I'm a werewolf!? Wait… no.The original owner wasn't a werewolf. This happened because that werewolf bit me yesterday! I've been infected…lycanthropy poison?
Glen quickly sorted through his thoughts and understood what had happened. He couldn't help but wear a bitter smile, thinking: Who knows if this is good or bad luck.
From Dylan's memories, he knew that werewolves, vampires, demons, and the like were hunted by every kingdom. They were labeled "evil creatures" and targeted by knight orders, mage guilds, and other organizations—danger level: off the charts.
Oh well, take it one step at a time. It's not a huge deal… not a huge deal… Glen told himself, trying to stay calm, then looked down at the beast beneath him.
If any other werewolf saw this, they'd be absolutely dumbfounded. Normal werewolves lose almost all reason the moment they transform, becoming slaves to slaughter.
Even the most talented ones can only hold onto a sliver of sanity after intense training. Someone like Glen, who stayed completely rational on his first transformation, was practically unheard of.
But how would folks in this world know the nightmare-level mental and physical training Glen had endured in the military? His willpower had been pushed to humanity's limits. Sure, the bloodlust constantly battered his reason, but he could handle it.
The beast was thoroughly cowed, pinned under one of Glen's hands, not daring to resist, obedient like a giant dog.
Glen raised his claw, ready to end it—but hesitated.
It wasn't mercy. He weighed the pros and cons. Some instinct told him he could fully control the beast—as if his bloodline was speaking to him.
Was it a werewolf talent? Or the beast's own ability? Killing it would gain nothing and lose nothing. But taming it? Could be a useful pawn… Glen made his choice and released the beast.
At the same time, he formed a link with it, able to issue clear commands.
This is amazing… Glen's thought came out as a low, bestial growl instead of words.
Couldn't speak? He felt his throat, adjusted the changes in the lycanthropy coursing his veins, and his throat flexed.
Then, in a voice like a demon's, he said, "Got it."
The beast lay at the feet of the werewolf Glen, not daring to move without orders.
Glen closed his eyes, sensing his whole body. In wolf form, the lycanthropy poison emitted a type of energy that stimulated physical changes, swelling to fill more blood vessels.
Normally, the poison occupied about one-seventh of his vessels in human form; in wolf form, roughly one-sixth.
He could feel he could control it freely—even expel all the poison from his body if he wanted.
Is this ability universal among werewolves, or just me? he wondered.
Since the poison changed his body through this process, what would happen if it filled all his vessels? Glen's curiosity flared.
After hesitating, he decided to try.
With a thought, all the lycanthropy in his body surged, rushing into undeveloped vessels.
Suddenly, the beast beneath him seemed to sense something, trembling uncontrollably, burying its head in the dirt.
As the poison expanded, Glen's body changed again—height shooting up, muscles bulging, fangs and claws exuding almost tangible dark energy.
A savage aura swept the area, and bloodlust hammered his reason, but Glen stayed in control.
His vision rose higher, senses sharpened to extremes—he could track a mosquito a hundred meters away.
Finally, his power hit the limit his willpower could bear. The poison spread to two-fifths of his total blood vessels.
He now stood six meters tall, shrouded in an instinctively feared black aura. His strength was unimaginable—the beast at his feet was less than a housecat in comparison.
His very breath radiated blistering heat as a demon god descended to earth.
Wow… Glen casually threw a few punches, and the wind from them snapped several trees.
He felt the strain—his body was burning energy fast, and hunger gnawed at his gut. He reined in the lycanthropy, returning to normal.
Back in human form, Glen was stark naked, ravenous.
"This transformation is awesome… but it's murder on clothes…" Glen looked down at himself and let his mouth twitch into a wry grin.
"Go get us something to eat," he told the shivering beast still hiding its head in the dirt.
The beast shivered, then scampered eagerly into the dense woods.
His body had grown even stronger… Glen noted his new strength was close to what it had been right after transforming. Surprising. The experiment had altered him somehow—proof of superior werewolf physiology? He practiced a few boxing forms and became even more certain.
Sitting naked on the leaf-littered ground, Glen noticed slight movement nearby.
He turned and saw a one-eyed rat gnawing on leftover scraps of meat.
The rat's scent resembled the beast's. A guess formed: That beast was probably a rat infected with lycanthropy and mutated.
…
Minutes earlier, the instant Glen reached his power limit, in a dusty, three-story medieval brick house at the center of Bayek, a slouched figure lying on a moth-eaten soft bed twitched slightly, eyelids fluttering as if about to wake—but then stilled again.
…
Hours later, the beast returned, dragging a wild boar. Glen had nearly lost patience waiting and snatched the prey without ceremony, finding a new spot to start a fire and roast meat.
Even with his enhanced body, he could eat raw meat, but as a human, he refused to return to gnawing bloody flesh.
Soon, the smell of cooked meat wafted through the woods. The beast drooled like a waterfall, nose twitching wildly—obviously starving.
But Glen wasn't feeding it yet. He was starving himself, and only once he was full would he think of anything else.
In a wolf pack, the highest-ranked eats first. The beast, influenced by that instinct, didn't dare disobey—especially since it had seen Glen's true power.
Glen devoured an entire boar leg, and his stomach was about maxed out. He could eat more in wolf form, but no point—human form used less energy, and transforming just to eat more would waste it.
He gave the beast one hind leg of the boar and told it to hunt for itself if it wanted more.
After the beast finished eating, Glen sent it to his house to fetch a set of clothes.
The concept of "clothes" was easy to convey through their link—another handy trick.
Storing the kill at home, Glen headed out of town again, planning to use his remaining coins to buy vegetables and flour.
Once I've got cash, I'll get a cart… he mused as he walked.