A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 42: Chains of Shadow

•Thunoa Village Inn•

Ace’s POV 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The patrons of the inn had finished their meals, and the air now buzzed with a tension that clung to the room like a damp fog. The lingering scent of hearty stew and ale created a rustic backdrop, but the atmosphere was far from comforting. Ray, Philip, Chief Gareth, Khaleed, and I moved to the center of the room, the weight of the conversation pressing down on us.

Chief Gareth stood tall, his presence commanding attention. His deep voice cut through the murmurs, steady and resolute. "We’re starting to gather questions about the bandits who stole your belongings and harmed you," he announced, his tone laced with authority but softened by empathy.

Khaleed stepped forward abruptly, his posture assertive, his eyes scanning the crowd with a calculated intensity. "Raise your hands if you wish to answer or ask questions," he instructed, his voice sharp but laced with a flicker of a smile. "This way, we won’t all speak over each other."

I couldn’t help but smile at his suggestion—it was clever, efficient. Yet, beneath the surface, my wolf growled low in disapproval. It didn’t trust Khaleed, and neither did I.

Before we could pose any questions, a werewolf near the front raised his hand, his voice strong but tinged with curiosity. "I just want to know why you’re asking us about the bandits."

Chief Gareth’s response was measured, his deep voice resonating with authority. "Because these three gentlemen intend to reclaim everything the bandits have stolen from us and return it," he explained, gesturing toward Ray, Philip, and me. The patrons around us nodded, their expressions shifting from skepticism to cautious optimism.

While Gareth’s words held truth, Ray and I had a deeper goal: to capture the bandits lurking near the village and ensure the supplies we’d ordered for the Silverhowl Kingdom could finally reach our kingdom.

I scanned the room, noting the mix of hope and apprehension in the crowd’s faces. The tension was palpable, like the charged air before a storm.

Chief Gareth leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "But this isn’t just about reclaiming loot," he added, his words deliberate. "It’s about our safety—ensuring the bandits don’t threaten our livelihoods again."

The gathered werewolves and humans listened intently. Some shifted nervously in their seats, while others clenched their fists, their determination to confront the threat evident. The air was thick with emotion—fear, resilience, and a flicker of hope.

Chief Gareth paused, gauging their reactions, and nodded slowly. "Together, we can make sure this village is safe," he said, his voice soothing yet resolute. "We need your trust and cooperation."

This time, the crowd’s energy seemed to shift—determination sparking in their eyes.

I stepped forward, my tone calm but eager for answers. "I think we can begin. Where did you see the bandits run with your stolen belongings when you escaped them?"

A rugged human man raised his hand, his expression serious, the determination in his eyes shimmering. "When I fled, they didn’t leave their position," he replied, his voice steady but laced with lingering fear. "I think they were waiting for me to get farther away before they retreated to their hideout."

Another human man raised his hand, his face etched with anxiety. "The same thing happened to me," he added, his voice trembling slightly. "They stayed put, making sure I didn’t see where they were going." He glanced around nervously, as if the bandits might appear at any moment.

It seemed we were no closer to pinpointing the bandits’ hideout.

Philip stepped forward, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence. "Next question—did any of you manage to kill a werewolf bandit?"

No hands went up. The weight of fear in the room was suffocating.

"Pathetic," Philip muttered under his breath, his bitterness seeping into his tone. His hands clenched into fists, the frustration evident in the tautness of his jaw.

Ray’s voice echoed with impatience, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "How could you let bandits ambush you? I knew you carried magic chains before your journey. Why didn’t you take down even one?"

Hands shot up across the room, eager to explain.

A werewolf stepped forward, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Four bandits attacked my group," he began, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. "One was their leader." He clenched his fists, the tension rippling through his muscular frame. "They bore different fur patterns, marking them as strays from various packs. We had magic chains and handcuffs, yet they proved utterly useless. I watched my companions fall, one by one, until I was alone." His voice broke, the shudder of his breath betraying the depth of his loss.

My heart ached for him. It was no wonder those werewolves bore stray marks; many had nowhere left to go, pushed into lives of banditry just to survive.

A human, nervously raising his hand, added, "Three bandits attacked my team. I sensed they were without their leader. We had no werewolves with us, and we didn’t fight back. Perhaps that’s why they spared us." His voice trembled slightly, revealing his lingering fear.

