Chapter 344

A man in a straw hat stood up from between the bean rows as their group approached, wiping his hands on his trousers. He was older, with a scruffy beard turning white and sun-darkened skin.“Ho there!” he called, voice bright. “Don’t see that many strangers these days. You lost?”

His eyes, Nick noted, were wrong.

The pupils were vertical slits, like a cat’s, and the irises had a faint yellow tint even in daylight. His baggy shirt and loose trousers concealed his build reasonably well, but mana pooled heavily in his muscles.

Raphael smiled, the very picture of courtesy. “Not lost, no,” he said. “We’re here from Long Reach, checking on the outlying settlements after the recent troubles.”

“Ah, that.” The farmer’s smile flickered for a moment, long enough for grief and something hungrier to show in his aura before smoothing out. “Bad business, bad business. We heard, but we stayed put, like we were told.”

“By whom?” Willow asked mildly.

“By our lord, of course,” the man said, as if it were obvious.

Weirdly enough, Nick believed what he said. He also knew that Rohm had not given any such order, meaning some other “lord” had.

“We’d like to speak with whoever is in charge here,” Raphael said smoothly. “Village chief, elder, anyone who manages the people and land. We need to discuss matters of defense, supplies, and possible evacuation routes.”

The farmer hummed, squinting at the group. His gaze briefly rested on Malik’s armor, then on Monte’s noble posture, and finally on Nick’s staff.

Those slitted eyes narrowed a bit at the Shard, but he didn’t comment.

“That’d be Old Mara’s house, usually," he said finally, gesturing with his chin toward a cluster of larger buildings closer to the center. “But she got sick last month. Now, you’ll want to talk to Harun, her nephew. He’s taken over most of her responsibilities."

Nick followed the direction with his senses. The two strongest signatures in the hamlet radiated from that spot: one dense and controlled, the other slightly weaker but still well above the average.

“Thank you,” Raphael said, inclining his head. “We’ll try not to take up too much of his time.”

“Ah, don’t worry yourself,” the farmer said, grin back in place. “We’re not so busy we can’t spare a chat.”

He dipped his head and went back to his work.

They moved on, walking through the hamlet as if utterly oblivious.

Children ran past them, laughing and playing with a battered ball. One little girl tripped and fell, scraping her knee, and the way she caught herself had too much liquid grace for a child her age. She jumped back up with a giggle, while a typical girl might have cried her heart out.

A woman carrying a basket nodded at them as she walked by, yet Nick noticed that her apron was spotless and that the basket beneath the cloth was empty.

A pair of men, ostensibly mending a fence, sat with tools in hand, but the posts looked old and cracked, showing signs of months of neglect. An axe rested against a chopping block, with rust on its blade, but the logs nearby were neatly cut.

A cooking oven built against one house’s wall was cold, with a clean ash pan. No new soot smudged the nearby stone, and no aroma lingered in the air.

Nick kept his senses sharp as they went by, noticing the souls inside were threaded with silver hooks, some newer and still jagged, others months old and smooth. A few were so deeply tangled that they might as well have been beasts from the start.

And all of them were watching.

The house they approached was larger than the others, with a sturdier, well-maintained roof and a small porch. Tools leaned against the wall, all of them suspiciously unused, and its door was open, where a man waited for them.

He was tall, probably at least seven feet, maybe more, with the build of a seasoned lumberjack or a veteran soldier. His broad shoulders pushed against a plain linen shirt, his grey hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his beard was neatly trimmed.

The mana in his body thrummed like a tightly wound spring. His eyes were a human-brown, but there was a depth to his gaze that hinted at something else looking out.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice warm and deep. “We don’t often get such a large group at once. I’m Harun. I’ve been taking care of things while Aunt Mara recovers.”

“I’m Raphael,” Raphael said, giving him the faintest bow. “This is my team. We’re here on behalf of House Rohm.”

