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Chapter 13: The Beast of Bronwater
POV: Adam
The notice board outside the Golden Sturgeon had become Adam's morning ritual, a marketplace of violence where desperate people offered coin for problems solved with steel and determination. But this contract was different—the parchment bore official seals and desperate handwriting that spoke of terror barely contained.
"Beast terrorizing Bronwater village. Three dead, livestock slaughtered. 150 crowns reward for elimination. Urgent assistance required."
One hundred fifty crowns. That's enough to upgrade my entire equipment loadout.
Adam traced the edges of the contract with fingers that had grown steady through weeks of killing things that wanted to kill him back. Level 5, with airbending approaching true competence, and equipment that wouldn't shatter at the first sign of real opposition.
Unknown creature. Could be anything. Could be something that makes werewolves look like house cats.
"I want to come."
Ciri's voice carried the careful neutrality of someone who'd learned to expect disappointment but still hoped for different outcomes. She stood behind him with perfect posture, her training clothes suggesting she'd been waiting for this moment.
She's been watching the board too. Waiting to see what I'd choose.
"Not this time," Adam said, turning to face her with regret that felt like a physical weight. "Unknown creature, possibly very dangerous. I need to understand what I'm fighting before I risk your life."
The flash of disappointment across her features was quickly suppressed, replaced by something that looked like understanding. She nodded once, sharp and decisive.
"You're right. I trust your judgment."
[Relationship +3]
Current Points: 63/75
Status: Very Close Friend - Maturity demonstrated in accepting difficult decisions
She's growing up. Learning when to fight and when to trust others to fight for her.
"Don't die," she said, the casual words carrying weight that neither of them was quite ready to examine.
"I'll try my best."
The road to Bronwater cut through countryside that grew more desolate with each mile, farmland giving way to scrub brush and rocky soil that spoke of hard living and harder choices. Adam walked alone with his thoughts, letting the rhythm of travel settle his mind for whatever waited ahead.
Growing feelings for Ciri. When did that happen?
The realization had been building for days—small moments that accumulated into something larger and more dangerous than simple friendship. The way she laughed when he made jokes that weren't actually funny. Her determination to prove herself worthy of trust and respect. The way she looked at him sometimes, like he was the answer to questions she didn't know how to ask.
She's thirteen. I'm thirteen. We're kids playing at being adults in a world that wants to kill us.
But the feelings were real, even if acting on them would be complicated in ways that could destroy everything he'd built. Better to focus on survival, on getting strong enough to save her when the invasion came.
Survival first. Feelings later. Maybe much later.
Bronwater crouched in the shadow of ancient hills like a settlement that had given up hope of ever becoming more than it was. The village's wooden buildings looked sturdy enough, but the streets were empty in a way that spoke of people hiding behind barred doors and shuttered windows.
Terror. Real terror. Whatever's hunting here has them scared to show their faces.
The village elder met him at the settlement's edge—a woman whose gray hair and lined face spoke of someone who'd survived hardships that would have broken lesser people. But her hands shook as she gestured toward the damage that painted Bronwater's recent history in blood and splintered wood.
"It hunts at night," she said, her voice carrying the hollow tone of someone who'd seen too much death. "Massive, fast, claws like swords. Tears through anything that gets in its way."
The butcher's shop bore the evidence—claw marks scored into the door frame, four parallel gouges that went nearly an inch deep into oak wood. Adam traced them with his fingertips, feeling the smooth edges that spoke of weapons sharper than any blade.
Four-inch gouges. Whatever made these has claws the size of daggers.
"My son," the butcher said, his voice breaking on the words. "It took my son. Found pieces of him scattered through the forest like... like scraps."
Intelligent hunting patterns. Avoiding dogs. Changing tactics. This isn't a mindless beast.
The shepherd who'd lost half his flock added details that made Adam's blood run cold. The creature avoided areas where dogs were present, altered its hunting routes when people began setting watches, and seemed to understand human behavior well enough to exploit weaknesses.
Werewolf. Has to be. Intelligence, pattern recognition, massive claws. All the signs are there.
