Sling—Ancestor Launcher

Werewolves were not a species. They had once been human, but after suffering a dreadful witchcraft curse, the darkness and bloodlust deep within them had been endlessly amplified, leaving them enslaved to the beastly nature hidden in their souls.

Legend said that when aconite bloomed beneath a full moon, even warriors with pure and noble hearts could not stop the curse from devouring their souls...

Such tales were not widespread in the Sorrow Mountains. The Reshman tribe generally believed werewolves were pitiful people who had sought help from witches but could not pay the steep price, eventually becoming the witches' pets.

But regardless of which tale about werewolves was true, it meant nothing to Kas right now. There was no way he could kill a cursed werewolf with a wooden stick tied to a lasso.

Kas slowly crouched down, pressing his back against the huge boulder as he prepared to slip away.

Once the full moon, when werewolves were active, had passed, he could catch another one and bring it back to complete the task. That seemed feasible too.

Morse saw through his thoughts at a glance and quietly warned him:

"Stupid brat, if the War Chief finds out you encountered a werewolf during the ritual and ran away in fear, he'll skin you alive."

"Then what am I supposed to do? Wrestle it with a wooden stick?"

Kas raised the wooden stick, which was not even as thick as a finger. The leather loop swaying from its tip in the wind seemed to be reminding him—

Counting on me to deal with a werewolf? You might as well hang yourself now.

He cautiously poked his head out from behind the rock and found that the werewolf was only around a hundred meters away from "Beauty."

Its bloodthirsty eyes greedily swept over the goat's plump, succulent body, while thick saliva dripped through the gaps between the fangs in its wrinkled lips.

The thing was clearly starving. One goat might not even be enough to fill its stomach.

But if he just ran away like this, the War Chief really would skin him alive...

A mountain-like, hulking figure flashed through his mind. Kas shuddered. He had no desire to experience a double-door refrigerator capable of crushing a man's head into pulp, much less undergo a physical examination in the woods.

He tore open his tool pouch, hoping to find something useful.

"Flint, fire-starting stick, insect repellent, Lip-Blue Berry, red feathers... Why did they even take my toothpick dagger?!"

After cursing, he put away the useless tool pouch and considered his next move.

The lasso was definitely useless... Only the sling could pose even a little threat to a werewolf. He would throw stones.

Kas straightened the hemp cords of the sling.

According to the law that the faster you swung it, the greater the damage.

He merely needed to spin his arm around his shoulder at a speed comparable to an ultrahigh-speed centrifuge—one hundred thousand revolutions per minute—and he could use a single stone to separate the werewolf's humanity from its beastliness, instantly returning it to its original form.

But that was completely impossible!

Even if he swung his arm until it smoked, it would only reach the spin speed of a dormitory washing machine.

Since the objective conditions would not allow it, he had to adjust his strategic direction.

He lowered his head, and an unusual gleam appeared in the eyes of Morse's skull.

[Plan: Werewolves Are Dogs]

[Status: In Progress]

[Inspiration: Dogs all like chewing bones. Since werewolves are close relatives of dogs, they must like them too, especially a talkative skull.]

"Hey, hey, hey! I'm your ancestor! Show me some respect!"

With the plan underway, Kas placed the skull, covered in fine cracks, in the center of the sling's pouch.

He stepped out from behind the rock and rapidly swung his arm in circles, building speed.

The leather whistled as it tore through the air, and he hurled it with all his strength toward the werewolf's head, which he had been aiming at for so long.

"Ah~"

The skull traced a graceful arc through the moonlight, like the comet foretold to bring life to the world.

Scattering diffuse dust—bone powder—and trailing a long tail of flame—wailing—it was like a venomous jellyfish drifting through the heavens as it slammed into the werewolf's chest.

The skull struck the werewolf's broad body, adding several new cracks to itself. Yet it seemed like a cannonball that unleashed a powerful shockwave, causing a smaller airburst to explode on the spot.

The werewolf being knocked down by the skull was completely beyond Kas's expectations. He stared blankly at the ordinary homemade sling in his hand, and a word suddenly popped into his mind.

Ancestor Launcher? Had my eyes gone dull too?

"Roar!"

The werewolf's furious howl, along with Morse's scream, reached Kas's ears.

His gaze swept over the hollow blasted open in the grass by the impact. He saw his Ancestor struggling bitterly beneath sharp wolf fangs, like a deflated ball stuffed beneath a hydraulic press, soon to burst with a bang.

Couldn't beat it. Nothing to do. He had tried his best.

After clearing himself with the three-part blame-shifting routine, he broke into a run after the fleeing goat, "Beauty," shouting:

"Old man, buy me some time! You don't want the clan's last bloodline to end in your hands either, do you?"

Morse muttered a curse. "Eat lem..."

But though he was dead, his mind was clear. He quickly realized Kas was insulting his grandson's grandson's grandson's... grandson's wife.

The werewolf tried to bite apart the skull that had hurt it, only to find that its sharp fangs were nearly knocked loose. This cracked skull was like a stubborn, stinking rock, utterly unchanged.

It spat the skull out of its mouth, allowing Morse to speak at last. In a teasing, conciliatory tone, he said:

"Hey, my werewolf friend, which witch do you serve? You've got quite the mouth on you. I, Morse, have some standing in the Sorrow Mountains. Back when King Busuo and I marched south..."

Before the Ancestor could finish, the werewolf stomped him into the mud. Only a small section of his smooth, pointed skull remained aboveground, reflecting the gentle moonlight, along with muffled gurgling.

Using the little time his Ancestor had bought him, the fit Kas ran beneath the moon in pursuit of "Beauty." He really had to give this powerful body some praise.

Though the tribe's environment was a little primitive, the living conditions a little harsh, and the girls a little fierce.

This body was truly great. After sprinting a thousand meters without oxygen, he did not feel tired at all.

He grumbled inwardly, but his thighs never stopped pumping.

The goat ran incredibly fast. The reverse-jointed legs unique to hoofed creatures gave it explosive power, allowing it to flee beyond danger in an extremely short time.

At first, Kas had been very confident that he could catch up with "Beauty."

Humans possessed the strongest heat dissipation in nature. Combined with this battle-hardened body, he could simply exhaust the goat's stamina—and perhaps run the werewolf chasing behind him to death as well.

But just like his own abnormal physical fitness, the goat's speed never slowed.

He stared blankly as that pure white figure leaped nimbly beneath the moonlight, like an elf dancing brilliantly between the sky and grassland.

It leaped into the sky, sketching a bright shadow against the white jade millstone. It became a black silhouette blending with the stars, then finally vanished into the endless emerald plains.

[Plan: Bring Beauty Home]

[Status: Failed]

[Inspiration: How can it run so fast? Did it grow up on hormones...?]

Under the cold moonlight, Kas gradually came to a stop. At some moment, it felt as though the world had become nothing but black and white, while the soft grass beneath his feet was about to turn into a swampy abyss and swallow him.

Beauty was gone... It's over. The War Chief might skin me alive, then send me into the Old Shaman's fur tent.

The werewolf's running footsteps grew increasingly dense. Its padded paws thudded against the soft earth with restless force, while low growls and killing intent spread through the air.

He slowly turned around and stared at the werewolf, crouched low and ready to pounce. Beneath those scarlet eyes, its silver-white fur, gauzy as silk, suddenly gave him a bold idea.

According to the War Chief, only virgins could find pure "Beauty" beneath a full moon, but he never said how many they would encounter.

I mean... a werewolf might work too, right?

His throat bobbed painfully a few times, and he reached an even further conclusion.

Maybe the shaman is into that sort of thing.