บท 20: Chapter 19: …Of the Full Moon
Vincent's attention became fixated on the man, and an unmistakable sense of recognition dawned upon him. This mysterious figure was not a stranger to Vincent; he had previously encountered him amidst a throng of people. Vincent's transformation continued with fervor, his body morphing rapidly as hair grew at an alarming rate, and his height increased with each passing moment. Despite this profound change, Vincent's gaze remained fixed upon the silver-eyed man, who remained placid and unperturbed by the spectacle taking place before him.
For a moment, Vincent's awareness receded, and he took a step backward, his spine colliding with the icy coldness of the stone wall behind him. "Who are you?" Vincent growled, his voice low and gravelly. "Why… Are you here?"
As Vincent's body continued to transform under the influence of the accursed curse, his arms stretched out, and his legs contorted into unusual shapes. Yet, the man before him did not flinch, remaining motionless and unruffled. "I am similar to you, though with some differences," replied the man with the silver eyes. "You didn't answer my question. Do you expect that the king will issue a decree allowing werewolves to integrate into society, proclaiming that they pose no danger to society as a whole? What a naive and idiotic thought."
At the mention of this, Vincent's fury flared, and his transformation magnified. Saliva sprayed around the room as he bellowed at the silver-eyed man, his rage uncontrollable. His eyes widened in horror as he realized the extent of his outburst. "Please, leave," Vincent implored the man. "I don't want to fight... Just let me be."
Vincent's heart ached as he pleaded with the silver-eyed man, but the stranger was more intrigued with Vincent's cursed state than moved by his plea. He peered at Vincent's contorting frame with glowing eyes, scanning every inch of his body, from the cursed skin of the werewolf to the rough scars and revolting pimples that dotted his flesh. The stranger's face softened with a look of pity.
"Is this not torture for you?" the silver-eyed man asked, his voice thick with sympathy. "To transform with every full moon and be forced to keep a constant vigil to avoid harming those around you. It's a wretched existence, in my opinion."
Vincent clung to his humanity, his heart racing in anticipation of the man's departure so that he could safely unleash the beast within. "Please... leave," he begged, hoping to avoid a violent confrontation.
But the silver-eyed man's smile suggested otherwise. "I'm afraid I cannot depart just yet, brother. I have some pressing questions for you." His hand clenched into a fist, and Vincent braced himself for the worst.
The stranger took a step closer, and Vincent recoiled in terror. However, to his surprise, the man's expression softened once more, and he spoke again. "But I suppose I can spare you the agony of enduring this night," he said, and before Vincent could process what was happening, a sharp, heavy blow sent him reeling, his skull slammed against the wall, his consciousness slipping away as he crumpled to the ground.
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As the sun began to rise, Vincent slowly emerged from his forced slumber. The aftermath of his brutal beating left him disorientated, his head throbbing with pain, his vision clouded, his ears ringing, and the taste of blood in his mouth. He reached out to grasp onto something, anything to steady himself, and his fingers brushed against a cold, rough surface.
His mind still foggy, Vincent murmured to himself, trying to shake off the dizzying sensations. Suddenly, his eyes landed on a man seated across from him. With his arm draped lazily over his knee and his eyes closed, the stranger appeared to be deep in thought.
Vincent's memories began to flood back, causing him to flinch. He remembered this man, the one who had knocked him out with a single, devastating blow. Even worse, Vincent had been in his werewolf form at the time. As he surveyed his surroundings, Vincent's eyes fixed on the blood-stained wall beside him, and he knew it was the result of his own violent outburst.
"Have control of yourself now?" the man asked, breaking the silence. Vincent jerked his head up to meet the other's deep silver eyes, which seemed to bore into his very soul.
"Yeah," Vincent mumbled, avoiding eye contact. "How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Knock me out. I tried slamming myself against the wall, but it didn't work. Your punch, however..."
"Told you, I'm like you. Well, not exactly like you, but similar enough," the silver-eyed man shrugged nonchalantly. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small pouch, extracting a piece of bread and tossing it to Vincent. "Here, you must be hungry after last night."
Vincent took the bread gratefully, biting into it slowly, his mind still reeling from the previous night's events. "I didn't see you trying to hold on to the transformation last night. You can control the bloodlust?"
"Unlike you, I am not cursed," the man chuckled. "I am just a man... who happens to be able to turn into a werewolf, without any extra baggage."
"How is that... possible?" Vincent asked, genuinely curious.
