Wolf Girl (2)

My body floated alone in a space where nothing existed.

Thousands upon thousands of bloodshot eyes blinked and wept cataracts of bloody tears. Thousands upon thousands of mouths packed with teeth split open in laughter, as if driven mad with joy. And from between them, thousands upon thousands of black hands writhed their dozens of fingers and reached toward me.

It was the same sight I had seen when I first attempted contact with the Void.

These days, the illusions rarely showed themselves. Instead, that vision visited me every night as a nightmare.

"Gah—! Kh…"

The breath that had been locked in my chest burst free, and I woke in the small hours of morning.

As always, I felt a weight pressing down on my lower body. Soft, even breathing. When I lifted the blanket, a girl was clinging to my legs in her sleep.

"…Dorothy."

"Nnh…"

It was still too dark to see clearly, but there were only a handful of women of that build in Baron Manfred's castle. And of those, the only one who would do something like this was Dorothy.

Dorothy—the girl afflicted with the Curse of the Lycanthrope, the one who became a werewolf.

As expected, the Baron had confirmed only that the Curse of the Puppet could control a werewolf, and without much deliberation granted my request to bring Dorothy into the castle. He had even given her a room of her own.

And yet every night Dorothy woke, came to my bed, and slept there. I was beginning to suspect that the reason I suffered sleep paralysis every single night was because she kept doing this.

Master always said. Sleep in the same room.

The "Master" here was not me, but her previous one—the dark mage who had bound her with the Curse of the Puppet and controlled her. He had kept beastfolk deserters as subordinates, but he must not have trusted them. Afraid they might betray him in his sleep, he had kept Dorothy, with her keen senses, at his side through the night.

No matter how many times I told her she could forget every command that former master had given her, habits once formed proved hard to break.

Even a dark mage, it seemed, had possessed some final scrap of human conscience. According to her, he had never shared the same bed.

"So why is it that when you sleep with me, you climb into the bed…"

The reward from the last quest had been the ability to view the status windows of allies. "Allies," I suspected, did not mean the word in its literal sense, but rather members of a "party" as defined by Luke's Biography.

If it had truly meant every ally, the people in the castle should have shown status windows as well. I had tested it. Only Dorothy's was visible.

I still didn't understand the precise criteria for a party. In Dorothy's case, there was the connection of my being able to control her through the Curse of the Puppet—though only when she transformed into a werewolf and her intelligence dropped. The Curse of the Puppet could only control creatures of low intellect, after all.

Her status listed Heretic's Offering. That was my trait—one that forced another target to pay half the life force I consumed. Half of everything drained by the Curse of Illusion, the Curse of Obsession, and the Curse of Emotionlessness was now being paid by Dorothy.

A werewolf could replenish that through meat, so it wasn't a serious problem. Her appetite had become truly monstrous, though.

At any rate, even if I hadn't acquired the Curse of the Lycanthrope itself, I had achieved my goal of reducing my life force consumption.

"Dorothy… could you move…"

"Nnh…"

"I've sweated so much… I want to wash up…"

"Yes… Master…"

She answered readily enough. But she never actually got up, so after waiting a long while I simply fell back asleep, still damp with sweat.

Between the ghosts and the werewolf situation, I had spent several hectic days the moment I was discharged from the infirmary. Lately, though, there was nothing that required my involvement, and things had grown quiet. Curse-related incidents didn't erupt all that often to begin with, and ordinary bandits could be wiped out in moments by the Baron and Cain.

"You do seem healthier by the day. Though somehow the circles under your eyes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠keep gettin' darker."

In the mornings I trained with Brenden's help. Karl's still-feeble body collapsed after only a few minutes of running—but compared to not lasting even a minute, I considered it significant progress.

"Is that so? I hadn't noticed."

I said it while lying in the shade. I claimed not to know, but the truth was that every morning in the mirror I could see the dark rings around my eyes growing deeper.

"You stayin' up at night doin' somethin' weird?"

"Of course not."

It wasn't that I wasn't sleeping. It was that I couldn't. Nightmares every night, sleep paralysis, and a certain wolf climbing into my bed.

"That wolf girl really is somethin' else."

Dorothy joined the morning training as well. Her stamina existed on an entirely different plane from Karl's flesh. Wearing armor and a fur cloak, with a greatsword the size of her own body strapped to her back, she was running faster than I could sprint at full tilt.

The Curse of the Lycanthrope was said to make one somewhat more feral—but did it enhance physical endurance to this degree? Or had Dorothy simply been born with an exceptional body?