Adam chose tracking over other investigation methods, using his expanded Air Sense to detect disturbances in the natural environment that normal vision might miss. The technique had grown more sophisticated with practice, allowing him to read wind patterns and atmospheric displacement like a hunter reading spoor.
There. Massive tracks leading toward the forest.
The prints were exactly what he'd expected—enormous canine paws that spoke of something far larger than any natural wolf. But mixed with the tracks were scraps of fabric bearing silver thread, torn clothing from victims who'd tried to run and failed.
Evidence trail. Follow it back to the source.
The tracks led through two miles of increasingly dense forest to a cave that yawned in the hillside like a mouth waiting to swallow the unwary. Fresh bones scattered around the entrance told a clear story of what happened to things that wandered too close.
Home base. And it'll be coming back here when the sun goes down.
[System Warning: WEREWOLF - Level 28 Enemy detected]
[Recommended Level: 15+]
[Current Level: 5]
[Threat Assessment: EXTREME DANGER]
[Recommendation: Immediate retreat]
Level 28. That's... actually insane. I'm not even halfway to the recommended level.
"Noted," Adam muttered, already beginning tactical preparations that would either save his life or make his death marginally less inevitable. "Still doing it."
The trap took three hours to dig—a pit positioned where the werewolf would have to pass when returning to its cave, covered with branches and leaves that would hopefully conceal the danger until it was too late. Adam positioned sharpened stakes at the bottom, angled upward to maximize damage when something heavy fell onto them.
Werewolf oil. Forty crowns for something that might double my damage output.
The village herbalist accepted his coins with the desperation of someone who understood that forty crowns might be meaningless if the creature wasn't stopped. The oil itself looked like liquid darkness, thick and viscous with an odor that made his eyes water.
Apply to weapons before combat. Doubles damage and prevents regeneration. One shot at this.
Adam coated his sword and knife with careful precision, ensuring even coverage while the afternoon light faded toward dusk. Fire materials came next—oil-soaked rags tied to wooden stakes, positioned around the cave entrance to create a perimeter that might slow the creature's movement.
Fire stops regeneration. Silver weapons. Tactical positioning. Everything I can think of.
The sun touched the horizon as Adam settled into position, his heart hammering against his ribs with rhythm that counted down toward violence or death.
Come on then. Let's see what a Level 5 human can do against a Level 28 monster.
The werewolf emerged from its cave as darkness painted the forest in shades of shadow and menace, its massive form moving with predatory grace that spoke of perfect confidence in its own lethality. Eight feet tall, covered in fur that seemed to absorb light, with eyes that reflected the dying day like molten gold.
Jesus Christ. It's huge.
Adam lit the oil-soaked rags with hands that shook only slightly, creating a ring of fire that cast dancing shadows across the clearing. The werewolf paused, its massive head turning to assess this new element in its territory.
Wary of fire. Good. Use that.
"Come on, puppy," Adam called, his voice carrying more confidence than he felt. "Scared of a little fire?"
The taunt worked exactly as intended. Intelligent rage flooded the creature's features, and it charged through the flames with a roar that made the earth itself seem to tremble.
The pit trap triggered perfectly.
The werewolf's massive form plunged through the concealing branches with a crash that echoed through the forest. Wooden stakes found flesh, punching through hide and muscle with wet sounds that spoke of significant damage.
[Trap Damage: 170 HP total]
[Werewolf HP: 850 → 680]
First blood. And it's already climbing out.
Adam used the momentary advantage to trigger a Swallow potion—healing magic that would keep him functional through the beating he was about to receive. The werewolf hauled itself from the pit with liquid grace, supernatural regeneration already closing the worst wounds.
Ranged assault. Keep distance until the oil can do its work.
Three Air Blade attacks cut through the space between them, each one opening lines of dark blood across the creature's massive frame. The werewolf absorbed the damage and kept coming, its speed making mockery of Adam's attempts to maintain distance.