Another werewolf spoke up, determination etched across his face. "We faced four bandits as well. With two of my friends gone, I could sense something strange about their black magic chains. Ours were ineffective; their black chains absorbed our chain’s magic, rendering ours useless." He took a deep breath, his shoulders tense, but he held his ground.

So that new magic can absorb mana from other magic chains and drain werewolf energy.

It became clear that the intelligence Ann had gathered in Meadowlark Village about the bandits’ use of new magic chains was accurate.

A human raised his hand, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "I agree. That’s also what the werewolf with me said when we were attacked by the bandits. They didn’t kill my werewolf companions; they bound them with black magic chains so they couldn’t fight back and took them. I’ve heard rumors that werewolves are being sold at auctions and enslaved."

Ray and I exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between us. The idea of werewolves being auctioned off was chilling, and I felt my wolf’s anger boiling beneath the surface. Capturing those bandits no longer felt sufficient; I craved vengeance, longing to take them down one by one.

Ray placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, his grip firm yet calming. "Even if you don’t say it, I know what you’re thinking," he said quietly. "But remember, revenge can soothe your heart momentarily, yet it solves nothing."

Taking a deep breath, I surveyed the room filled with patrons. "Only people who come from the royal family are allowed to use magic chains. And by the looks of it, most of you don’t come from a royal family, so I want to know where you got those magic chains and handcuffs you’re using," I demanded, my voice steady but filled with urgency.

A human raised his hand, speaking up. "I bought my magic chain from the black market in the Shadow Kingdom."

Philip stepped closer, his voice tinged with regret. "I remember that my magic handcuffs also came from a black market in the Shadow Kingdom. I’ve seen the chains they mentioned, the ones that absorb magic, but I didn’t buy them—they were too expensive."

"So, it means there’s a new type of magic chain made by witches," I observed, glancing at Khaleed.

His face was a mask of astonishment, his eyes wide in disbelief. I sensed he knew more about this situation than he was letting on.

We couldn’t discuss the information we’d just learned from Philip, especially with Khaleed present.

Ray stepped forward, his brow furrowing with concern. "Last question—were all the bandits that attacked you werewolves?"

Everyone nodded in unison. If all the bandits were werewolves, that made things simpler.

Ray and I could handle them, especially once the Crimsonheart troops and our forces from the north arrived. I hadn’t received any letters yet, but I estimated they’d reach Thunoa Village by tonight.

Ray addressed the group earnestly, his voice filled with determination. "Everyone, I’d like to request something. Could you describe the werewolf bandits that attacked you?"

Hands shot up among the patrons, each person eager to share their harrowing experience.

A woman, her voice trembling slightly, stepped forward. Her eyes, wide with fear, held a lingering trauma. "There were three," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "One was larger than the others, almost hulking. His fur was a dark, grizzled grey, almost black in places. He carried a wicked-looking club, and his eyes... they were cold, like chips of ice. The other two were smaller and quicker. Their fur was more of a reddish-brown, and they moved with a frightening grace, like shadows in the woods." She paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing. "They were... feral. Not like the werewolves I’ve seen in the village. These were wild, vicious creatures."

An older werewolf, his face etched with worry lines, spoke next. His voice was deeper, steadier, but the tremor in his hands betrayed his fear. "I saw four. One was exceptionally large, even for a werewolf. He seemed to be in charge, barking orders at the others. They were all different, though. Different sizes, different shades of fur. It was like they were... a pack of strays gathered together." He swallowed hard, his gaze darting nervously around the room. "They were fast, incredibly strong, and they used... those black magic chains with terrifying efficiency."

Ray nodded, absorbing the details. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice filled with grim determination. "This is helpful."

From their accounts, it became clear that the werewolves were not uniform; the attackers varied in size and appearance, suggesting a diverse pack that menaced merchants, supply caravans, and travelers. Our best estimate was between 10 to 15 werewolves that we would soon confront.

I glanced once more at the man cloaked in black, who had remained silent throughout our questioning. Approaching him cautiously, I felt an unshakeable tension—he sensed it too. He was a werewolf; when our eyes met, I was startled—he really bore a striking resemblance to someone I thought I knew.

Just then, a firm hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to find Ray beside me, with Philip looming behind him.

"We need to go," Ray said softly yet urgently, a spark of determination in his eyes. "It’s time to proceed with our next plan."I nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the situation pressing upon us. The hunt was on.