"Your Fireball Spell proficiency has reached the maximum level."
The last flicker of flame went out, and at last a satisfied smile appeared on the gray-haired young man's face as he sat at the table.
This was Ethan's second year in this world. For the past two years, he had been doing the same thing—practicing Fireball Spell.
After 4,015 prayers and 16,060 casts, he had finally raised his Fireball Spell proficiency to the point of mastery.
But Ethan quickly wiped the smile from his face.
Even now, he was only a little more proficient than other people with Fireball Spell, the most basic of spells.
And beyond this window were the resurrected Ancient Gods, the ascended New Gods, and their powerful followers. He had no desire to get involved with those mad beings.
This world was full of danger, and the road ahead was long.
Ethan lit the gas lamp in his room. Documents covered the table, and on top lay a notice the guild had posted a few days earlier.
<Bounty Target: Werewolf. Estimated Threat Level: First Rank>
The client was Mrs. Royce, a woman from town. A few days ago, her husband had gone hunting with a shotgun and never returned. When the guild organized a search party to comb the mountain, they found his half-eaten corpse. His chest had been torn open, and his heart devoured.
Every sign pointed to a werewolf—the failed products of those who worshiped the Goddess of the Hunt and tried to ascend. They had become monsters who had lost all reason and fed on hearts.
Ethan had written the bounty notice himself. He was a clerk at the Town Guild, responsible for registering unusual incidents in town, posting bounty requests, and recording their progress. The work was tedious, but it let him handle cases involving the supernatural without ever leaving the office. From his desk, he could keep track of events in town and even along the border.
Today, however, Ethan had made a major mistake at work.
The reason was the red moon outside his window. It had a pupil that shifted from time to time, like a gigantic eye.
Ethan opened the worn Parchment Book on his desk and found the relevant chapter in the index.
Blood Moon Sacrifice.
He skipped the descriptive passages and found the crucial section. The Parchment Book said that under the blood moon's influence, the power of evil and mutated creatures increased dramatically. In a werewolf, this meant sharper senses, greater strength, greater speed, and an unparalleled ability to regenerate.
The blood moon also magnified the negative emotions in human hearts. Fear, anger, greed, and other such feelings could cloud people's judgment.
Simply put, it was a field buff that greatly strengthened Dark Creatures while weakening humans.
The contract had been taken by three experienced hunters, whom the guild had awarded first-rank medals. It should have been a sure thing, but the sudden phenomenon had changed everything.
I really have brought this on myself.
Ethan was beside himself with worry.
Everyone knew that werewolves were social Dark Creatures.
So here was the question: why was a lone wolf roaming the mountains outside town? Why had it suddenly attacked the townspeople?
Who kept casting Fireball Spell up the mountain late at night? And why did his skill proficiency sometimes rise by a small, unnatural amount?
Was this a distortion of human nature, or the collapse of morality?
At that very moment, the red moon outside the window scrutinized the suspect before the gas lamp like a great detective: Ethan, the so-called Mister.
Even nature itself seemed to pity the lonely werewolf in the mountains. Ethan could imagine how it had once been a carefree little wolf, living a happy, secluded life in the forest. It had a large pack, and every wolf in the pack was gentle and friendly.
Until one day, several fireballs streaked across the night sky and smashed into their heads.
Ethan, an ordinary townsman, knew that someone had spent the past two years firing tens of thousands of Fireball Spells into the deep mountains. Along the way, he had even started two forest fires. Every number representing his proficiency reeked of sin.
The eerie red moon was affecting Ethan. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could foresee what would happen to the three hunters.
A rustling sound filled his ears, and his vision lurched violently. It seemed to be one of the three hunters, running in panic through the forest. His right leg had been pierced, leaving him unable to take long strides. Every step brought searing pain.
The sounds of pursuit followed close behind. A swiftly moving shadow darted through the underbrush, then leaped onto a branch.
The hunter looked up and saw the shadow sweep past him. As the nearly three-meter-tall monster leaped down over his head, a severed arm fell before him.
It looked like a woman's arm, and the guild's mark was still visible on it.
The hunter fell to the ground in terror. Screaming, he scrambled backward on his hands and feet, but the massive creature merely sprang lightly onto him.
His screams were drowned out by the sound of breaking bones. Claws ripped open the hunter's chest, revealing a still-beating heart. The monster seized it like a precious prize, tore it free, and swallowed it whole.
"Gasp—!"
Ethan sucked in a sharp breath, sharing the hunter's terror in the face of death—and the werewolf's grief and rage.
Not a single werewolf wanted to be alone. It should have been hunting with its pack, filling the whole valley with cheerful life.
This can't go on!
Guilt gradually overwhelmed Ethan. Since his Fireball Spell had caused all this, it was only right that Fireball Spell should end it. He decided to use the warmth of his spell to soothe the wounds in the lone wolf's heart.
That way, they could all find peace.
With that thought, Ethan began his 4,016th prayer.
As he prayed devoutly, a meteor streaked across the distant edge of the night sky. Its roiling flames set the blood-red heavens alight, making the town seem to return to daylight.
Ethan had heard people in town say that meteors represented hope. The meteor in the night sky drew closer and closer, until at last it came crashing down on the mountain peak like a falling sun.
Unfortunately, he was still too inexperienced to do anything but make Fireball Spell look like a meteor. But he believed the lone wolf in the mountains had seen it.
Then, just as in a fairy tale, the little wolf would see its grandmother in the dazzling light. She would be so gentle, so loving. She would lift it into her arms, hold it close, and take it to a world without cold, hunger, or pain.
This was the story of The Little Werewolf Who Bought Fireballs.
Ethan found a little comfort in it, too. He gazed at the blood moon hanging high in the night sky. The moon clearly approved of what he had done: it closed its eye and stopped watching him with that icy gaze.
I've done another good deed today.
"Helped a child who had run away from home reunite with their family."
Ethan lowered his head and wrote his good deed down.
Then he turned off the gas lamp and closed his notebook.
Brookwood Town Good Deeds Record.
That was the title faintly visible on the notebook's cover.
Before you continue