Chapter 76: Sweet Bait and the Young Fox

“They wouldn’t follow orders even if they showed up,” Hanny remarked suddenly.

“True,” Vinigo nodded. “Who could we find to rein in this pack of werewolves?”

He tilted his head, pondering for a long moment, then suddenly snapped his fingers.

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

“It might not be entirely aboveboard, but it should work,” Vinigo replied with a grin, opening his hand. Resting on his palm were ten magical daggers, each one crafted from the long claws of a werewolf chieftain.

Ordinary werewolves weren’t worth much, but a chieftain was a rarity—only one or two would ever appear in a large pack, their strength rivaling that of a full-grown thunder lizard. Their claws alone were highly prized, and once transformed into weapons through a specialized process, their value multiplied. Yet Vinigo possessed forging techniques unknown to this world.

Thanks to Nanoka’s inventions and Mary’s alchemy, these ten Wolf’s Head Daggers could each fetch a price of several hundred gold coins. As bait, they would make quite the morsel.

The plan was simple. Vinigo, using a fabricated persona, went to the adventurers’ tavern and sold one of the daggers for three hundred gold coins. After a few drinks, he let slip that a mysterious young merchant at an inn was buying werewolf chieftain teeth and could make Wolf’s Head Daggers at a bargain price.

It was said this mysterious merchant also bought lesser materials like red werewolf pelts at high prices, and could craft leather armor and arrowheads as well.

Perhaps that alone wasn’t irresistible. But two days later, Vinigo showed up again under a different guise, proudly displaying a new Wolf’s Head Dagger and a suit of red leather armor. The adventurers’ interest was piqued.

At this point, Sophie appeared, wearing the insignia of Ironfist Castle, with Hanny by her side, who wore the Sunshard Amulet gifted by Sir Stone. In the name of envoys from the High Council—and with Lady Fris’s letter of commission—they presented themselves at the adventurers’ tavern.

They didn’t make any particular hires, but the bowman played by Vinigo approached them. Sophie, poor at dissembling, responded only with a yes or no; Vinigo, whether intentionally or not, steered the conversation toward the werewolves.

From their exchange, one could glean a conclusion: the werewolves had obtained an artifact of immense power, which explained their sudden surge in strength—and it must be of extraordinary value.

Yet there were too many werewolves; the local adventurers alone wouldn’t suffice to seize the prize. More hands were needed, but too many would mean smaller shares. And if they delayed, the High Council’s nobles might send in elite forces, leaving nothing for the adventurers at all.

After delivering these hints, Sophie and Hanny departed. Vinigo lingered in the tavern, conferring with the other adventurers.

Gradually, a consensus emerged—a voice, whose origin was uncertain but which Vinigo quietly encouraged, became the prevailing thought.

Fortune favors the bold.

A small group would draw the werewolves out. If only a few responded, they could be surrounded and taken down. If more came, they could be lured into the Wyvern Desert and left for the thunder lizards’ lunch.

But what if the werewolves refused to come out? Impossible. Werewolves were creatures of instinct; a bold enough provocation would bring them all charging out, regardless of their chieftains’ attempts to restrain them.

With that decided, the adventurers began preparations.

First, they summoned their companions, gathering every acquaintance from nearby towns and strongholds. Not only adventurers gathered, but also a few smugglers, spies, and even some militiamen.

Vinigo, now in another guise, joined the discussion. He suggested organizing familiar faces into teams and dividing them into “bait,” “assault,” “defense,” and “support” groups, with predetermined agreements on how loot would be split, ensuring that those acting as bait or defense would be properly compensated.

Only the most valuable spoils would be left to the strongest to contest.

Adventurers had their own unspoken rules, so after some haggling, a rough draft was settled. As for the components from the werewolf chieftains, and that artifact—perhaps worthy of being called a “relic”—there would be no fair division. That, they would decide when the time came.

Five days later, a great gathering of adventurers assembled, spreading out in bands of three or five near Black County.

