COTBC 34

Chapter 34

Cursed Night Raid

“Graaah—!”

The war cry of the cook who rushed toward Isaac quickly turned into a scream.

Thud.

The wrist holding the dagger hit the ground.

“Are you going to attack too?”

Carlson asked the second cook, who was hesitating with a dagger in hand.

“N-no, sir.”

The cook dropped his weapon.

“You… don’t tell me—”

Ironically, the only one truly shocked by the situation was Günter.
Neither Isaac nor Carlson looked surprised at all.

“You’re crazy! You drew a blade on the lord? Even if you’re from Baitur, do you realize this will only worsen hatred against your tribe?”

Günter shouted.

“Gghk—”

The cook clutching his severed wrist trembled in pain, eyes burning with rage in the torchlight.

“The crazy ones… are you… all of you… When did we ever bow our heads? Fields, hills, forests… have no owners. They belong to themselves. Those nobles who don’t understand that… will end up with nothing.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“Wait.”

Carlson raised his sword, but Isaac stopped him with a hand.

“What happens if someone drinks this?”

“Ha… curious? Then… try it…”

The severed cook picked up the fallen dagger with his remaining hand.
His body was trembling violently.

“Carlson. Don’t kill him yet.”

“Graaah—!”

Carlson struck again, severing the remaining arm.

Now both arms were useless.

Blood pooled heavily on the dirt ground.

If they wouldn’t answer what it was, then they would test it.

“Günter. Make him drink the beer from the barrel.”

“Sir?”

Confused, Günter obeyed Isaac’s sharp gaze.

Carlson forced the cook’s mouth open while Günter poured beer into it.

“Cough—gghk!”

The cook convulsed as the liquid forced its way down.

His eyes, reflecting the moonlight, filled with fear.

“Cough… no… I don’t want to die like this… as a human…”

He muttered between violent coughing fits.

“Is he dead?”

Günter asked.

Soldiers had gathered after hearing the commotion, watching anxiously.

“He’ll die soon. He lost too much blood.”

Carlson replied.

Then—

Crack. Crack.

A strange sound echoed.

The cook’s back arched.

His spine protruded beneath his shirt.

His limbs swelled unnaturally.

“Ghk… ghh… ghhh…”

His breathing distorted.

A low growl rose from his throat.

His bones and flesh twisted.

His nose and mouth elongated.

Black fur sprouted across his body.

His skull deformed.

Black blood leaked from eyes and ears.

“GRAAAH!”

The transformed creature was no longer human.

Claws burst through boots.
Fingernails sharpened and lengthened.

This was not normal transformation.

It was violent, sudden, unnatural.

“Beastification.”

Isaac muttered.

He had never expected to witness such a phenomenon in reality.

The soldiers froze, unable even to breathe.

Slash.

Carlson decapitated the creature without hesitation.

Only now did Isaac understand.

He finally solved the missing piece.

How the hell wolves had crossed Binfelt’s walls.
Why no corpses remained.
Why the numbers didn’t add up.

“This… is it.”

Isaac looked up at the moon again.

He had studied many fields to overcome his condition—even cursecraft.

In cursecraft, the moon symbolized madness, origin, and cycles.

The Baitur worshipped the wolf god.
A tribe where familial instinct was strongest.

When the moon reached fullness—

They returned to their “true nature.”

Cursecraft mimicked nature and reality to gain power… but always at a cost.

“Who drank it?”

Isaac asked sharply.

“Almost everyone… I think.”

Günter answered.

“All of them?”

“Yes…”

“Since when did they start mixing hell wolf blood into this?”

Isaac turned to the remaining cook.

“Answer me.”

Carlson pressed his blade closer.

“Y-yesterday… we were ordered… at the rendezvous point during night patrol… we didn’t know! We thought it was just to help sleep better…!”

“So it was meant to assassinate the lord during the night.”

“…Yes.”

Carlson’s eyes narrowed.

“Why didn’t everyone transform?”

“I… I don’t know… I only know that someone named Walden… might have known…”

“Walden?”

Carlson kicked the corpse of the first cook.

“Yes… he said… he would go to Balaka… and beg forgiveness…”

“Carlson.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think?”

Carlson asked Isaac.

“Moon… blood… and something else.”

Isaac thought.

But the final condition was unclear.

“Answer one last question. I’ll spare your life.”

“Anything! Anything!”

“Did Birlpheer order this?”

“Yes!”

“And after finishing the task?”

“We were told to send a signal!”

“Signal?”

“Yes! From the nearby hills!”

“Which signal?”

The cook suddenly looked upward.

“That one.”

“Which one?”

“That—!”

A fire arrow shot up from within the camp, tracing a curve into the night sky.

Awoooo—

A wolf howl echoed nearby.

Clearer than ever.

Carlson sheathed his sword.

“They’re coming.”

“Battle positions.”

“Everyone, battle positions!”

Carlson roared.

“Battle positions!”

Confused soldiers began moving.

But the attack came faster than expected.

“Gyaaah!”

“Wolves!”

Black hell wolves erupted inside the camp.

“Hold them back!”

Carlson rushed in and killed one—but the soldier was already dead, torn apart.

Blood pooled like a lake.

“How… already?”

He had sensed movement earlier—three hundred paces away.

Yet now they were already inside.

And then—

“Help me! Help me!”

Another soldier screamed.

Carlson rushed in—

Then froze.

“…Ah.”

It was transformation.

The cook had been right.

The infected soldiers were becoming hell wolves.

Carlson exhaled sharply.

He raised his sword.

Slash.

Mercifully ending a transformed soldier.

“Rest now.”

He closed the soldier’s eyes.

Then he remembered Isaac’s words:

“The best you can do is minimize casualties.”

Carlson ran toward the camp entrance.

“Don’t fear! Fight as humans! Die as humans!”

A voice echoed behind him.

Isaac’s voice—sharp, almost inhuman.

Fear itself had arrived.

Carlson understood.

That was the key.

Fear.

And then—

A silver figure landed.

The Wolf King.

Its golden eyes gleamed under the moon.

“Use weapons, you fools!”

Bessemer’s voice roared from the chaos.

Bound and starved for days, he had broken through the encirclement.

He stood before the Wolf King.

“You came to save me, Father.”

Silver wolf and Bessemer stared at each other.

A silence stretched.

“Do you remember this axe?”

Bessemer raised it.

“The one you gave me at my coming-of-age ceremony.”

Growl…

“Now I will use it… to save your soul.”

He gripped the axe with both hands.

“RA, TU, BALAKA!”

And he charged.