"A person who can take down a Level‑4 mage, and you only paid him that little for revenge? Are you two close?" Defa asked, her tone odd.
"Not close at all. He even killed one of my dogs," the old man said, and his jaw tightened with resentment.
Defa's expression grew even stranger. "So you tricked him? Aren't you afraid he'll come after you if he finds out?"
"Uh…" The old man's expression stiffened. He cleared his throat. "I didn't realize his worth at first. It's not my fault."
Defa was speechless for a moment, then chose her words carefully. "Alright then… Is he a mage too? Or a Level‑4 knight?"
The old man gave her a look and replied flatly, "He's a werewolf."
"A werewolf?" Defa frowned.
As a proper mage, she instinctively felt disgust toward creatures like werewolves.
Knowing her concern, the old man explained, "He's a werewolf, but not like the others. He's unique. After transforming, he stays completely rational and can even speak."
"That's impossible!" Defa blurted out.
"But it's true. I saw it with my own eyes," the old man said firmly. "I wouldn't lie to you. You know that, Mage Defa."
"Maybe it's a new race…" Defa murmured, calming down.
"I don't know about that. But he hasn't been a werewolf long. Before that, he was timid, weak—but after contracting the werewolf toxin, he changed completely. Confident, carefree—none of that was in him before."
"You've got me curious about him now."
Defa's eyes gleamed with curiosity.
"I'd advise you not to go after him. You can't beat him," the old man warned.
"I'm not going to force it. I'll play nice," Defa said, dropping her serious demeanor and letting a hint of charm show. With her mature, well‑kept features, she looked very appealing.
The old man's eyelid twitched. "He's still just a kid."
…
The sound of chopping wood echoed through the quiet forest.
With crisp snapping sounds, another large tree fell to Glen's axe.
To earn money faster, he'd decided to expand his business.
Raising black pigs brought in a decent amount, but reaching the sum Glen needed would take time.
Besides, there weren't many of the pigs. Even if he slaughtered one every month, it wouldn't be sustainable.
Going deeper into the woods to catch more wasn't a long‑term solution either.
So he'd let the remaining pigs roam and breed, selling them once there was a sizable herd.
In the meantime, he needed another way to make money.
That's when he thought of carpentry.
Back in his past life, one of his childhood neighbors had been a carpenter, and Glen's best friend was that neighbor's son. They'd visited each other often, and Glen had more or less picked up the skills.
He'd even done some hands‑on work himself.
So Glen was pretty confident in his carpentry.
After cutting the felled trees into logs, he began making simple furniture.
Cutting, drilling, polishing—for Glen, it was ridiculously easy now.
He barely needed tools; his werewolf claws and needle‑sharp fur could handle most tasks.
Soon, a finely crafted chair was finished.
Comparing it to his memory, it looked almost identical to what his neighbor used to make.
Pleased, Glen sped up while there was still daylight, and with a flurry of hammering, produced a dozen chairs, tables, and stools.
The pigpen was now entirely Night Roar's responsibility; Glen only checked in now and then.
He could fully focus on his work.
…
"Why are you making all this stuff?"
Near sunset, a puppet dressed in a pale pink princess dress sat on a rock, suddenly asking Glen, who was busy at his work.
This non‑human had been around for a while, quietly observing Glen's actions with a childlike curiosity.
She found this new resident of the town unusual—unlike the other locals who tended to be quiet, he was unusually active, which puzzled her and drew her in.
Glen had noticed her presence from the start but ignored her, concentrating on his task.
Now that she'd spoken, he couldn't ignore it.
"To sell, of course," Glen said casually.
Aina seemed to understand, nodding slowly. After a pause, she added, "Are these furniture? They're so pretty…"
Her eyes rested on the stylistically varied pieces, a trace of longing in them.
"You like them?" Glen glanced over and asked.
Miss Puppet nodded firmly.
Glen smiled. "Want one?"
She nodded again.
"Forty coppers each," Glen held up four fingers.
Aina froze, touching her neat dress, then quietly lowered her head. "I don't have any coppers…"
Glen wasn't surprised. Seeing her crestfallen look, he said gently, "Since you like my work so much, I'll give you one for free, lovely lady."
Give a gift first, then draw her out with conversation—should work… he thought.
Her face lit up as if he'd spoken a miracle. "Really?! That's wonderful!"
She sprang up, moving in light, graceful leaps to where Glen had displayed his finished pieces.
Seeing her movement, like a martial arts master's lightness skill, Glen clicked his tongue inwardly.
That's the wonder of magical constructs—a puppet with no stiffness at all.
After a brief internal struggle, Aina chose a folding table, the most delicate of the lot.
"Can I have this?" she asked, holding up the small wooden table hopefully.
"Sure," Glen nodded.
With his approval, she beamed, spinning in place with the table.
That excited over a table? Glen didn't really get it, but didn't dwell on it.
"I remember you have a companion. Isn't he here?" Glen looked around and asked suddenly.
The excited puppet stopped, and her delicate face showed a humanlike playful expression. "I slipped out secretly. I heard the noise here and came over. My brother's still asleep."
She acted so much like a person! If not for the visible joint hinges, you'd never know she was a puppet. But her "brother" sounded like a pretty lazy copy.
Glen was briefly startled by her vivid expression, though only on the inside—his face just went blank for a second.
Mulling it over, he asked carefully, "You and your brother are magical constructs, right? Who created you?"
He was genuinely curious, so he didn't worry about offending her.
Aina hesitated, lowering her head and pursing her lips. After a few seconds, she said quietly, "Brother says we mustn't talk about Master to others…"
"It's fine, just casual curiosity. Don't worry about it," Glen waved it off tactfully.
To ease the awkwardness, he changed the subject. "By the way, I'm Glen Nibanklu. Nice to meet you—we're friends now."
Miss Puppet froze, then suddenly grew flustered, performing an elegant noble bow. "Mr. Glen, hello. I'm Aina Thismorne. Nice to meet you too."