In the town where Fenris killed the fake hunters, a group of people were riding on horseback through it. There were more than a dozen of them; some wore armor, others didn’t, but they all wore symbols on them. Some were on the chest of the fabric or armor they wore, some on the sleeves, and some on the back.


    It was a red wolf’s head with three claw marks diagonally. They were hunters; to be more specific, they were a specific group in the hunter’s guild called the Red Hunters. It wasn’t uncommon for hunters to make their own groups in the hunter’s guild, especially if they wanted to stand out from the rest, and these groups had no problem doing so.


    The one leading the group was a man who looked to be in his forties. He had ashen hair, a muscular build, and wore a silver breastplate. The myth of the effect of silver against werewolves was well known to most in the hunters’ guild, but many still decided to wear it as armor and have it made into weapons.


    Maybe it was done as a symbol of power, or perhaps to give a message to people that they could protect them if the monsters ever went rampant. The name of the man wearing the silver breastplate was Morgan.


    He had been hunting werewolves for over two decades now. News had come to him about the execution of a werewolf in this town—a young woman—but it sounded like nonsense to him. According to the information, the woman who had been executed had lived in this town all her life. He had friends and family who vouched for her, but they were all executed as well for fear they might have been werewolves too.


    The supposed hunters who found her out were found dead near an alleyway of the tavern. It was ridiculous in more ways than one because even one werewolf could slaughter a whole town of people. Morgan knew it was impossible for untrained commoners to kill an entire family of werewolves. People’s superstitions could be so self-destructive.


    A young woman with ashen hair rode right next to him. The only armor she wore were silver bracelets, and she had a sword on her waist. "Father, what are we doing here?" the woman asked. This was Winter, Morgan’s daughter. He had trained her in the ways of werewolf hunting since she was a child, but she had yet to kill any of the beasts. This was her first hunt.


    "You know about the executions in this town. Tell me, what do you make of them?" Morgan asked.


    "It’s nonsense. Even a single werewolf would be a hassle for a trained hunter to deal with. It’s unlikely a town killed an entire family of them. But we see this happen all the time. We’re not law enforcers. The girl and her family are already dead, so this doesn’t involve a werewolf situation here—just a group of idiots who murdered innocent people," Winter answered.


    "That’s not quite true. The fake hunters were found dead not long after the innocent girl was burned alive. And according to reports from the morgue, the way they were killed wasn’t ordinary. Their necks were crushed, and they had claw marks all over them, which were too far apart to be done by a wild animal," Morgan said.


    Hearing this, Winter’s eyes widened. "Good, so you know what that means," Morgan said.


    "A werewolf must’ve killed the fake hunters, but I wonder why. Did they know the girl who was executed?" Winter said.


    "They are beasts, Winter. You shouldn’t be thinking of them as humans like us. They kill because they can. They kill because they enjoy it. They kill because it’s in their nature."


    "Remember that. Just because they look like us sometimes doesn’t mean they are one of us," Morgan said, with an angered tone in his voice.


    "Yes, father," Winter said, placing her head down as she continued to ride on her horse.


    It wasn’t the first time she had heard her father speak this way. He hated werewolves deeply—she did as well, but not as much as he did. He would go on and on about how they were monsters and it was their duty to erase them from existence. It was truly worrisome, as he had become obsessed with that mentality.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ‘If you hate werewolves so much, then why… why…’ Winter thought as she held onto the saddle more tightly. ‘No, stop thinking about that. I have to focus on the task. I can’t be distracted. I don’t want to disappoint Father again.’


    The group kept riding until they met a man in robes. This was the same man who Fenris had taken money from, claiming to be part of the fake hunters’ group. Morgan got down from his horse, and Winter did the same.


    The man was part of the Hunters’ guild, and he was a silverback. Silverbacks weren’t hunters themselves, but would pay hunters handsomely for killing werewolves and presenting proof of their kill.


    Although this particular silverback seemed to have been duped twice, he had obviously never encountered a real werewolf—at least not knowingly.


    He explained everything that happened that day: how a group of fake hunters used the myth of silver to frame the girl, how a dark-skinned man came for the payment, and how the bodies of the fake hunters were found in an alleyway with strange wounds on them that could not have been done by a wild animal or a human.


    "Show us where you found the bodies," Morgan demanded. The silverback pointed to the alleyway. The hunter group arrived at the scene and found blood everywhere. It was all dried now, as it had been months since the incident, but it had been left untouched. Only the bodies were removed, and it was clear that a battle had taken place here.


    The hunter group inspected the place but found nothing of use. "Triss, get down and show us what happened here," Morgan said.


    Dropping from one of the horses was a woman with short blonde hair and in yellow robes.


    This was Triss, a member of the hunter group and seeker, a faith who worshiped the God of Truth.


    "Veritas, God of Truth, whose light pierces all deception, grant us your vision. Blood has been spilled here; reveal to us the events that transpired in this place," Triss said.


    After she had said the prayer, projections of light appeared. They were all in humanoid forms. They didn’t have faces—only an outline of their bodies and the clothes they wore.


    They saw five men in armor; they were colored in a blue light, and they saw another light projection in a hood; they were covered in a purple light.


    They saw the purple light projection attack and kill the five hunters, and they also heard what all of them were saying. Their voices were muffled, and it took effort to make out what they said, but in the end, Winter could hear Fenris declaring he was a werewolf before killing the leader.


    The light projection ended there.


    "Is that it?" Morgan asked, with a disappointed look.


    "Yes, that’s all I can reveal," Triss said. She was panting and sweating, and it was obvious that the spell had taken a great toll on her.


    Winter went to her and let Triss rest on her shoulder. Morgan frowned at this sight but looked away from it.


    "Ragnar, you’re up. Find something useful," Morgan said.


    Coming down from one of the horses was a man with very little hair and a very short beard.


    He wore no armor, just leather clothing. He walked straight past Winter and Triss. Winter, seeing him, couldn’t help glaring at him. Ragnar noticed this but just chuckled to himself.


    Getting to the scene, Ragnar knelt at a particular spot. It was where Fenris had bled after stopping one of the swords with his bare hand.


    He started to sniff.


    "Anything?" Morgan asked.


    "Oh, I got something, but it’s too faint. I need something more," Ragnar said.


    "He left some of his clothes behind. Will that work?" the silverback asked.


    Ragnar nodded, and the silverback brought the hood and clothes Fenris had dumped from one of the fake hunters'' armor.


    Ragnar took a big sniff from the clothes and smiled, revealing yellow glowing eyes and fangs in his smile.


    "Now we’re talking. I got him," Ragnar said.


    "Where is he heading?" Morgan asked.


    "East," Ragnar answered.


    Morgan nodded and faced the rest of the hunter group. "Red hunters, we’re going east. Ragnar will lead the way," Morgan said.


    After that, Morgan, Winter, Triss, and Ragnar all got back on their horses. Triss needed a little help getting back on her horse, and Winter helped her.


    When they were all ready, the hunter group rode full speed ahead to Luna’s hometown.