The next day, news of the brewing clash between the Sylvania family and the Holt brothers spread through the surrounding towns and villages like wildfire.
Lady Victoria's bold mobilization—declaring she would head to Strawberry Town for the appointed meeting and demand justice for her injured son—fueled the rumors.
"Did you hear? Lady Victoria's made a statement—she's taking people to Strawberry Town to settle scores!"
"With that useless family head and a house full of women, it's probably Victoria climbing into bed with some low-class demihuman clan again to drag in reinforcements, right?"
"Shut your mouth. No matter how far the Sylvanias have fallen, they're not yours to mock. Aren't you afraid Baruch will rip your throat out?"
"Heh, besides Baruch, how many loyal vassals do they even have left? This time, they might all get dragged down with them!"
In the market, the blacksmith's apprentice and the butcher's owner argued heatedly, faces flushed red.
In the taverns, gamblers had already set up betting pools on the outcome.
Most folk quietly reinforced their doors and windows—unwilling to pick sides or get caught in the crossfire.
Only a handful of daring youths planned to sneak after them to Strawberry Town for the spectacle.
Faced with Victoria's aggressive war cry, the Holt brothers didn't dare slack off.
They urgently rallied men from Wild Bull Town and Holt's timber yard.
Armed gangs rode hard toward Strawberry Town, ready for the showdown that might erupt that night.
From morning onward, groups streamed out of Wild Bull Town's underground casino.
Chris, hidden in the shadows, watched it all silently.
She noted two parties—more than a dozen werewolves total—galloping toward Strawberry Town.
Once she confirmed Raven remained in town, Chris sent Jakar with a message: tell Lady Victoria to proceed as planned.
At six in the evening, the lingering summer sunset still bathed Wild Bull Town in warm light.
Townsfolk, full from dinner, gathered in clusters on the streets, buzzing about the coming fight.
No one noticed the tall girl in a wide-brimmed sun hat push open the Rose Inn's door.
The innkeeper, Hans—an old human nearing sixty—dozed at the front desk.
He stirred at the sound, bleary eyes opening—only for a cold dagger to press silently against his throat.
Jakar had slipped in through the back like a shadow, materializing behind the man.
Chris raised a finger to her lips, then pointed upstairs.
Hans's cloudy eyes darted; wisely, he clamped his mouth shut.
A human scraping by in demihuman territory knew the safest play was to see nothing.
The girl ascended the stairs unhurriedly, slender fingers trailing the polished wooden handrail.
Each step was calm and measured; the wide hat brim swayed gently, concealing her dragon horns perfectly.
In the second-floor corridor, two werewolf bodyguards lounged on chairs.
Spotting her, one stood, thick arm barring the way.
Chris rarely appeared in public, and with the hat's disguise, they failed to recognize the Sylvania eldest daughter.
They took her for some new fling Raven had picked up.
"Stop right there, little beauty," the standing one grinned, flashing sharp canines. "Mr. Raven ain't seeing guests today." He eyed her up and down with a leer. "Though you are tempting enough—he's just not in the mood for women right now. Come back another time."
His companion leaned against the wall, chuckling suggestively.
Chris didn't flare up. Instead, her lips curved in a smile as she reached into her bosom.
The bodyguards tensed, paws dropping to their holsters.
"Don't be nervous~" she purred softly, drawing out an exquisite leather notebook with a clipped pen. She bit the cap open with pearly teeth.
While scribbling, she looked up and smiled. "Then please tell Mr. Raven to find me at this address when it's convenient."
The werewolves exchanged smirks, shoulders relaxing visibly.
The instant their paws left the guns, Chris dropped the notebook and pen.
Her fair hands erupted in dragon scales; razor-sharp claws gleamed as she lunged, seizing their throats in a blur.
Two sharp *cracks*—like snapping dry twigs—rang out together.
The werewolves' heads lolled at unnatural angles.
This was Chris's first time taking a life in either existence, yet her heart remained eerily calm.
As she released them, faint footsteps sounded from the stairs.
Conrad—dragging his still-healing leg—emerged at the landing.
The lionkin hybrid cousin deftly hauled the bodies back to the chairs, propping them up to look like they were dozing.
Only then did he pass Chris a loaded shotgun.
Per Talitha's intel (the catkin who'd visited the lending rooms), Raven had rented the best-lit second-floor suite: an outer office and inner bedroom.
A full day of observation confirmed: besides the two corridor guards, five more were inside—including Raven.
Chris approached the carved wooden door, shotgun ready, and knocked three times.
The muffled raps echoed.
"Who's there?" a gruff voice barked from inside—they'd clearly heard the corridor scuffle.
Chris lowered her voice, mimicking a panicked maid: "I'm Miss Nessa's maid—Miss has an urgent matter and sent me for Mr. Raven."
Everyone in Wild Bull Town knew Nessa was Raven's current favorite.
"Damn it!" A chair crashed over inside. "What the hell are Walker and that idiot doing? I said no guests today!"
Heavy footsteps approached; the lock clicked.
Chris leveled the shotgun at chest height through the door.
The moment it swung open, she fired without hesitation.
The 12-gauge roared; buckshot shredded the thick wood, splinters exploding.
The werewolf behind it didn't even scream—his upper body turned to bloody ruin, corpse tumbling back.
Before the smoke cleared, Chris kicked the splintered door wide.
The room snapped into view: four werewolf bodyguards around a round table, bottles and cards scattered.
They scrambled for dropped weapons, movements sluggish from drink.
Raven reacted fastest—he flipped the table toward her, sending liquor and chips flying.
Then he smashed a chair through the window beside him; glass shattered loudly onto the evening street.
The move served dual purpose: alerting casino allies across the way and clearing his escape.
Gunfire erupted in the office.
The armed werewolves blazed away wildly, bullets hailing.
Chris's dragon-exclusive skill—Reverse Scale Perception—kicked in instantly. Thick scales armored the predicted trajectories.
Bang, bang, bang!
Bullets hammered the scales, sparking brilliantly.
Even protected, each impact felt like a sledgehammer. Chris gritted her teeth against the pain.
Jaw clenched, she returned fire—the shotgun thundering as she traded shots with the werewolves in a brutal exchange.
(End of Chapter 4)