"Werewolves that couldn't change at will will say exactly that to you too." he said. "After all, they don't have the pleasure of playing hero in the middle of a city full of nordlings."
Vincent's response was hesitant, his voice barely above a murmur. "I... I suppose you're right."
The silver-eyed man's tone turned inquisitive as he leaned in, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "So, can you finally answer my question?"
Vincent feigned ignorance. "What question?"
The man's expression turned serious as he asked, "Why do you feel the need to 'play hero'? What do you hope to achieve through your vigilantism? Surely you do not expect to receive a medal of honor from Foltest himself?"
Vincent let out a derisive snort before taking a bite of his bread. "No, of course not. I simply... I don't want people to view me as a monster."
The silver-eyed man shook his head in disagreement. "That is an impossible feat. People fear what they do not know, especially when faced with a towering figure twice their size, with menacing fangs, lethal claws, and unbridled rage."
Vincent let out a deep, heavy sigh, his heart sinking as he came to grips with the harsh truth in the man's words. "As a guard of the Temple Quarter in Vizima, I have taken on the noble responsibility of protecting the humans and non-humans who seek refuge here. It's a place where we all come together, setting aside our differences to work towards a common goal, all under the watchful eye of the benevolent goddess. And if I can use this... curse... that is within me to help safeguard this community, then I will do so with all my might. It's just disheartening to think that I will forever be viewed as nothing more than a monster, even after I've done everything in my power to protect them."
The man hummed casually, his voice oozing with understanding. "Your aspirations are indeed admirable, my friend. But, as I've said before..."
"Naive, I know," Vincent nodded, his eyes downcast and full of sorrow.
"I don't blame you though," the man continued, his tone laced with empathy. "It's a difficult life we lead, especially for those of us who are deemed different by society. Even the harmless, nearly-immortal elves are oppressed, let alone those creatures who struggle to control their bloodlust and rage."
Vincent sighed again, his heart heavy with the weight of the world's injustices. "Yeah..."
The silver-eyed man then fixed Vincent with a piercing stare, which made the guard feel uneasy and on edge. Suddenly, the man took something out of his pocket and held out a necklace made of rough-hewn wood and frayed rope, letting it dangle from his hand as he showed it to Vincent. In a sudden movement, he tossed the necklace towards the guard, who caught it deftly in his hand.
"What's this?" Vincent asked, his eyes flicking back and forth between the necklace and the enigmatic stranger.
"Consider it an invitation," the man replied enigmatically.
"An invitation to what?" Vincent queried, his curiosity piqued.
"To be free of your curse," the man continued, his words coming out in a low, almost conspiratorial tone. "You see, werewolves of my kind are inherently different from yours. Thanks to the blessing of the three wolves, you no longer need to lock yourself up every full moon, nor must you struggle to contain your bloodlust. You can carry on with your life just as before, if not better, and without the burden of your curse."
Vincent's eyes widened in disbelief, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. "Are you being serious? You can...you can turn me into a different kind of werewolf?"
"Interesting," Vincent chuckled. "It's rare to hear a werewolf calling their affliction a blessing. And three gods? As a follower of the goddess, I find it blasphemous to believe in anyone else."
"Did your goddess cure you of your suffering every full moon?" the man retorted.
Vincent averted his gaze and fidgeted with his necklace. "How do I know you're not lying?"
The man sneered. "Do I look like a liar to you?" He then stood up and disrobed in front of Vincent, who was taken aback. The man's body contorted and transformed into that of a black wolf, leaving Vincent in awe. "It's your decision," spoke the wolf-man, his voice clear despite his lupine appearance. His body bulged again, and he grew to thrice his previous size. "I'm offering you a chance to live a better life."
The towering werewolf approached Vincent as his body morphed back into that of a form that Vincent is familiar with, though bigger than Vincent's own form. His fur was as black as the night, and his eyes shone in the darkness. "So, what's your decision?" he asked.
Vincent held the necklace tightly in his hand and gazed into the silver eyes of the werewolf. "I don't even know your name," he said.
The werewolf chuckled, sounding almost like a growl. "Blaidd. Blaidd of Lod."
"Then, Blaidd of Lod," Vincent replied with a sigh, donning the necklace he had been given. "Tell me, how do I become like you?"
Blaidd smirked at the necklace hanging around Vincent's neck. "Welcome to the hunt, brother. Let's begin, shall we?"
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