Chapter 5 - The Hunt (III)

Karl got up from the ground and turned his dog's head to his shoulder, where he saw a vertical gash ten centimeters long, blood oozing from the wound and falling to the ground in drops.

Upon closer inspection, however, he could see that the muscle tissue had begun to repair itself at a rate visible to the naked eye. Turning his canine head toward Alastor, he opened his mouth and roared furiously, the constant pain in his shoulder causing the anger building in his chest to explode at once.

RHGGUAAAAA!!!!!

But he didn't move, roaring on as he stared at Alastor, though full of anger and rage, he still remembered the wound on his shoulder. He had been wounded by an attack he hadn't seen, which made him wary of the boy before him.

Alastor didn't mind the roar, his gaze fixed on the werewolf's quickly healing wound. He frowned when he noticed something unusual.

According to the information he had received, Karl Lambert had made at least four sacrifices. For someone who had made four sacrifices, Karl's regeneration did not match the gain he had sacrificed to one of the Sons of Chaos - the Crimson Moon.

A wound of this magnitude should regenerate in an instant, but even now, after ten seconds, his wound was still regenerating.

Even his strength and reflexes seemed mediocre, no better than any level 4 threat.

"You seem to be hiding something." Alastor commented, looking at the werewolf, ready to attack at any moment.

Karl's canine face changed dramatically upon hearing his words, he showed an angry expression and his body lunged forward again. His speed was even faster than before.

To any human, Karl would be nothing more than a mysterious figure, but to Alastor, he ran slowly, almost like watching a turtle walk.

To be honest, even an Agrece wouldn't be that strong at the age of ten, but unfortunately Karl Lambert had found a monster among monsters, even in the House of Agrece.

Alastor Agrece, a genius, said to be only slightly less talented than the ancestor of the Agrece House - Amom Agrece, the legendary Grimm who killed a god. 

In front of someone so superior, he was no different than a roast suckling pig handed to Alastor on a silver platter.

Alastor showed a cold stare and easily dodged the attack. As he watched the beast's body pass dangerously close to him, "One of the first lessons I learned was to control my own emotions, otherwise your enemy can use them against you."

"Tear." Alastor raised his knife and whispered.

Slesshhh!

The next moment, a deep cut appeared on Karl's chest, blood gushing forward like a geyser as the werewolf's expression showed pure horror and disbelief at the cruel reality he was facing.

This time, the wound was from his shoulder to his stomach, a large amount of blood flowing from his body and fell in large quantities to the ground, bathing the ground in blood. Through the five centimeters wide wound, one could see his internal organs.

Even for a werewolf, this was no small wound.

Strangely, Alastor hadn't moved a muscle during the attack, which meant that the cut hadn't been made by the knives in his hands.

Crouching next to Karl's motionless body, Alastor asked with a cold expression, despite the polite and courteous nature of his words. "Would you kindly tell me what you did with the sacrifices intended for the Crimson Moon?"

Karl's lifeless face turned angry again at his words.

"Fuck-"

Before he could finish, a knife plunged into his throat, choking him. "Please refrain from using bad language in front of a child. It's very rude."

"But don't worry, you won't die, I avoided the main veins and the artery. As long as you don't remove the knife, you'll live for a while." Alastor spoke with a cold tone, his emotionless red eyes looking at the werewolf's pitiful state.

"Did you think the most dangerous place would be the safest? What naive thinking. Now answer what I want to know." Alastor asked again, his voice terribly cold. At this point, seeing how weak this werewolf was, he already knew that there were other people involved.

The werewolf before him was nothing more than a scapegoat, probably forced to take the blame for the actions of others. Nevertheless, he was still an accomplice, so he should die.

Karl tried to speak, but the knife in his throat made such a simple action so painful that he remained silent as despair welled up in his heart.

Seeing him remain silent, Alastor showed no disappointment on his face. He stood up, grabbed Karl's hair and began to drag the huge beast with great ease.

Tereza climbed down from the wires she was hanging from and landed next to Alastor, her gaze showing nothing but admiration. She had watched the whole fight and summed it up in one sentence.

It wasn't a fight, it was a one-sided massacre. From the beginning, the werewolf had been hit harder than a sandbag in a boxing gym. Everything showed how strong Alastor was, so strong that a werewolf never had a chance to beat him, he was like a fish waiting to be slaughtered at any moment.

This made thirteen-year-old Tereza admire Alastor even more.

Unaware that he had won even more of his vassal's admiration, Alastor concentrated on dragging Karl by the hair toward the clearing. Behind him, a large bloodstain remained on the ground.

The image was not only horrible, but also rather comical: a small child dragging a huge beast two meters long; if anyone saw it, they would probably think they were seeing things.

Alastor noticed that the trapped girl's screams were getting louder, indicating that he was heading in the right direction.

Karl wanted to move and stop Alastor's advance, but it was useless, his regeneration wasn't that fast and the loss of blood didn't help his desperate situation. It was the second time he had felt so powerless since he had been banished from his pack.

He hated that feeling, he hated this world for being so cruel to him, he hated the gods for not answering his pleas and finally he hated himself for being so weak.

Finally arriving at the clearing, Alastor soon spotted a shed camouflaged among the trees, hard to see if you weren't paying attention. It was large, much larger than the werewolf's own home. Screams came from inside the wooden shed.

Letting go of Karl's hair, Alastor ignored the moans and groans of the werewolf and approached the shed, opening it to reveal its interior.

A pungent smell of blood filled Alastor's nostrils, making him almost faint from the stench. And the scene he saw inside the shed was a sight worthy of seeing in Hell itself.

Alastor's face turned pale and he felt like he was about to vomit his entire dinner, after all, he was only a ten-year-old child, so the scene was very cruel to him.

The scene in front of him really shocked him to the core. Although he had read that the sacrifices were extremely inhumane and bloody, seeing it with his own eyes, Alastor was sure that the books had toned down much of the barbarity committed by these occultists.

Children's arms and legs were hoisted on iron hooks like pigs, blood still dripping - drop by drop - the red liquid falling into wooden bowls beneath each severed limb.

On a nearby shelf, internal organs floated beneath a suspicious green liquid.

Alastor finally understood what he had read in the book "The Unspoken Truth," written personally by a demon. In the book, the demon claimed that the human heart was often crueler than the demons themselves.

Alastor scoffed when he read it, but now he deeply agreed with those words.

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