A Matter Settled

P.S.: This chapter is not suitable for animal protection associations, bleeding hearts, people who are generous with others' resources, unilateral gun-control advocates, Twilight Mary Sue fans, or those who are bad at thinking. This list may grow longer, depending on just how stupid humanity can be.

Salomon stuck his head out of the car window and looked around, making sure that chatty driver wouldn't turn back midway.

The nearest vending machine was more than two hundred meters away. This was a remote, rundown residential area, and most of its residents were fishermen. Salomon's target lived here.

It was still daytime. There were few trees along the streets of the residential area, only patches of yellowing green grass. Clearly, the people living here had no leisure to tend their lawns. Tire rims, empty beer cans, decrepit RVs, and other junk were piled between every house. The weeds were even as high as an axle. When Salomon got out of the car, he stepped on a thick bolt buried in the grass, waiting to rust away in this desolate sea.

As the mildly warm spring breeze passed through, a rusted swing in one of the cluttered yards swayed slightly, creaking faintly as specks of reddish rust dust drifted down.

Salomon saw few people here, which pleased him greatly. After seeing his target leave the house, he sent the driver away. He had to make sure the coming fight had no witnesses.

After the Collins family disappeared from the town, the Collins family of the United Kingdom swiftly took over the town's fishing industry, as though they had been prepared for it all along. And after Barnabas was petrified, the local police suddenly came to their senses and began investigating the unsolved murder cases that had piled up over the years.

Perhaps because there were too many cases, a high-profile investigation would inevitably make the public think they had been derelict in their duties. Therefore, the local police did not cordon off streets or summon suspects for questioning. Instead, they intended to gradually downplay the cases' impact while conducting a private investigation.

However, Salomon's hunting of Vampires and werewolves had attracted some attention. That was why he had contacted the taxi driver. Having a local guide him through the streets and alleys would avoid unnecessary attention. He kicked the bolt away and calmly followed the werewolf not far ahead.

He was a typical fisherman, with graying temples, dark skin, and a wrinkled dark plaid shirt. His clothes were as creased as his face. Wood habitually walked close to the walls, and even when leaving his house and going down the steps, he turned sideways.

Perhaps out of professional habit, Salomon's unfamiliar face finally caught his interest as they were about to leave the neighborhood. Not to mention that Salomon was not dressed like an ordinary person. Anyone with even a little discernment could tell that the seven silver chains fastening the Holy Shroud around Salomon were expensive.

And Wood was a discerning man.

The moment he realized he had been noticed, Salomon gave up on tailing him. He strode over openly, but before he could speak, the werewolf spoke first.

He narrowed his reddened eyes, weathered by the sea wind year after year, and looked the young Arcanist up and down. His voice came from lungs steeped in cigarette tar. "What is a young master doing here? There's nothing fun here, and this isn't a place you should be."

"I want to talk to you." Salomon pointed toward a secluded corner. "Come with me."

With that, he walked over without another word. The werewolf looked around, hesitated for a moment, then followed. Salomon's old-fashioned clothes reminded him of the wizards from fairy tales—after Angie disappeared, he had stopped contacting his old companions. Otherwise, he would have noticed that the town's werewolves were gradually dwindling in number.

"What is it? Spit it out, kid." Once they reached the back of the houses, he grew impatient. "I've got work to do. I don't have time to play house."

"You won't be going anywhere, Mr. Wood." After confirming that no one was nearby, Salomon said, "I'm sorry, but I can't let any werewolf leave alive."

All it took was one small bite. Filthy saliva would bury the curse of lycanthropy beneath a normal person's skin. When the full moon came, a new werewolf would emerge, and then it would repeat itself, continuing the cycle.

This was intolerable.

"You're a wizard? Damn it! I knew it, wizards are all freaks!" he said angrily. "Listen, I cut off contact with the other werewolves long ago, okay? I didn't willingly work for Angie either. What choice did I have? I was born a werewolf! My father was too! So was my grandfather! If I didn't work for her, I'd die!

"And Angie has been missing for thirty-one years! I finally got away from them! Now I'm just an ordinary fisherman! I go out to sea to catch fish, support my family, save money to send my kids to school. I haven't done anything!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wood. No matter what hardships you have, the very existence of werewolves in this world is an original sin." Salomon's expression remained blank. "I cannot guarantee that you will not bite someone. I cannot even guarantee that your children will not bite someone."

