The Ashen Claw werewolves stirred. Restless.
Marco's massive fists clenched white-knuckled. He stepped forward instinctively. Wanted to charge in.
Douglas stood at the mine entrance.
He cast a calm look.
Marco's feet froze. Like invisible chains nailed him in place.
The young werewolf children watched Lupin with near-worship.
Their gentle teacher—the one who taught them knowledge and spells—now displayed something they'd never seen. An alpha's silent, powerful stance.
In distant shadows, Valerius folded his arms with interest.
He didn't care about victory like the werewolves. More like a theater critic in a private box. Appreciating this primitive, bloody drama.
He turned to Douglas beside him. Spoke low. Voice carrying perfectly measured flattery.
"Professor, your teaching results are truly impressive."
"You've successfully trained a wounded sheep into a sheepdog capable of fighting wolves head-on."
Douglas's gaze remained on Lupin. Eyes like he was recording critical experimental data.
He didn't look at Valerius.
"He's not a sheepdog."
Douglas corrected calmly.
"He's a future shepherd."
Valerius's smile froze slightly.
Shepherd?
A chill rose in his chest. He realized again—this man's vision exceeded anything he could imagine.
In the valley, Greyback was thoroughly enraged by Lupin's actions.
The greatest insult.
A spawn he'd personally turned. A mongrel in his eyes. Thought he could win barehanded.
"Good! Very good!"
He grinned savagely. His bones cracked in rapid succession. Like frying a pot of dried beans.
Claws emerged. Sharp as obsidian daggers.
Deliberately filed canines protruded past his lips. Gleamed bone-white.
"I'll use that precious human body you're so proud of," he roared, "and tear you to shreds!"
Lupin moved too.
Slowly lowered his body.
Adopted a fighting stance—similar to boxing, but lower center of gravity. More Eastern martial arts.
Feet front and back. Planted firmly. Arms guarding his front. His whole body like a bow drawn to its limit.
"Right here."
Lupin pointed at the ground beneath his feet.
That earth where Red Moon Brotherhood totem werewolves were just buried.
"Only one of us leaves standing."
These ancient Apennines would witness an unprecedented duel.
A battle without magic. Only strength, skill, and will.
A battle between British werewolves. Old and new ideologies. Survival methods. Ultimate showdown.
Greyback could no longer endure this standoff.
He threw his head back. Released a roar that shook the valley!
No longer simple intimidation. The purest declaration of slaughter!
He charged at Lupin like an out-of-control semi-truck.
The wind he stirred whipped dead leaves and dust into a small tornado.
Lupin's eyes sharpened like an eagle's in that instant.
He didn't retreat.
Against that terrifying momentum that could crush spirits—he didn't retreat. He advanced.
Two figures collided under everyone's gaze.
THUD.
Bone and muscle impact exploded through the valley.
The bloody duel officially began.
The valley's silence shattered with a dull boom.
Not flesh colliding. More like a heavy cement bag smashed on stone.
Greyback's brutal charge—Lupin deflected most of it with impossible technique.
His body slid sideways like a leaf caught in wind. Glided past Greyback's stinking form. Simultaneously, a merciless elbow strike landed precisely under the armpit.
Where nerve clusters concentrated most densely.
Greyback released a muffled grunt—pain mixed with shock. His charging momentum stuttered.
He'd never imagined such precise, cold fighting technique from a werewolf.
But top predator instinct made him react instantly.
His arm whipped like a steel cable. Tearing through air. Backhanded sweep toward Lupin's skull.
Lupin didn't block head-on.
He ducked. Dropped. His entire body nearly pressed to the ground. Barely avoided that lethal strike.
Greyback's dagger-like claws grazed his scalp. A few brown hairs drifted down.
The battle entered its bloodiest rhythm from the first second.
Every Greyback attack carried pure, destructive power.
His claws opened a bone-deep wound on Lupin's shoulder. Blood droplets formed a dark red pearl string in the air.
His heavy fist smashed Lupin's blocking arm. Produced teeth-grinding bone friction sounds.
Lupin bled. Got injured.
But he didn't retreat one step.
Like a petrel fighting in raging waves. Using combat wisdom Douglas had drilled into him these past weeks through the harshest methods. Dancing madly on death's edge.
Dodge.
Block.
Counter.
His attacks were cunning and lethal. Never seeking one-hit kills. Precisely targeting Greyback's joints. Tendons. Vulnerable spots hidden beneath muscle.
The Ashen Claw members watched stunned.
They'd never seen such combat.
Not werewolf. Not wizard.
This perfectly combined beast ferocity with human intelligence. Efficient, cold killing art.
Marco's clenched fists bulged with veins like twisted earthworms.
That gentle Teacher Lupin had become a completely unfamiliar lone wolf radiating danger.
"Magnificent."
Valerius licked his dry lips. His dark red pupils flickered with morbid excitement.
He appreciated this ultimate violence.
More beautiful than any flashy magical duel, in his view.
"His willpower," Valerius turned toward that unnaturally calm man beside him, "like stubborn stone atop the Alps. How did you do it?"
Douglas's gaze never left Lupin on the field.
His eyes didn't watch a battle. They examined a piece he'd personally crafted.
"I only told him," Douglas's voice was soft, "when he conquers himself, nothing in this world can make him afraid."
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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