The Past of Bates the Werewolf

As night deepened, a round White Moon rose into the sky. Silver moonlight spilled over the vast white snow. Mountains, trees, and earth reflected the moonlight and snowlight together, beautiful and serene.

The white fur blanket was warm, but Loren was a little bored in the shelter made of branches.

The quiet world was shattered by a hoarse roar.

"Urgh..."

"Ah!"

Bates's restrained, pained voice came from the Cave, low and heavy, accompanied by the sounds of someone unable to bear the pain and rolling around on the ground.

"Ah!"

The cries of pain grew sharper and hoarser, yet seemed to carry a hint of release.

Then there was silence for a while.

"Awoo~"

A piercing wolf howl traveled through the rocks to the Wilderness, echoing between the mountains.

Loren's face immediately went pale.

Creak~

The sound of Claws scraping against rock came from within. The transformed Werewolf scratched at the stone again and again. Then came dull impacts as the Werewolf slammed its body against the rock wall, trying to find a way out.

Loren took a deep breath and steadied his trembling body, deciding it would be best to leave first. No one knew whether Grandpa Bates, after losing his mind, would be able to get out.

After packing his bundle, he hurried back to the Wooden House beneath the bright moonlight.

His steps grew faster and faster until he was running through the mountains. When he got home, he discovered that the windbreak tarp had already split open with a huge tear.

Loren opened the door, scooped up a handful of snow, and put it into the stove to melt as he lit the fire. The room gradually warmed up. After a mouthful of water moistened his throat, he began sorting through his thoughts.

Grandpa Bates was a Werewolf. Every month, during the Full Moon, he transformed uncontrollably. Every month, he had to spend the night of the Full Moon in the mountains, followed by a period of weakness.

That explained Bates's strange habits.

The bizarre rumors in town were meant to keep the townspeople away from Bates. Perhaps they had been spread by someone who knew the truth, or perhaps by Bates himself.

One question had been answered, but even more emerged.

Why would someone like Bates be willing to raise a burden? He was clearly freer on his own.

Were the two of them really related by blood? If not, what exactly had the church and government intended when they sent him here?

Was this really the England of the 1980s that he had known before?

If Werewolves existed, did that mean Vampires existed too? And what roles did the Holy See and the government play?

One question followed another, one doubt after the next.

And more recently, the occult knowledge in those two books—was Alchemy really just a story? What was that strange Bookseller really after?

Most importantly, should he run away from Bates?

His chaotic thoughts led nowhere. What he could be certain of was that an underage child could not travel far.

Grandpa Bates's wrinkled face appeared in Loren's mind: his smile when he said Loren would achieve great things, his angry scolding when he saw Loren playing in the snow in only a thin shirt, and his weakness after returning from the mountains each month.

So much time had passed without him even realizing it. He decided to wait. Grandpa Bates deserved that trust.

Loren lay on his little bed and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day.

By the time Loren woke up, the sky was already bright. He went to the Sheep Pen to milk fresh Sheep Milk, boiled it, and let it cool. One gulp left him feeling refreshed.

He also set aside the tangled thoughts from last night. Loren decided to leave things as they were. No matter how complicated things became, they were not something he could handle right now.

Grandpa Bates was still his Grandpa Bates. No matter what, during these years on the ranch, Bates had always treated him as family.

Once he had thought it through, Loren was no longer troubled.

The sky gave off clear, pure light that reflected off the snow, making his heart feel transparent and bright.

What an interesting world! Maybe one day, he would come into contact with extraordinary people and things. Maybe he would become extraordinary himself.

The story in Loren's mind shifted from Vampire Hunter to DC Marvel, and his mood brightened further.

That afternoon, Bates came down from the mountains, dragging his exhausted body behind him.

"Grandpa, you're back!" Loren spotted him from far away.

"Mm."

Bates looked at the child before him, who could now be considered a big boy. Sighs, emotion, and all sorts of strange feelings surged up at once, clogging his throat.

Bates remembered how the child had been like a kitten when he first arrived. Now he was already ten and could climb the mountain alone.