Harun’s expression didn’t flicker when he heard the name. “We’re relieved to hear the Lord is still healthy. Please, come in, we can talk properly inside.”

“We don’t want to impose,” Willow offered.

“Nonsense,” Harun said. “We’d be poor hosts if we left Lord Rohm’s people standing outside.”

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Raphael accepted with a nod, and they filed in.

The main room was cool and dim, with a large table in its center. The walls were decorated with typical rustic items that signified the owner’s higher social status in the village, including bundles of dried medical herbs, a carved wooden charm of a river spirit, and a faded tapestry depicting a hunt.

A few other villagers were inside, but they quickly excused themselves, leaving Harun to face the group with only one other adult beside him, a woman with strong arms and an attentive gaze.

“This is Rana, my younger sister,” Harun said. “She helps me handle the day-to-day.”

“An honor,” Raphael said, taking a seat as Harun gestured. Willow sat beside him, but Nick moved slightly back, near the wall, with the Shard resting against his shoulder, and the others spaced out as casually as possible, keeping a good view of the windows and door.

“So,” Harun said, folding his hands on the table. “You’re here about the dungeon, I assume.”

“The dungeon and the recent attacks,” Willow confirmed. “We’ve received fragmentary reports that some outlying settlements have gone silent. Long Reach itself was attacked some time ago by werewolves.”

Harun’s eyebrows shot up with almost genuine shock. “Werewolves? That’s dire. We, uh…” He hesitated. “We heard rumors, but nothing was confirmed. We’ve kept to ourselves after we were told a powerful mage would handle the monsters.”

“Have you seen any adventuring parties?” Raphael asked instead of pointing out the obvious mistake; after all, the Tower Master had been here weeks ago. “Long Reach and the other major towns have been sending teams to sweep the region. They should have come through.”

Harun’s jaw tightened, just slightly. “We had a group here a few days ago,” he said. “They stayed the night and left at dawn. Said they’d sweep the south ridge.” His lips pressed together. “Haven’t seen them since.”

, Nick thought automatically, then paused. The memory in Harun’s aura was unclear, but he could tell there had been visitors; they just hadn’t left on their own accord at dawn.

“We’ve had to keep watch ourselves,” Rana added. “Drive off any goblins or worse that get too close, since the soldiers haven’t arrived yet."

“With what forces?” Willow asked, voice politely curious. “You’ve got no wall, no standing militia.”

Harun’s eyes sharpened a hair. “We make do,” he said. “We’re not helpless.”

They danced around the topic for a while. Raphael asked about monster sightings, and Harun described a region that was oddly quiet, with only a few goblins here, a stray troll they chased off with fires, and the occasional insectile beast. Nothing like the density Nick expected so close to the dungeon’s reach.

“Seems like we’ve been blessed,” Harun said with a wry smile.

“Indeed,” Raphael said, sensing the conversation fraying, “we appreciate your time. We won’t impose further. We should be moving on if we’re to reach the next hamlet before nightfall—”

“You should eat first,” Harun interrupted, and though it was an invitation, it felt more like a command.

“You’ve come a long way, and you plan to go even further,” the werewolf continued. “We may be simple folks, but we understand how dangerous the road can be. You should join us for a meal to make sure you’re strong enough for what’s ahead.”

Raphael hesitated.

Nick saw the calculations in his senior’s eyes. If they refused, the facade would collapse right then and there. They’d be fighting openly, surrounded, without any of the sneaky preparations they might otherwise manage.

If they accepted, they’d have a little more time, maybe enough to set a few traps. He gently tapped the other’s thigh with a bit of telekinesis, and Raphael inclined his head. “We’d be honored.”

Harun’s smile grew wider, with a brief flicker of triumph behind it. “Good. Rana, will you see to it?”

Rana nodded and moved toward the back of the house, calling out for a few other villagers to help.

Raphael’s gaze slid to Nick for the barest fraction of a second.

