1

Douglas coughed up a great deal of blood as a long, silver-forged blade was pulled from his body. It had struck the left side of his chest and pierced all the way through to his back.

Standing before him, Norah laughed boisterously, accompanied by her older brother, Logan.

"Norah... why?" he rasped, struggling against the agony radiating from his wound—a pain that felt twofold. He could hardly fathom that his own beloved wife would do this to him.

"I've been putting up with you since the day we got married. I’ve wanted you gone for a long time. You don't deserve to be our Lycan King. You are the illegitimate son of the former Lycan—you have no right to sit on the throne!" She laughed like a madwoman, joined by Logan, who stepped firmly onto his left shoulder just as he attempted to rise.

"This is the end of your reign, my dear brother. Guards! Drag this useless man away and cast his body outside the palace grounds. Let the rogues have their fun and exact their revenge in the Rogue Forest—while he’s still drawing breath, of course."

"Exactly! Let the rogues get a taste of this pathetic Lycan King," chimed in Morgana—Logan’s mother and the former Queen—echoing the sentiment.

He realized then that he had never once felt any love from her, not since the day his late father had first brought him home and introduced him.

"Drag him out! Ensure he doesn't survive! Toss him into the Rogue Forest—on the very brink of death!" Norah commanded, and the three of them erupted into loud, raucous laughter.

"Are you certain he won't survive?" Norah made sure of it once Douglas—who had been carelessly dragged along by his feet—was brought out.

Douglas did not cry out in pain, nor did he attempt to beg for mercy. He simply kept his gaze fixed on the sky, his face devoid of any expression. His injuries were so severe that he had all but forgotten how to breathe—even as the soldiers who had dragged him kicked him repeatedly. They clawed at various parts of his body; not even his face was spared from their fingernails. He had been beaten to the brink of death—or perhaps, was he already dead? He felt nothing—he could not even sense his own breathing—his eyes remaining locked upon the tranquil sky.

"He won't survive. It’s the same knife I used to kill his useless father."

"Mom!" Logan immediately scolded his mother, fearing that someone might overhear her.

Morgana promptly shut her mouth and smiled at her son.

"Finally, my good son. Now the throne will be yours—my Lycan king."

"Yes, love. I can’t wait for our ritual... and for our little pup," Norah said joyfully, resting her hand on her flat stomach.

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"Fucking rogues!" Noemi spat in anger upon hearing the loud cries of her sheep. She knew for certain that the werewolves had returned to feast on her livestock.

She stormed out of the house, armed with a shotgun and a long sword. Forgoing her hat, she swiftly followed the cries of her sheep, heading toward the upper reaches of the forest.

"This time, I’ll make sure you f*cking die by my hands!"

Despite the long time she had spent living here—and killing werewolves—they still hadn't learned their lesson. They continued to prey on her animals. There were still werewolves who showed no fear of her, likely because they saw her as nothing more than a lone woman living by herself. They underestimated her. What they didn't know was that, ever since she was a child, her father had trained her to fight werewolves. She knew exactly what they feared—and exactly what could kill them.

"She's here again! Hide! Hide! You'll die if she shows no mercy!"

"Who angered her this time?!"

"Who dared to enter her territory and steal something again?!"

"Hide! Unless you want to die! She uses silver shells!"

Noemi simply walked past the werewolves, who made no move to fight her. They likely recognized her; whoever had entered her territory and taken her pet was probably a newcomer.

As evening approached and darkness began to fall, she lit the torch she was carrying—a sight that sent the others scrambling to hide in fear. When she could no longer hear the sound of her sheep, she let out a sharp, ragged breath, struggling to steady herself. She knew, deep down, that her pet was already dead.

"Show me which way the person who took my sheep went."

It wasn't a request for conversation; it was the voice of someone barely containing a rage that demanded an immediate, correct answer.

A long, heavy silence passed before someone stepped forward and pointed toward a cluster of bushes ahead, near the mouth of a large cave.

"Hey, that’s Galvar and Claudio’s camp! She’s in real trouble there—and we’ll all get dragged into it!" one of the thinner werewolves remarked, while the one who had pointed toward the cave flashed a taunting, infuriating grin.

Noemi raised an eyebrow. She recognized him—this was the man whose right foot she had once severed. To her, the werewolves all looked more or less the same, given their shared physical form, but she would never forget this man’s face. This was the wolf she had previously fought when he tried to enter her room to seek revenge. Little did they know that, aside from her shotgun, she always kept another weapon close by—a sword made of pure silver, a gift from her late father.

"The shotgun is for enemies at a distance, and the sword is for enemies up close," she recalled her father saying.

"If he truly wants to get his 'pet' back, he’ll go there," he added with a smirk.

Noemi smirked as well, then slammed the torch she was holding hard into the ground and readied her shotgun.

"What? Are you crazy? What you're doing is dangerous!" the one-legged man exclaimed, his eyes wide with alarm.

"Do you think I’m stupid enough to go there?" Noemi snapped, briefly pointing the shotgun toward his face—which made him scramble back in fear—before unleashing four consecutive blasts into the cave.

The force of the attack shattered the cave's entrance.

The werewolves were terrified by her actions and scrambled to hide. A few more seconds passed as the smoke slowly dissipated, revealing two wounded werewolves who glared at her with fury.

"It's Galvar!" someone exclaimed, voice trembling with fear.

"What the f*ck do you want, human?!" he shouted at Noemi, his eyes betraying a seething, restrained rage.

"You took my sheep. Give it back, or you die today!" Noemi yelled back, reloading her shotgun and leveling it at them.

"Claudio's skin is burning."

A few more seconds of silence ticked by before they were startled by something flying through the air. A blood-stained sack—containing an animal that was no longer moving—thudded to the ground in front of Noemi.

She let out a sharp, forceful breath and fired two shots; Galvar and Claudio recoiled in terror as the bullets nearly struck them. She bent down and embraced the blood-soaked sack.

"If you dare set foot in my territory again, I’ll cut your head off!" she shouted, then turned and walked away, while the rogue werewolves she passed scrambled once more to find cover.