Chapter 77: The Survivor

Hode’s squad arrived at the massacred village.

Corpses were scattered all over, and the air was thick with the stench of blood.

Bloodstains covered the ground and walls, as if someone had deliberately smeared blood everywhere.

“These damned dark creatures,” Hode cursed.

“Let’s search the village together to see if there are any survivors,” Hode said.

“Werewolves are natural hunters, so don’t stray too far from each other, and stay alert at all times.”

Hode knew they were specially trained for legion warfare and had only sparred with humans, so they lacked understanding of werewolves.

The three men were visibly angry but restrained themselves and nodded.

However, the more they searched, the grimmer their expressions became.

All the corpses had holes in their chests, and their hearts had been gouged out.

Moreover, Hode could tell that these people had their hearts forcibly removed while still alive.

But amidst the anger, Hode also sensed trouble.

Such purposeful actions were clearly not something that just over twenty werewolves could accomplish.

Thump, thump, thump—Hode heard a faint knocking sound.

“There’s a sound!” Hode raised his hand to signal, and the three teammates fell silent.

Thump, thump, thump—the knocking became clearer.

“Over here,” Hode said, leading the three cautiously toward the source.

It was a two-story wooden house, and its size indicated that the owner held some status in the village.

The sound came from a box.

Carefully lifting the lid, they found miscellaneous items inside.

The sound seemed to sense Hode’s movement and stopped knocking, instead calling out.

“Are you sent by the lord?” The voice was young and tinged with fear.

Hode breathed a slight sigh of relief—it was human.

“No, we are Temple Warriors of the Church of the Sanctuary, sent here by the bishop to investigate werewolf traces,” Hode leaned in slightly and responded.

“The Church of the Sanctuary? I think I’ve heard of it. But, sir warrior, could you please open the cellar for me? It’s too stuffy in here,” the voice pleaded.

“Alright, please step back.”

Hode glanced at his three teammates, signaling them to stay alert, then circled to the back, pulled out the wooden latch of the cellar, and swiftly lifted the cover.

There was no movement.

After a brief silence, under the watchful eyes of the four, a young man climbed out.

“Ha…huff…” He took deep, greedy breaths; being confined in the cellar for nearly two days had clearly taken a toll on him.

Hode examined the boy—no injuries, just a bit disheveled—and relaxed.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said. “I thought I was going to suffocate.”

“But now you’re saved,” Hode said, glancing into the cellar.

The space was small, containing some flour, flatbread, and water.

The boy must have been curled up inside.

“Yes, I’m saved,” the boy said, his expression turning somewhat sorrowful.

…

The boy’s name was Marl, a commoner without a surname.

His father, leveraging a minor connection with the Hayes family, who originally managed the village, was allowed to do some small business and held some status in the village.

After that family was ousted from the manor by knights, he had some ambitions.

However, before those ambitions could materialize, the werewolf attack wiped them out along with him.

“I was still sleeping when my father pulled me up and threw me into the cellar,” Marl said.

“Father told me it was a werewolf attack and instructed me to stay silent in the cellar, only making noise during the day to call for help.”

“But father sealed the cellar tightly, so I couldn’t tell if it was day.”

“Today, I just couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

Hode listened to Marl’s account but gained no further information about the werewolves.

They didn’t stop; with Marl, a local, their search became easier.

However, after combing through the village, they found no other living person.

“The only place left is there,” Marl said.

“Where?”

“The Hayes family’s manor,” Marl pointed in a direction. “Their manor is built outside the village and is quite large. If we go there now, it’ll be dark by the time we finish searching.”

It was already dusk.

“Let’s go tomorrow,” Hode shook his head.

Continuing to act at night would be too dangerous.

They returned to Marl’s home and set up a guard.

“I’ve heard of the Church of the Sanctuary recently,” Marl said, gnawing on flatbread, his eyes filled with curiosity.

“I heard that everyone there is very kind and gives white bread to the poor.”

The flatbread he was eating now was yellowish, just slightly better than black bread. His family could only afford white bread occasionally.

“Yes,” Hode said. “The Lord loves all people, and as His servants, we also love people and extend a helping hand to those in need.”

He felt both curious and cautious about the boy named Marl.

Even when seeing the horribly mutilated corpses with their hearts gouged out, Marl only showed some disgust, without any fear.

“Truly merciful,” Marl nodded. “Can I join the church?”

“You see, my village has been destroyed, and I’m only sixteen. If I go to the town, I’ll become a vagabond.”

“You can work in the town or go to another village,” Hode said.

“The Daniels Village has a good relationship with the church; it’s a devout village. You can go there.”

The disagreement between the church and local authorities remained in the shadows, beyond Hode’s reach.

“Finally free from those families’ control, I don’t want to be managed again,” Marl said with some resistance.

“But there, you might not face attacks like this, losing your father to werewolves,” Hode said, his eyes fixed on Marl.

“But offending those people also means death, and perhaps worse than being caught by werewolves,” Marl said.

“When I was twelve, I sneaked into the Hayes family’s manor and heard screams inside.”

“It was the Hayes family punishing someone who made a mistake.”

“They slashed the person’s face, cut off several fingers, gouged out one eye, cut off half his tongue, broke one leg, pulled out his intestines and twisted them, and the blood dyed a bucket of water red.”

“Do you know what his crime was?”

“Because he dropped a stack of beast hides while moving goods for the Hayes family.”

“It was just a stack of beast hides that got a bit dusty.”

“But the Hayes family member said, ‘These hides are now dirty, their value greatly reduced, and won’t sell. As a merciful person, I’ll only ask you to compensate half the price—just three gold coins.'”

“Three gold coins! Even if he worked every day without eating, drinking, or sleeping, it would take him half a year to save up.”

“After selling his daughter to the Hayes family, he only managed to gather two gold coins and eight silver coins. But the Hayes family member was furious, thinking he was pretending to be pitiful and deceiving.”

“After taking his money, they dragged him into the manor and tortured him.”

As Marl spoke, his body trembled—not clear if from recalling the scene in fear or from anger.

The Temple Warriors showed no expression.

The three were trained as specialized warriors, with killing courses, and their instructors were said to be slaves.

Hode himself was a slave and had witnessed even more brutal events.

It was precisely because of such experiences that they became devout believers after hearing the Lord’s gospel.

“Weren’t you afraid then?” Hode asked.

“Of course I was terrified, extremely so, but I didn’t dare make a sound, not even tremble,” Marl’s body gradually calmed.

“I could only hide there, waiting for them to finish and leave before I dared to move.”

“You escaped successfully?”

“No, I killed that person and ended his suffering.”

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