[Damage Dealt: 120 HP total]
[Werewolf HP: 680 → 560]
[Adam MP: 190 → 145]
Too fast. It's going to close the distance.
The werewolf's claws found their target with surgical precision, opening Adam from shoulder to hip in a diagonal slash that painted the ground red. Pain exploded through his nervous system, white-hot agony that nearly sent him to his knees.
[Damage Taken: 95 HP]
[Adam HP: 150 → 55]
[Status: Critical Condition]
Not dead yet. Still fighting.
Adam rolled desperately away from the follow-up attack, slashing upward with his oil-coated sword. The blade bit deep into the werewolf's thigh, the enchanted oil doubling the weapon's effectiveness and drawing a howl of pain from the massive creature.
[Damage Dealt: 70 HP - Werewolf Oil Effect]
[Werewolf HP: 560 → 490]
Air Jump carried him backward, creating precious distance that allowed him to drink his second Swallow potion. Healing magic flowed through his body like liquid lightning, closing wounds and restoring strength.
[Healing: 25% of maximum HP]
[Adam HP: 55 → 95]
Fire strategy. Lead it back to the flames.
Adam retreated toward the fire perimeter, using Air Gust to push burning logs directly at the werewolf. The creature caught fire with spectacular results, supernatural fur proving highly flammable.
[Fire Damage: 50 HP]
[Regeneration Stopped - Fire Effect]
[Werewolf HP: 490 → 440]
[Adam MP: 145 → 105]
The werewolf rolled frantically to extinguish the flames, its earlier confidence replaced by desperate survival instinct. Adam pressed his advantage, attempting Air Suffocation to choke the life from his opponent.
Thirty MP per second. I can hold this for maybe three seconds before I'm empty.
The technique worked partially—the werewolf staggered, gasping for air that wouldn't come, but Adam's MP reserves ran out before he could complete the kill.
[Partial Suffocation: 100 HP damage]
[Werewolf HP: 440 → 340]
[Adam MP: 105 → 0]
Out of magic. Time for desperate measures.
Adam threw his knife with the last of his strength, the blade spinning through air to embed itself in the werewolf's left eye. The creature roared in pain and fury, blood streaming down its massive face.
[Critical Hit: 50 HP damage]
[Werewolf HP: 340 → 290]
The final exchange came down to steel and determination. Adam's sword, still coated with werewolf oil, opened the creature's throat in a spray of arterial blood that painted the clearing red.
[Critical Hit - Werewolf Oil - Vital Strike: 140 HP damage]
[Werewolf HP: 290 → 150 → 0]
[WEREWOLF DEFEATED]
The massive form collapsed with earth-shaking finality, supernatural strength bleeding away as death claimed another monster. But as Adam watched, something impossible happened.
The fur receded. The claws retracted. The massive frame shrank until what lay in the clearing was a young man, maybe twenty-two years old, wearing the torn remains of merchant's clothing.
Human. It was human underneath.
Adam knelt beside the body, studying the peaceful expression on a face that had known nothing but curse-driven hunger for who knew how long.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the cooling corpse. "You didn't deserve this."
But the village didn't deserve to die either. Sometimes there are no good choices.
[Experience Gained: 688 XP total]
[Quest Reward: 150 crowns]
[Materials Harvested: 225 crowns value]
[Total Earnings: 375 crowns]
[LEVEL UP! 5 → 6]
[LEVEL UP! 6 → 7]
[Title Earned: "Beast Slayer" (+10% damage to cursed creatures)]
[Regional Fame +15]
Power flooded through Adam's exhausted body, but it felt hollow against the weight of what he'd done. He'd killed a man. Cursed, yes. Monster, yes. But still a man underneath the supernatural fury.
The victory felt hollow. The XP and crowns didn't change that.
Fifteen days until the invasion. Fifteen days to get strong enough to save everyone.
Every death has to mean something. This one saved a village.
As Adam walked away from the cave where a werewolf had died and a man had found peace, he carried the weight of necessary choices and the knowledge that strength sometimes came at prices that could never be fully paid.
He'd tell Ciri about it. She'd understand. She always did.