School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 162 --Demon Puppeteer

Seizing the moment, Owen leaped out of the fray, his trident pointed at the pack of wolves: "Halt, advance another step and face death."

"We mean no harm," the lead grey wolf spoke in human tongue.

"Our target is that madman in the sky!"

Owen’s gaze also found the circling giant bird and its rider.

Instantly, he linked the rider with the giant ape and the werewolf, given the bird’s bizarre, patchwork appearance.

The giant bird did not cease its assault, continuously spitting fireballs from above in coordination with the giant ape’s attacks.

Owen had no choice but to engage in battle once more.

Seeing this, Isaac drew his bow, and without aiming, released an arrow that flew swiftly and accurately.

Berkeley was astounded, not expecting Isaac to possess such refined archery skills.

The odd rider atop the strange bird swung a bell, producing a tinkling sound that conjured a gust of wind in mid-air.

Despite the strong wind, Isaac’s well-practiced arrow did not veer off course by much.

Initially aimed at the bird’s belly, it pierced through the base of the wing instead.

The bird, wailing, flapped its wings, trying to glide towards the opposite mountain peak.

Then, footsteps and the sound of torches burning arose.

It was the intermediate race from the mountain’s peak, coming to offer support upon hearing the commotion.

Berkeley, overjoyed, loudly declared, "Don’t let them escape; the tide has turned."

Seeing this, the rider atop the strange bird could only blow a whistle.

The giant ape leaped forcefully, sailing over the heads of the group.

Owen attempted to use his trident to bring it down, but the giant ape, with a casual swipe, diverted the trident’s course.

In a move akin to scooping the moon from the sky, the giant ape caught both the man and the bird in mid-air, plummeting like a weight into the valley below.

Isaac’s second arrow was released, striking the giant ape squarely in the back of the head, eliciting a loud cry of pain from the creature, yet it did not release its grip.

The group rushed to the cliff’s edge, peering into the pitch-black valley below.

Several pine trees had been toppled, and the tops of the remaining trees trembled non-stop.

The giant ape was not dead; it continued its frenzied dash.

By this time, the races under the dragons’ protection had arrived.

The leader, his lips trembling with shock, realized the gravity of the situation.

An attack on such prominent figures from the dragons on their own territory, if word got out, would spell disaster for their race.

Owen, however, had no intention of complicating matters for them, merely gesturing for them to clear the battlefield and leave.

The pack of wolves, surrounded by the incoming crowd, showed signs of restlessness, continuously pawing at the ground.

Owen softly inquired, "Why have you come here?"

The wolf pack leader reiterated, "We mean no harm. We were pursuing Boswell here, only wishing to rescue our young lord."

Young lord?

Owen’s gaze shifted to the werewolf trapped within the magic array.

With the masked stranger gone, the werewolf no longer raged but growled softly.

"This is our young lord, Bayer. He was gravely injured and captured by Boswell, transformed into his current state," the voice of the grey wolf, Mallo, carried a note of sorrow.

"We are from the rockwolf race of the Polaris Moors. Please, return our young lord to us."

Their hesitation to act immediately was due to Boswell’s presence, fearing that even if the werewolf broke free from the magic array, it would still obey him.

Owen, with a stern face, declared, "This creature is now our spoils of war, having nearly brought me to my death."

His statement was grave, but to the discerning eye, it was clear Owen intended to extract a price from the rockwolf race.

"We can offer compensation," Mallo said.

"On the Polaris Moors, there are unique medicinal herbs. Using our clan’s secret recipes, we can produce a potion that enhances agility and vitality. It’s beneficial not just for practitioners like yourselves but also for spellbeasts, enhancing their endurance."

This proposal somewhat tempted Owen.

Amidst the ongoing war between the dragons and the angel race, any means of boosting strength was incredibly precious.

Owen shook his head, "Are mere herbs equivalent to your young lord?"

Mallo paused, taken aback.

Continuing, Owen asked, "Is your entire clan here?"

"Most of our people remain in the Polaris Moors, guarding our territory," Mallo explained.

Pointing at the trapped rockwolf race’s young lord, Owen inquired, "If I return him to you, can you restore his sanity?"

"There’s no need for your concern," Mallo replied, baring his teeth in a grimace.

"We have our ways."

Owen, straightforward and unapologetic, said, "With the dragons and angel race at war, we’re in dire need of more hands. I request that the rockwolf race dispatch a squad to join my ranks, at least fifteen healthy adult rockwolves. That’s not too much to ask, right?"

