Who is the Old Wolf King? It sounds like he's the leader of a werewolf pack. Does this mean that the "Old Wolf King" doesn't allow me to sell pork? Is he that overbearing? Glen's thoughts spun for a moment, and in his confusion, he forgot to respond. He stood still for a moment, lost in thought.
The strange lady noticed his distraction and smirked, drawing his focus back to her. "What's the matter, Mr. Werewolf? Are you scared? You wouldn't think that just because you've gained a little strength, you're invincible, would you? That Old Wolf King is very dangerous, you know. He could take down ten of you without breaking a sweat."
Glen stared at her expectantly, her expression almost like she was waiting for some kind of dramatic reaction. Instead of answering her question, Glen snapped impatiently, "Are you going to buy something or not?"
"Ah?" The strange lady blinked in surprise, then her face twisted into a scowl. "Are you messing with me?"
Glen rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about? Hurry up. If you're buying, buy; if not, move aside. Don't mess up my business."
Her anger flared, but she found it almost amusing. A wild werewolf... what did he think he was? Who did he think he was, anyway? She had come over just to pass the time and amuse herself by teasing him, never expecting someone like him to behave so... unpredictably.
"You filthy, lowly creature! Do you even know who I am?!" Her eyes turned a blood-red hue, and a dangerous aura enveloped Glen.
But Glen wasn't fazed. He leaned forward on the counter, mimicking her previous posture. He looked her directly in the eye, unflinching. His voice dropped, sharp and firm. "Get lost."
The last word came out in a deep, almost demonic tone, putting pressure on her.
"You..." The strange lady's chest rose and fell with rage. Her hand gripped the wooden counter, and her fingernails punctured the surface with a screeching sound.
She was furious. Normally, werewolves of this rank would crumble under her bloodthirsty presence, trembling and begging for mercy. Yet here he was, not only unaffected but also daring to challenge her?
Just as Glen thought she might strike, the strange lady took a deep breath, letting go of her anger. The fury on her face vanished, replaced by a smile once more. "Mr. Werewolf, what's your name?"
"I thought you were going to start fighting," Glen said with a raised eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm Glen. Full name, Glen Nibankru. If you have a problem, feel free to come find me."
The lady's eyes narrowed in irritation, but she kept her composure. "Fight? I'm not some barbaric, lowly creature like you." She repeated his name slowly, as if savoring it. "Alright, I'll remember that, Mr. Glen Nibankru. We'll meet again."
With that, she turned to leave, but Glen raised an eyebrow, sensing there was something more to be said.
"Aren't you going to tell me your name? That's very rude, you know!" He called out.
"Who are you calling rude?" The strange lady's patience snapped once again.
Glen leaned in slightly. "So, what's your name?"
"Murphy! Murphy Elton!" she snapped, her tone sharp.
Glen repeated her name aloud. "Hmm, easy to remember."
"Anything else?" Murphy's voice was now colder than before.
Without hesitation, Glen gave her a long, appraising look. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in the full picture. Murphy stiffened, clearly agitated by his unrelenting gaze. "Are you... a vampire?"
Glen asked quietly, ensuring that the people around them wouldn't overhear.
Murphy's eyes widened slightly, and her voice took on a hard edge. "You haven't figured out what I am until now?"
Glen simply nodded, his tone casual.
Murphy covered her face in frustration. She hated doing this, but she couldn't help herself. "As a species in direct opposition to ours, you're truly pathetic."
Glen nodded slowly, understanding. "So you are a vampire... what are you doing here, then? Looking for food?"
He prepared himself, just in case her answer was yes. He'd be ready to strike immediately.
"Who told you that our kind only feeds on human blood?" Murphy scoffed, giving a disdainful glance at the passing people. "These humans... they don't bathe. They're filthy, revolting. And don't even get me started on those so-called nobles. They don't bathe either, and they mask their stench with even worse scents. It's disgusting! To feed on these creatures? I'd rather die."
Her disgust was palpable, and she almost seemed to recoil from the very thought.
"I, on the other hand, only feed on creatures that are clean and have magical powers. Only those who are worthy of my stature deserve my attention."
Glen's posture relaxed somewhat. He had been expecting something else, but this answer was... unexpected. He gave a knowing nod. "Exactly, exactly. I agree, none of us filthy, inferior beings are worthy of your high status. Go find those who match your standards."
Murphy smirked, a tiny amused chuckle escaping her lips. "You have some insight, don't you? You know your place."
She adjusted her beautiful hat, turned her back, and walked into the crowd, her demeanor regal.
Glen watched her disappear into the sea of people, that strange, unnatural aura lingering long after she was gone. He muttered quietly to himself, "This town is definitely not as peaceful as it looks..."
As the crowds thinned with the approach of evening, Glen decided it was time to pack up. His black pigs still hadn't sold out, and with the meager profit he made—only a little over a thousand copper, less than half of last time—he decided to call it a day. The remaining meat would have to be handled himself.
Gathering the scraps into a bag, Glen closed his eyes and sniffed the air, searching for a familiar scent.
After a few moments, his eyes snapped open. "Found it."
He could now clearly identify the direction. He hitched his cart and set off toward his target.
In a modest two-story house, a middle-aged woman stood at the base of the stairs, looking up with worry. "Bonnie, come down and eat something. Really, you can't keep going like this. I'm so worried about you."
From upstairs came a faint, tired voice. "I'm not hungry, Mom. I just need to be alone for a bit."
"But if you don't eat, you'll get sick!" the woman pleaded.
"I'll come down if I'm hungry. Don't worry about me, Mom. You go ahead and eat."
The middle-aged woman hesitated, then sighed, looking at the simple meal of rye bread and bean stew on the table. She had no appetite and simply sat there, lost in thought.
Knock knock.
Two soft knocks at the door broke her from her reverie. Startled, she quickly got up to answer it, wondering who might be visiting. Most often, it was Bonnie's friends who came looking for her.
When the door opened, however, it was a young man she didn't recognize. Her instincts immediately told her to be cautious.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm a friend of Bonnie's. I heard she's been having a tough time lately, so I came to check on her. I apologize if I'm disturbing you."
Glen greeted her smoothly, his tone polite and clear.