Chapter 27: The Madman

As I calmed my racing heart, I took a moment to survey the room I had hastily entered. The dim lighting from a solitary lamp cast eerie shadows, highlighting the other side of the room.

My eyes widened in shock as I noticed a small cell tucked away in the corner, its iron bars serving as a haunting reminder of captivity. But what truly made my blood ran cold was the figure imprisoned within.

There, in that cramped and gloomy space, sat Scyther, arms chained upward on his side. My heart skipped a beat as I took in his appearance. He was an old man, thin and haggard, with sunken eyes. His skin was pale and wrinkled as if time itself had etched its cruel marks upon him. His arms have been cut all over and are bleeding.

Scyther's presence alone was enough to send shivers down my spine. He was a man capable of unspeakable acts, a predator who preyed on both rogues and werewolves alike. No one knows his real name or even fully saw his face that was able to live. He has a reputation as