When Bates left the Cave, he saw the traces Loren had left behind. The shelter had been built fairly well, though he did not know how to make a fire.

Bates felt a little relieved and a little worried. He did not know how much Loren had discovered.

There were some things Bates had wanted to take with him to the grave, but he had underestimated a child's intelligence. He was wondering how to begin, and where to start.

"I made Lamb Stew with Potatoes, and there's macaroni too." Loren did not pay attention to Bates's unusual expression.

Bates let out a relieved sigh. "What a hardworking young man."

He planned to enjoy this meal before saying anything. After all, his body was still very weak.

After swallowing the last Lamb Chop, Bates let out a satisfied sigh. "Even when it's the same dish, your cooking is always much better than mine."

Loren raised his eyebrows. "That's a talent."

The two chatted and laughed as they put away the dishes, then sat on the Steps outside the door. They watched moonlight pour down from the mountains, draping the snow-white peaks in a veil of silver.

"Interested in hearing an Old Man tell a story?" There was a note of release in the old man's voice.

"Experience is wisdom," Loren replied.

"Forty years ago, when I was still a young man..."

When Bates was young, he had fought in World War II. Though he had not been on the main battlefield, it had been just as dangerous.

Once, while returning from an escort mission transporting supplies, they encountered a small elite unit of Enemy Forces in a Mountainous Area.

A whole company chased them everywhere. In the end, Bates's squad was separated from the Main Force. They followed the general direction of their return route and went deeper and deeper into the Mountainous Area, while the Pursuers closed in step by step.

"We stumbled into a Wooden House in the Mountainous Area. It was a little like ours, but much bigger." Bates turned back to look at his own house, and for an instant, he seemed to see that squad of Recruits from forty years ago.

Aside from ordinary household items, there was a room in the Wooden House built like a cage. Inside lay a middle-aged woman. The cage door was tightly shut, with three or four Iron Locks the size of footballs hanging from it, as though the woman were some terrifying Ferocious Beast.

The key lay on the ground not far from the cage door. They opened it and woke the woman.

The woman told them that she was a legendary Werewolf. Every night of the Full Moon, she would turn into a Werewolf and lose her mind. She had lived in the Mountainous Area all her life.

That night was another Full Moon, so she had locked herself up beforehand. After saying this, the woman told them to leave as quickly as possible.

The young Recruits were filled with strange and exciting ideas. If they became Werewolves, wouldn't they be able to break through the encirclement?

Three people in the group agreed with the idea. The others did not want to abandon their faith and fall into darkness's embrace.

Young Bates held Holy Light in his heart and left the Wooden House with the few whose faith remained firm.

The other three wanted to gamble. They smeared the woman's saliva over their wounds and waited inside for the Enemy Forces and nightfall to arrive.

"What happened next? Why did you become a Werewolf too?" Loren asked.

"Fate is like that. It never follows the path people have planned for it." Bates sighed endlessly.

The three Recruits became Werewolves and swiftly slaughtered the pursuing Enemy Forces. They then followed the scent and caught up with their comrades.

"I watched those beasts tear my Comrades into chunks of flesh. The moonlight that night was like blood." Bates covered his face, his voice choked with sobs.

The moon finally set. Bates was injured, but he had survived by luck.

The three Werewolf Comrades regained their senses, unable to accept what they had done, and shot themselves.

Later, as Bates treated his wounds, he noticed the bite mark on his arm.

"I returned to England carrying their last letters and immense terror, along with their hopes for their families."

After handling his Comrades' affairs, Bates had intended to return to his hometown and live out the rest of his days peacefully.

When he passed through this town, he was about to spend the first Full Moon night after being bitten. Ignoring the residents' warnings, Bates went up the mountain alone. He walked for several hours, entering deep into the Deep Mountain...

"When I woke up in the morning, I was near the site of this Wooden House. I had made a complete mess of the woods. Some animals had been torn to pieces, and blood was everywhere." Bates's aged voice slowly described the cruel scene.

Loren knew this was the origin of the rumors below the mountain.

Bates settled here. He did not dare take a wife or return home, and his family believed that he had died on the battlefield.