Nick gave the tiniest of nods and set about preparing for the upcoming fight.

He let the others settle around the table, laughing a little too loudly at Malik’s muttered complaints about village stews having questionable meats, and Yvonne’s dry threat to knock him out if he insulted their hosts.

Nick moved toward the wall again, muttering that he needed some air. He slipped out the door onto the side porch, letting it creak just enough to be heard, as if he had nothing to hide.

With , he sensed a subtle shift as heads turned toward them and people abandoned their tasks, starting to converge on Harun’s house.

He looked at the closest bare patch of ground near the house and crouched as if to check his boot.

Onmyōdō sigils unfurled just beneath the surface, with strokes and spirals of intent. He drew them using his will channeled through the Shard, not even needing to move his fingers.

etched into the soil, invisible from above. Long, flowing lines meant to bind and purify, anchored at the corners of the house like a frame, simple in their form, but specifically designed to deal with one type of enemy alone.

Another set shifted to the opposite side, mirrored as best he could without taking a full walk around, and he decided to anchor them to the main structural beams he could feel through the floor.

At this close range, the werewolves’ senses could detect a large surge, so he moved carefully, weaving the sigils into the existing mana flow of the house until they merged.

Nick slid back inside a moment later, his coiled around the house like invisible chains.

The food arrived shortly after.

Bowls were filled with a hearty stew of legumes and root vegetables, along with wedges of hard cheese. Everything looked and smelled completely normal, though the absence of bread and meat was noticeable.

“Looks safe?” Raphael’s voice brushed his ear on a whisper of wind, very similar to what he did.

Nick gave the smallest nod, amused that his senior was copying him, and picked up his spoon.

It was fine. Bland and a bit under-salted, but still edible. Harun’s aura relaxed slightly when he saw them eat, as if some old ritual box had been checked off.

Conversation resumed, at least on the surface.

Harun asked about Long Reach’s condition, shaking his head gravely at the description of the werewolf attack. He inquired after “dear old Lord Rohm” with what sounded like genuine concern.

“And he’s still in good health, then?” Harun asked. “We would be saddened to hear otherwise. He’s always been fair with us.”

“He’s managing,” Raphael said diplomatically, ignoring Terence’s pursed lips.

Outside, the net was tightening as the fields slowly emptied and the paths cleared of people. Souls with bright, jagged threads of lycanthropy moved closer, not yet transforming but close enough that their combined presence felt like a tangible pressure.

Nick counted thirty-one, then thirty-three as two more emerged from a barn.

Their emotions were a murky mix of excitement, hunger, and something like amusement, the anticipation of a hunt about to start.

“They’re all around us,” Nick whispered, letting the words drift on a gentle breeze to Raphael, then to Willow, Malik, Monte, Yvonne, and the other apprentices.

Surprisingly, it was Harun who brought up politics again.

“We’ve always paid our dues,” he said. “Given tithes to the temples, and sent our harvests to fill the lord’s granaries. I have to admit that we hoped for more protection.”

Outside, the pack stepped into position.

Rana, standing by the doorway, relaxed her posture, and suddenly, every muscle in her body was ready to strike.

Raphael set his spoon down gently. “Is that why you changed loyalty to the thing that rules the dungeon?” he asked, still polite, but with a sardonic smile.

Harun’s pupils constricted, revealing their inhuman nature.

Nick’s thrummed under his palms.

Everything happened at once.

Harun burst out of his chair. His body mutated in the same motion, clothes ripping apart as bones stretched and grew thicker, muscles swelling. Grey fur burst through his skin, claws flicked out from his fingers, and his jaw extended into a lupine muzzle filled with too many teeth.

His roar shook dust from the rafters.

Nick focused his will on the sigils around the house. The ignited, sending streaks of light surging through the floor and up the walls.

Outside, the werewolves dropped their human act and stormed the house from all directions, howls swelling into a ravenous chorus.