The soldiers immediately fell to their knees, bowing low, and shouted in unison, "Sir Knight! We are unworthy of life..."
Harold smiled faintly and replied, "Everyone makes mistakes. If the mistake doesn't cost lives and isn't repeated, it's forgivable. Today, you've learned two important lessons: first, never judge someone by their appearance, and second..."
He raised his hand, and his sword appeared in an instant, flying toward him with incredible speed before settling firmly in his grip. A radiant aura surrounded the blade, making it gleam with an otherworldly brilliance. Harold pointed the sword at the baron and said, "Never expose your lord's weaknesses to someone whose strength remains unknown."
The baron, drenched in sweat, trembled as his legs gave out, collapsing into a wooden chair.
"I-I'm sure your journey has been long, Sir Knight," the baron stammered.
"No journey is short, Baron." Harold replied coolly.
"May I take the liberty of asking why you accepted such a simple mission? As you can see, we lack the resources to host someone of your stature."
"I didn't come here for hospitality, Baron. Don't insult me."
"No, not at all! I just meant we don't have much to offer."
"Do you have a place for me to sleep?" Harold asked.
"Y-Yes, of course."
"Then why claim you have nothing?"
[This old man is strange. Knights of his caliber usually become counts or wealthy landowners, but he's here, discussing hospitality and simplicity in this tiny stone castle with me.]
[Oh, my God! He's Harold Golden Shrine, the legendary knight! He slays demons, banishes spirits, and shines like a beacon of light in the world's darkness. Only a true knight could think this way. He even forgave us after we insulted him—such generosity!]
Everyone's thoughts raced differently, but they all converged on one name: Harold Golden Shrine.
The baron gestured to a plump servant, who immediately left to prepare refreshments. The plump servant moved with surprising agility.
"Sir Knight, I'll spare no effort to assist you. Please tell me what you need," the baron said.
"Like any hunter, I need to know my prey. I want a detailed account of the situation—no details left out. I need to understand the conditions and the enemy we're facing."
"Yes, Sir. It seems we're dealing with a werewolf that only hunts young girls. We're not sure of its motive, but we haven't found any bodies. This leads us to believe it's collecting the blood of virgins."
"Or perhaps it's trying to reproduce by assaulting them and creating a new pack," Harold suggested.
"I-I don't know, Sir. But is such a thing even possible? A relationship between humans and monsters...?"
"There have been plenty of cases. That's why I say caution is crucial. Has this happened before?"
"As far as I can recall, no. But..."
"But what, Baron?"
"There have been cases where young girls disappeared and returned to the village a night later, their clothes torn, claiming they remembered nothing."
"Don't take them seriously, Baron. Those girls likely spent a stormy night with their lovers and blamed it on the monster. Be honest with me now—how many girls are truly missing? Don't count the village prostitutes; you know exactly what I mean."
The baron scratched his head with an awkward grin. At that moment, the plump servant returned with a large tray. The baron seized the opportunity to avoid answering and turned to the servant.
"Set it on the table and leave," he ordered.
Harold glanced at the refreshments, then fixed his gaze on the baron. "What's the real number of missing girls?"
The baron closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
[There's no hiding anything from him. I wish a rookie knight had been sent, but dealing with the nightmare of all monsters, I have no choice but to lay everything bare.]
"First, have some tea, Sir," the baron finally said.
Harold eyed the cup of tea, its surface gleaming cleanly enough to reflect his face.
[Strange behavior. Why is he dodging the question? This man is hiding something, and it feels connected to the disappearances. Girls disappearing and returning with torn clothes? Absurd. Does he think I'm a fool?]
He picked up the tea and discreetly infused it with mana to detect any anomalies.
[The tea seems fine. So, what is he up to?]
Harold took a measured sip, then set the cup back on the table with deliberate calm.
---
After finishing his tea, Harold stood up.
"Baron, I think that will be enough for now. The journey has been long, and I am no longer young. I'd like to retire to the room you've prepared so I can rest. Tomorrow, I'll begin my work. Thank you."
A faint smile touched Harold's lips, but his eyes glimmered with an intensity that made the baron's heart race. Rising from his chair with measured grace, Harold's gaze lingered on the baron for a brief moment, as if silently warning him.
The baron caught a flicker of light in Harold's pupils, and his breath hitched.
[What did this old man just do?!]
Harold ascended the stone staircase, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. The narrow hallway at the top led to several rooms, their wooden doors lined neatly along the walls. Reaching the second door on the right, he pushed it open to reveal modest yet sufficient quarters.
The sound of hurried footsteps behind him made him pause. A servant, drenched in sweat, staggered into view, carrying an armful of Harold's belongings. Setting the heavy items down with trembling hands, the servant bowed deeply. He left the room but returned several times, each trip leaving him more exhausted. By his final trip, the man's face was pale, and his breaths came in ragged gasps.
Harold reached into his pouch, pulled out a coin, and tossed it toward him. The servant caught it with shaky hands, his gratitude evident before he quickly departed.
As the door clicked shut, Harold's demeanor shifted. Mana spread from his hands, weaving an invisible shield across the room. Satisfied that no threats lurked within, he placed a protective spell on the door and settled onto the bed.
His eyes traced the grain of the wooden ceiling as his mind wandered.
[This situation isn't as simple as it seems. That baron… he's hiding something. And he's terrible at it.]
A soft chuckle escaped him. "People fear me. That means they've encountered threats before—strangers who've intimidated them. Girls have been disappearing for some time—I can feel it. The baron is either selling them or using them to satisfy the depraved desires of criminals and the wealthy.
"The villagers live in squalor while he resides in a fortress. Even stolen taxes wouldn't fund something of this scale." His tone darkened. "So why file a report? What's he really trying to cover up?"
Pushing himself upright, Harold approached his belongings, meticulously checking each item.
"Everything's here. He wouldn't dare try anything against a knight of my rank."
But his thoughts lingered on the werewolf. "Werewolves don't hunt alone. If this one is solitary, either that fool of a baron tangled with an entire pack, or this werewolf is no ordinary beast."
His voice lowered, a dangerous edge to his words. "I'll drag him to the village square, strip him bare, and execute him before everyone."
His thoughts drifted to the villagers and the stories he'd heard. Young women disappearing, only to return with torn clothes and hazy memories of the night.
[That man thinks I'll believe such nonsense? He's hiding something—and he's terrible at it.]
He chuckled again, this time without humor. "He's clumsy and desperate. But I'll know the truth soon enough."
Rising from the bed, Harold stared out of the window. Twilight had descended, draping the land in shadows. His fists clenched as he whispered, 'When night falls, every secret will be exposed.'