"Brother! I'm here!"

"Young master. I've brought water."

Clara came running with a bright smile, and Sophie the maid followed with water and a towel. Clara's smile was not directed at me, but at Dorothy.

"Thank you."

While I held the water bottle to my mouth and Sophie wiped the sweat from me, Clara dashed toward Dorothy.

"Miss Dorothy! I brought you water!"

"Sophie brought it, not you."

Dorothy had seen Clara coming, but ignored her and kept running.

"M-Miss Dorothy! Please stop for just a moment!"

The wolf girl paid no heed to the noble young lady's pitiful plea. She obeyed only the commands of her master—the one who held her catalyst. Namely, me. I had told her it was fine to listen to other people now, but Dorothy still followed my words alone.

"Hah… hah… B-Brother… Miss Dorothy… hah… hah…"

Clara could outrun me, certainly, but catching Dorothy was still beyond her.

"Dorothy! Want to keep running?"

"Yes."

"Then there's nothing for it."

"Th-That's not—! Hah… please make her stop…!"

"She says she wants to run."

I didn't know much about exercise, but I knew enough that people who enjoyed working out hated being interrupted mid-session.

Then Dorothy suddenly stopped, stared straight at me, and said:

"I'm hungry."

Time for the wolf to go hunting.

I pushed my exhausted body upright and took hold of the fang threaded through Dorothy's hair. The silver pendant that served as the catalyst for the Curse of Emotionlessness. The silver dagger for the Curse of Obsession. And now the fang for the Curse of the Puppet. The number of things I had to carry kept growing, so I had taken to storing them in my shadow using the dark magic Maria had taught me.

"Clara. Get away from Dorothy."

"Ah. Understood."

Dorothy removed her fur cloak and began methodically unfastening her armor. I spread out a blanket and shielded her body as she stripped down.

— Grrrrrrr…

And then the slender girl was gone. Accompanied by the low rumble of a beast's growl, a wolf more than three meters in length stood in her place.

An armored werewolf raced across the open fields, a sword gripped in one hand. In her girl form it had been a greatsword the size of her body; in wolf form, it fit in a single paw like a short blade. The fur cloak streamed behind her like a mane.

I didn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠think the armament was necessary, but it had been Dorothy's own request. She insisted on this gear whether in human form or wolf form. There was only one sword, but the armor and fur cloak came in two sets—a smaller one for her human shape and a larger one for the wolf.

Clara and I rode on Dorothy's back. I held the catalyst, directing the werewolf's movements.

"Brother! If you don't hold on tighter, you'll fall off!"

Clara sat in front; I clung to her waist and hung ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on.

"This is as tight as I can grip!"

"What kind of man has arms this weak?!"

"Take that up with your real brother!"

Our destination was Muranan Village—the place where we had wiped out the beastfolk bandits and captured Dorothy. The village whose entire supply of liquor the Baron had confiscated.

It wasn't exactly a trade-off, but while we were at it, we had agreed to clear the nearby forest of monsters, doubling as Dorothy's meal. The amount of meat she consumed was more than even a baron could easily sustain. Noble or not, he was merely the lord of a rural farming territory. And thanks to my Heretic's Offering trait, her appetite had only grown larger.

Feeding her every time she got hungry, just to keep her from turning into a werewolf, simply wasn't practical. So instead we let her transform and set her to hunting monsters. She filled her belly and stocked up meat for the day in one go. Since we still needed to ride her on the way back, we also couldn't feed her enough to break the transformation.

The flesh of cursed beasts—monsters—was foul-tasting and heavily toxic, but a werewolf seemed able to eat it without ill effect. By her own account, it even suited her palate.

"Miss Dorothy! We're almost there!"

"She can't understand you no matter what you say!"

But why was this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠girl even coming along? Ordinarily it was just Dorothy and me. Clara's help wasn't needed during a hunt.

The cathedral of the Manfred Barony.

A single shaft of light fell through the window. When Priest Thomas turned, a white dove sat perched on the sill. He hurried to take the letter from its beak.

Not long ago, Thomas had sent a letter requesting reassignment to another parish. The Lumenic Church seemed to have little interest in this backwater, so barring any complications, a transfer should have come through. Thomas wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched rural hole behind.

With trembling hands he unfolded the letter and read quickly. But what was written there was nothing like what he had expected.

"Inquisitors are coming…?"

Those who burned everything connected to dark magic. The Lumenic Church's strongest force. The letter said they had already set out for the Barony.