The air in Eldrin's Edge was heavy with fear. By midday, rumors of the wolves' latest attack had spread to every corner of the village. The headman had ordered patrols to guard the livestock, but no one truly believed it would be enough. The wolves were no ordinary predators, and the villagers knew it.
Alaric stayed hidden, watching from the shadows as groups of men and women prepared their wards and charms. They moved with hurried, anxious energy, muttering prayers to the gods under their breath. It would have been almost comical if not for the gnawing pit in his stomach.
The system's words echoed in his mind: "Protect the village."
He had no idea how he was supposed to accomplish that. The wolves were faster, stronger, and more organized than anything he'd faced before. And the villagers… They wouldn't listen to him, even if he tried to warn them.
A commotion near the square pulled him from his thoughts. He crept closer, weaving through the narrow alleys until he reached the edge of the gathering.
"They'll be back tonight!" a farmer shouted. "We should evacuate the livestock!"
"And go where?" another man retorted. "The wolves will follow us into the woods. We're safer here with the wards."
The headman raised a hand, silencing the argument. "Enough. We'll strengthen the defenses and keep watch through the night. Anyone caught outside the wards will be left to fend for themselves."
Alaric's chest tightened. He knew exactly who the headman was referring to.
"Headman," a voice called, loud and venomous. Alaric recognized it instantly—Tarin, the blacksmith's eldest son. A brute of a man who had always taken delight in making Alaric's life miserable. "Why not deal with the real problem?"
Tarin stepped forward, his gaze scanning the crowd before landing on Alaric's hiding spot. "The wolves didn't start attacking until he came back from the woods. What if he's the one summoning them?"
The crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes turning toward Alaric. He felt their fear and hatred pressing down on him, a suffocating weight that made his legs tremble.
"I'm not—" he started, stepping into the open.
"Stay back!" Tarin barked, pointing a thick finger at him. "Don't bring your curse any closer."
Alaric's jaw tightened. He wanted to fight back, to scream that he wasn't the enemy, but the words stuck in his throat. What could he say that they would believe?
That night, Alaric sat alone near the barn, staring at the distant tree line. The village was eerily quiet, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant bark of a dog. The wards around the village glowed faintly, their light flickering in the darkness.
"They will not protect you," the voice said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Alaric flinched. He'd almost grown used to the voice by now, but it still startled him when it spoke.
"Then what will?" he asked, his voice bitter.
"You."
He shook his head. "I'm not a warrior. I barely survived last night. How am I supposed to protect an entire village?"
The glow returned, text forming in the air before him:
Trial Parameters Updated.
Objective: Repel the Cursed Wolves.
New Reward: System Upgrade—Combat Proficiency Unlocked.
Alaric frowned. "Combat proficiency? What does that mean?"
Before he could ask further, a surge of heat coursed through his body, more intense than anything he'd felt before. His vision blurred, and images flooded his mind: warriors wielding blades with deadly precision, moving with impossible speed and grace. The knowledge burned itself into his muscles, his instincts sharpening as if he'd trained for years in an instant.
When the light faded, Alaric's breath came in short, ragged gasps. He flexed his fingers, feeling the difference immediately. His grip was steadier, his movements more deliberate.
"You are ready," the voice said. "The wolves will come. Trust in the blood."
The first howl came just before midnight.
It cut through the stillness like a blade, sending shivers down Alaric's spine. Moments later, more howls joined in, their eerie chorus echoing through the trees.
The villagers stirred, their shouts of alarm carrying through the night. Alaric grabbed his hatchet and ran toward the square, his newfound instincts guiding his steps. The villagers were scrambling, their panic palpable as they huddled within the wards.
Then the wolves emerged.
They came from the shadows, their silver forms sleek and deadly. The wards flickered as the first wolf lunged, its claws colliding with the barrier in a shower of sparks. The villagers screamed, but the wards held—for now.
Alaric didn't hesitate. He darted forward, placing himself between the wolves and the panicked crowd. The pack leader stepped into view, its eyes locking onto him with an almost human intelligence.
"You want me," Alaric muttered, tightening his grip on the hatchet. "Fine. Let's finish this."
The wolves charged.
Alaric moved like a man possessed. His hatchet flashed in the moonlight, striking with a precision he hadn't known he was capable of. The first wolf went down, its form dissolving into mist as his blade cut through it. The second lunged at his side, but he spun, the motion fluid and instinctive, and buried the hatchet in its neck.
The villagers watched in stunned silence, their fear momentarily forgotten as they saw the boy they'd mocked and reviled fighting like a seasoned warrior.
But the wolves kept coming. For every one he struck down, another took its place. His arms ached, his chest heaving with effort, but he refused to stop.
Then the pack leader attacked.
It was faster, stronger, more ruthless than the others. It slammed into him, knocking the hatchet from his hand and pinning him to the ground. Its glowing eyes bore into his, and for a moment, he thought it was over.
But the heat returned, fiercer than before. Alaric's vision blurred, and he felt the strength of the bloodline surging through him.
With a roar, he shoved the wolf off, grabbing a discarded blade from a fallen villager. The weapon felt like an extension of his arm as he swung, the blade slicing through the pack leader in a single, decisive strike.
The remaining wolves hesitated, then scattered, retreating into the woods. The village fell silent once more.
The villagers stared at Alaric, their expressions a mix of fear and awe. He stood there, bloodied and breathless, the blade still clutched in his hand.
"Stay back," Tarin said, his voice trembling. "He's not… he's not normal."
Alaric met their gazes, his heart sinking. They wouldn't see him as a savior. Only as something to fear.
The glowing text appeared once more, unnoticed by the others:
Trial Complete.
Status: Protector.
Reward: Combat Proficiency Level 1 Unlocked.
Alaric turned without a word, disappearing into the shadows. He didn't need their thanks. The wolves were gone—for now—and that was enough.