The old man's pain seemed to come and go in a flash. He stood up, face calm, breathing a little heavy, and said gruffly, "I had to kill those men myself."
"Got it," Glen said, understanding. He pointed at the old man's chest. "What's that?"
"A demon I made a contract with."
"A demon?" Glen frowned. "They say the price for that isn't cheap. You…"
"I can handle the price." As he spoke, the old man had already started walking toward where the attackers had appeared.
What kind of grudge is that big? Going to such lengths? Glen stayed quiet and followed.
…
Inside a crude wooden hut.
"Knight or mage?" An elderly man, hunched over with bone wings on his back, muttered to himself.
His hair was straw‑like, his teeth nearly gone, skin as weathered as if left baking in the sun. He leaned on a withered wooden staff, and in front of him sat a small cauldron glowing with an eerie green light.
"Either way, they shouldn't have been able to find this place," said a sallow, ill‑tempered middle‑aged man in civilian clothes standing behind him.
This was the dark mage who'd traded with Murphy earlier.
"A shame… those puppets served me for so long, and now they're gone," the old man said with clear regret, then asked, "Has anyone else not come back yet, Dayk?"
"They're still being chased by knights. Useless bunch," Dayk snapped, annoyed.
"Heh… they brought it on themselves. But you'll have to go deal with the uninvited guests. Getting disturbed like this feels rotten."
"What a pain!" Dayk grumbled, then turned and pushed open the hut's drafty door. "I'll show them that stepping here was the dumbest decision they ever made!"
…
"Old man, walking like that—aren't you worried they'll get away?" Glen asked, eyeing the bulky figure strolling unhurriedly ahead.
"They won't run. In their eyes, we're just reckless intruders," the old man replied with total confidence.
Boom—!
Suddenly, a swirling mass of purple‑black fog shot out of the deep forest ahead, aiming straight for the old man!
The old man reacted fast, as if he'd been expecting it, and dodged to the side, untouched.
The attack veered toward Glen's face. He tilted his head and easily avoided it.
"You're unlucky to have run into me. This will be the most painful experience of your lives!" Dayk stepped out, wrapped in menacing dark energy, his tone icy and full of contempt for ignorant weaklings.
"A Level‑4… Level‑4 Dark Mage?!" The old man, having gotten back to his feet, sounded heavier and more serious than ever before.
"How strong is a Level‑4 mage?" Glen asked, curious.
"I really hate ignorant mortals like you! Great Level‑4 Mage Dayk will show you what true power is!"
Before the old man could answer, Dayk was already fuming—Glen's casual attitude had clearly rubbed him the wrong way.
The enraged dark mage raised his hands; his chant finished in an instant, and a complex array of runes formed beneath his feet.
"Watch out!" the old man suddenly shouted at Glen.
A feeling of being locked‑on rose in Glen's gut. He instantly lowered his center of gravity and launched himself like a cannonball straight at the casting mage!
"Heh… stupid!" Seeing the ignorant mortal charge at him, Dayk laughed.
A sapling suddenly sprouted from the ground, then exploded in size the next moment, engulfing both of them.
Glen felt as if countless needles pierced his entire body, those "needles" greedily draining his blood with terrifying force!
He didn't panic. Werewolf toxin surged through his body, and under his control, it flowed along those needle‑like roots into the bizarre tree, destroying its tissues.
Dayk, controlling the tree, had intended to drain his opponent into a mummy, but his creation suddenly went haywire, emitting a chorus of tiny cracking sounds.
Finally, the tree created by a Level‑4 mage collapsed right before Dayk's eyes!
Glen emerged, but before he could act, Dayk had already completed a second spell. With a sweep of his right hand, a chain of lightning lashed out, aiming to whip Glen around the waist!
Glen drove off with his legs, dodging sideways, while his right hand grew black fur and sharp wolf claws, slicing through the air toward Dayk's face!
The chain obliterated a wide stretch of trees and plants behind Glen, exploding like a massive blast of dynamite—its roar drowned out the harsh clash of claws against Dayk's protective magic.
"A werewolf? Hahaha, with claws that fragile, there's no way you can—"
Dayk's mocking cut off abruptly.
Glen blurred into a near‑afterimage in front of Dayk; claw marks filled the dark mage's entire field of vision!
From the moment of contact, Glen gauged the general strength of the shield—it wasn't something he couldn't break through, given enough hits.
The constant, relentless scratching beside his ear rattled Dayk. He poured all his focus into maintaining the shield, unable to spare any effort for a counterattack.
That revealed a flaw in his mental toughness. Though a Level‑4 mage in power, Dayk lacked real combat experience.
Before his fall, he'd been labeled a genius, living a life most envied, never needing to hone his skills in monster zones—his mentor brought him whatever materials he needed.
Even after turning to dark magic, he'd never faced an opponent that forced him to go all out. That easy path had bred a habit of panicking when things got tough.
"How… how is this possible?! I'm the great Level‑4 Mage! You can't defeat me!" Dayk's hands trembled, eyes bloodshot.
"Thought you were tough? Turns out you're a big baby," Glen said coolly. With one claw, he broke the shield, seized Dayk's face, covered his mouth and nose, and slammed the mage's head into the ground. Blood spilled between Glen's fingers.
The old man walked over, looked at the barely breathing Dayk, and said with a sigh, "He still had plenty of devastating spells unused… and he's already beaten."
"Using them would've led to the same result. I didn't go all out either," Glen said, standing up and dusting off his hands.
"Your change was turning into a werewolf? Does that affect your personality?" the old man asked, watching Glen's arm return to normal, deep in thought.
"Who knows…" Glen replied vaguely.
In truth, the old man's inner doubts ran far deeper. As far as he knew, werewolves didn't have this kind of partial transformation ability—recorded werewolves only had two forms: human and half‑wolf.
Plus, every werewolf transformation he'd read about involved several seconds of painful change. Glen's smooth shift showed no sign of pain at all.
"Let's move. This guy wasn't your target, was he? The real one's someone else. Let's go," Glen said, having caught another person's scent in the air, urging the old man.
"No need. That guy definitely ran. No doubt about it," the old man said calmly.