The werewolf panicked. He spread his hands. "Hey, hey, listen. I've never bitten anyone, I really haven't. My children aren't werewolves either, I swear! I'd rather sell my soul to the devil than let my children become werewolves!"

Wood, who had once worked under Angelique, knew how terrifying wizards were. Even werewolves feared that witch's power and cruelty.

According to what their fathers had told them, Angelique had already lived for two hundred years. Over those two centuries, she had remained young and powerful. Wood believed the wizard before him was the same—he looked young, but had actually lived for many years.

"I will investigate that myself." Salomon was not swayed in the slightest by the werewolf's excuses. "But you must die here. I am not some hedge wizard like Angelique. I come from Kamar-Taj. Your existence violates the Sorcerer Supreme's laws."

"F*ck! F*ck! I didn't do anything!" he cursed as he quietly shifted closer to Salomon.

Magic required chanting. Closing in on a wizard as fast as possible and interrupting their magic was the best method.

This was the method his forefathers had devised when they planned to rebel against Angie. Although Angie had disappeared before he had the chance to betray her, now was precisely the time to put that method to use.

"Bang—!" A dull sound of flesh striking flesh rang out. The werewolf's head was violently slammed into the grass, then bounced back up before being smashed down again, pressing a shallow crater into the ground.

The sudden blow left him dizzy and nearly unconscious. He had been knocked to the ground before he even had the chance to transform. Salomon's Fierce Tiger Climbs Mountain had already given him a concussion. Wood could only see everything before him swaying and blurring. His ears rang, and though he struggled to breathe, he could not even lift a hand.

"I will bear all sins." Salomon withdrew his stance, stepped forward, and planted his foot on the werewolf's neck. He hooked the werewolf's jaw with the tip of his shoe, preventing him from lifting his head and biting Salomon's ankle.

The Arcanist bent down and pressed his palm against the werewolf's temple. "Farewell, Mr. Wood."

"Ugh... cough, cough..." But the werewolf could not hear what Salomon was saying at all. Salomon did not wait for a response. He drew a short dagger from his waist and pressed its point against the side of Wood's head.

"Farewell, Mr. Wood," he said again. Then his other palm struck the end of the dagger heavily, and the gleaming blade instantly plunged into the werewolf's temple.

Salomon felt the werewolf beneath his foot twitch a few times before going still. He pulled out the dagger, wiped the blade clean on Wood's clothes, and returned it to the sheath at his waist.

This was the weakest werewolf he had ever hunted.

"Aren't you bored just sitting here?" The driver returned to the car carrying a bottle of beer and a bottle of cola. Clearly, he had gone somewhere other than the vending machine. He handed the cola to Salomon in the passenger seat. "Here. It's cold."

Salomon pulled the tab and clinked his can against the driver's.

"Cheers! Hah—fucking refreshing!" The driver gulped down half the bottle of beer and asked Salomon, "Where are you going next?"

"Anywhere. The job is done." Salomon let out a breath, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the seat.

Just now, he had killed more than one werewolf.

How could a werewolf's child possibly be an ordinary person?

P.S.: Please vote with recommendation tickets!

I still need to clarify this: werewolf lycanthropy is absolutely incurable. Not even Wish can cure it. Even if someone is generous with others' resources and wants the protagonist to use Wish to cure werewolves, it cannot be done. Furthermore, when lycanthropy manifests, it causes extreme agitation and renders the afflicted unable to control themselves. Anyone who has read Harry Potter probably understands what kind of creatures werewolves are. After being bitten, a person must successfully pass a DC 12 Constitution saving throw. An ordinary person's Constitution modifier is 0, which means there is roughly a three-in-five chance of becoming a werewolf. Otherwise, they will be cursed with werewolf lycanthropy.

Of course, that is only for people who survive a werewolf attack without being torn to pieces.

Some people are even using COVID-19 as an example... At least COVID-19 has a chance of recovery. Lycanthropy does not.

If anyone cannot stand this and thinks the protagonist is too heartless, believing werewolves are merely stronger ordinary people... well, all I can say is that I hope every innocent person bitten by a werewolf can forgive the werewolf. After all, a knife does not hurt when it is not cutting into your own flesh. People standing safely on shore can say whatever they want, because they have not been bitten. Otherwise, they would blame others for not killing all the werewolves.

All I can say is that there are truly many sanctimonious people who are eager to be generous with others' safety in order to satisfy their own bleeding hearts. The protagonist's humanity is reserved for humans.