Everyone present had witnessed the formidable combat abilities of the rockwolves, along with their exceptional discipline and obedience.

Mallo was stunned, not having anticipated Owen would make such a shameless request.

The pack of wolves gathered, whispering among themselves.

Their conversation was incomprehensible to the onlookers, as each group had developed its own language over tens of thousands of years.

The only visible sign of their debate was the vigorous wagging of their tails, clearly indicating a heated discussion.

After a while, Mallo turned and said, "The Polaris Moors face many threats, and our young warriors must also guard our territory; we cannot afford to be away from our clan for long periods."

Owen furrowed his brow, concerned.

Fortunately, Mallo proposed a compromise: "Here’s what we can do. Ralph and I will sign a contract with you now to fight together. Once our clan member returns the young lord to the Polaris Moors, our clan will send ten rockwolves to enlist."

Isaac, sensing something familiar, quietly asked Berkeley, "Isn’t he talking about a Demonpet Contract?"

Despite the low volume, the exceptional hearing of the wolf demon caught the remark, and Mallo, visibly displeased, clarified, "It’s not a Demonpet Contract. Rockwolves will never be pets."

"Okay," Owen quickly soothed, seeing Mallo’s hackles rise.

"This agreement sounds good."

While still on the topic, Mallo added, "Additionally, each wolf requires at least fifteen pounds of quality meat daily."

"That’s no problem," Owen declared, waving his hand generously.

Erin, observant and proactive, took out paper and pen to draft the contract, creating two copies.

After signing it himself, he handed it over to Mallo for review.

Mallo summoned an elder wolf to thoroughly check the contract before finally pressing a paw print as a signature.

With that, the deal was sealed.

As the strange figure in the sky departed, the werewolf gradually calmed down.

"Please, release our young lord," Mallo requested.

Owen nodded at Berkeley, who then activated a point on the magic array.

With a thunderous collapse, the magic array shattered.

The pack converged, nuzzling and sniffing each other in their unique way of communication.

The werewolf even licked Mallo and his companions a few times.

The wolf pack clustered around the werewolf, descending the mountain.

They aimed to escort the young lord to the Polaris Moors before dawn to distance him from the strange person.

Mallo and Ralph, as per the agreement, stayed behind.

How the rockwolf clan would manage the werewolf’s safe return was no longer Owen’s concern.

The group set off again, giving Owen the opportunity to inquire more about Boswell’s true identity, starting with Mallo, who was evidently familiar with Boswell.

"Have you ever heard of the Demon Puppeteer?" Mallo asked.

Owen paused, "Demon Puppeteer?"

"Yes, that title is unique to Boswell," Mallo shared openly.

Owen, curious, chuckled, "Sounds like he’s quite skilled."

"He seldom appears in your lands, so it’s normal you’re unaware.

This man ruthlessly captures powerful monsters to conduct cruel and unimaginable transformations and soul refining, turning them into puppets for murder," Barlo explained patiently. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"To my knowledge, he has committed atrocities across at least seven nations, targeting everyone from high officials to commoners, and even some renowned practitioners have fallen to him."

The Novalia continent is vast, not only do humans establish kingdoms, but some spellbeasts and monsters do as well, living in tribes based on bloodline inheritance and strength.

Owen stroked his chin, "Boswell is quite a talent."

Mallo glanced at Owen, then continued, "That giant ape was the son of the Left Guard General of Westro Fairyland, kidnapped by Boswell at the age of fifteen. For over a decade, Westro Fairyland has sought revenge, but Boswell is exceedingly cautious, always slipping away at the slightest hint of danger."

Owen was surprised, not expecting Boswell to dare capture the son of a high minister from Westro Fairyland.

Such audacity was not something ordinary individuals possessed.

"So, that giant ape is only in its thirties. Yet, it appears as a mature giant ape, likely having cultivated for hundreds of years," Owen noted.

"That’s Boswell’s skill," Mallo said.

"It’s rumored that, after a few drinks, he would boast to others that he was pursued by an enemy and then stumbled upon a deity’s relic. There, he learned the arts of beast refining and beast taming, and he combined the two, enhancing them greatly. He could merge the traits of various monsters into one, creating creatures like the giant ape, and even instantaneously increase their cultivation by hundreds of years."

Mallo’s continuous revelations left the group increasingly astounded.