion effects, was more than enough to propel him over the trap and away. He looked back one last time; Jones was gaining again, but John was confident.
He pushed everything into his legs, running even faster, and just as he was about to reach the log—
Thud
John ran up against something that felt precisely like a brick wall. The impact shattered the last of the air in his lungs and sent him staggering backward.
He couldn't believe his eyes. Jones was standing directly before him.
"No, he was just behind me a few seconds ago! How did he get past me?" John thought, utterly bewildered. He struggled to his feet, shaken and disoriented. In that instant, he looked past Jones and noticed they were only a few steps away from his perfect pit trap.
"Enough with the games!" Jones snarled. He closed the remaining distance instantly and slashed John across the face with his razor-sharp claws. Blood splattered everywhere, and deep, angry gashes appeared on John's cheek and forehead. Jones followed up with a brutal kick to the stomach, sending John stumbling backward and making him cough blood. As John struggled to find his breath, Jones walked ever closer, the ominous crunching of dried branches beneath his massive boots announcing his approach.
"Wait, hold up," John wheezed, flashing his palm to stop the werewolf. Jones paused, a look of contempt on his face, watching John struggle to his feet.
"Before you kill me, tell me your name."
"My name is Jones, kid, but it doesn't matter since you're going to die. I'll make this quick," the werewolf replied, bored with the delay.
"Wait," John insisted. Jones stopped again, irritation flashing in his eyes. "What, kid?"
"Did you know that I am the Wind Master?" John said this, all while subtly retrieving the Wind Elemental Stone from his storage ring, concealing the small, charged object in his palm.
Jones became instantly furious, sick of the stalling. "Die!!!" He was about to dash forward when he suddenly felt a powerful, invisible force slam into him.
"John's Almighty Wind Push!!!"
John unleashed a sharp, strong gust of wind directly out of his palm. The force, augmented by the elemental stone, caught Jones completely off guard, blowing him far backward until he reached and tripped violently over the log. Jones, expecting to simply hit the ground, plummeted deep into the hole below.
The air was instantly filled with a sickening thump and a drawn-out, agonizing scream: "Aaaah!" Several sharp sticks had penetrated deep into Jones's back, neck, and legs.
John wasted no time. He ran immediately to where the large rock was positioned and began to push it with all his remaining strength.
Jones, already roaring in agony, looked up and saw John standing above him. The werewolf's eyes blazed with pure hatred. Jones gritted his teeth. "You are dead!"
John simply raised his middle finger at the enraged werewolf. "Pussy," he spat. He then gave one final, powerful shove, sending the large rock tumbling down into the hole where Jones was impaled.
John stood there for a few seconds, waiting for a sound. "Is he dead?"
"You fucking cunt!!" Jones's muffled, furious scream proved he was still alive and conscious beneath the crushing weight of the rock and the impalement.
"Time to go."
John turned and sprinted to the spot where he had laid Elena's unconscious body. He picked her up—a dead weight that was difficult to carry even with his enhanced strength—and started running in the direction that led toward the distant Crimson Castle.
As John ran, dashing through the trees, some of the blood still leaking from the deep gashes on his face fell onto Elena. He looked down at her pale, still face. "Don't worry, Elena, we are almost there."
John ran for a long time, driven purely by desperation. The effects of the speed potion had long since faded, and his legs were screaming with pain. He finally had to stop for a moment, hunched over and gasping for breath, his adrenaline crashing.
"Damn, I have to thank Aunt Reina for training me," John thought, clutching the unconscious form of his maid close. "I would have never survived without her harsh training."
Just as John tried to push off and continue his frantic dash, he felt a massive, iron hand grabbing him by the back of his neck.
"Where are you going, boy?"
John's face twisted into an expression of pure terror. He didn't even have time to turn his head completely before Jones delivered a devastating punch that shattered John's nose instantly. The force of the blow ripped John away from his maid and sent him reeling backward. Elena fell out of his arms and landed limply on the ground.
Jones walked closer to John, who was sprawled on the earth, coughing blood and desperately trying to reorient himself. "I have to congratulate you for surviving this long," Jones sneered, his voice low and dangerous. "I didn't want to kill you, kid, but you've wasted too much of my time. I have no choice."
Jones reached down, lifted John effortlessly by the throat, and raised a massive, clawed hand. The werewolf was about to pierce him through the heart.
John knew it was over. He closed his eyes, a silent farewell to everyone he loved. "Goodbye, Mom, goodbye, Dad, and goodbye, Elena."
A few seconds passed, but nothing happened. John felt no pain, only the heavy pressure on his throat. He slowly opened his eyes.
He was standing on his own two feet, breathing shallowly, right next to the unconscious body of Elena. When he turned his head, he saw that the impossible had happened: another person was standing right next to him.
This new figure was dressed in black, utterly silent, and impossibly fast. He was currently holding Jones—the mighty werewolf—completely immobilized, his hand wrapped around Jones's wrist, preventing the fatal blow.
The person John was staring at released Jones, who staggered back, suddenly free but enraged. The new figure then slowly turned his head to look at John, his deep crimson eyes meeting John's terrified gaze.
"Who, um, who are you, Mr.?" John stammered, his mind struggling to process the impossible rescue.
The figure's reply was simple, cold, and utterly confident.
"I'm Caden.