This time, Vinigo played the role of a hunter, using the FFTA hunter template. He had even crafted a compound bow for the part, donned a leather cap and scarf, and stood out amid the crowd.

He was assigned to the bait group; Hanny and Cait Sith were with him. As for Sophie, she took the lead of the assault group, standing proudly at their head.

“Well, fancy that—I’m actually nervous,” Vinigo muttered, drawing an arrow from his quiver and pulling back gently.

Thwip—

The hunter’s skills were few but practical, and the class itself was versatile and strong.

His arrow flew, and immediately there was a stir within the werewolf lair.

Vinigo didn’t rush. He nocked another arrow, this time with a mysterious glimmer on its tip.

“Magic archer?” someone behind him murmured.

Thwip—

Skill: Banish.

Originally, this skill would expel a monster from the battlefield. But in this world, with no true “battlefield” boundary, it worked instead to drive monsters away.

As the arrow shot into the den, a pack of werewolves burst out, bristling with fury, charging straight at Vinigo.

“Success—run!” Vinigo laughed, turning to flee.

With a joyous cry, Hanny leapt onto Cait Sith’s back, patting the great cat’s head. With a meow, Cait Sith shot to the front, leading the group by a wide margin.

Vinigo’s hunter template wasn’t known for speed. Soon, he found himself lagging at the rear.

He glanced back—ah, the nearest werewolves were only ten meters away; another few strides and they’d be upon him.

Vinigo grinned, stopped, whirled around, and pointed a finger.

Sonic Wave!

One of the hunter’s signature skills—fast, low in power, but the only area attack in his arsenal.

With the hunter’s formidable physical prowess, even this low-power wave had a decent effect. The nearest werewolves staggered, nearly toppling.

“Hey, lend me a hand!” Vinigo shouted.

The adventurers hesitated briefly, then, seeing the number of pursuing werewolves was not great, stopped and fanned out into a semicircle to encircle them. An old man with a white beard proved nimbler than many youths, spinning his spear to trip two lunging werewolves to the ground.

“Thanks!” Vinigo called.

With cover, he could safely draw and shoot. His rate of fire wasn’t high, but his arrows hit harder than those of his allies.

Moreover, his hunter template boasted some very useful skills: “Advice,” which improved allies’ chance of hitting vital spots; “Poaching,” which yielded extra loot; and the resource-heavy “Arutima Shot.”

At his current level, Vinigo was no longer short on mercury. With his scholar’s knowledge and alchemical skills, he could refine two large bottles of mercury from cinnabar ore each night. Though his consumption had also increased, his gains still far outweighed his needs.

Yet Vinigo noticed something strange: his imaginative constructs never seemed to operate at full capacity, as if some of his potential always went untapped.

“Big Cat, go fetch the loot,” Vinigo called.

Cait Sith meowed, set Hanny down, and dashed into the fray.

“That’s not very fair, is it?” someone protested among the adventurers.

“Don’t worry, loot is divided by contribution,” Vinigo replied simply. “Just do your best to cull their numbers.”

That settled it; with three or four teams present, perfect fairness was impossible. Vinigo didn’t mind being assertive—he knew that with Hanny and Cait Sith, his team was the strongest here.

The claws, teeth, and pelts of ordinary werewolves weren’t much—he could do without them. The only reason he pushed for a share was to avoid spoiling this band of brats.

Besides, his “Poaching” skill was rather wicked—the items he gained appeared directly in his pockets.

But for all that, Vinigo wasn’t about to waste his skills on common werewolves.

Soon, the werewolves that appeared were wiped out.

“Too few came out,” Vinigo frowned. “And now that we’ve taken out this scouting party, even if the werewolves aren’t rational, they likely won’t emerge so carelessly again.”

“Let’s try once more,” Cait Sith said, bounding back to Vinigo’s side.

The talking cat drew a few stares from the adventurers, but Cait Sith only widened her feline eyes in return, prompting a round of quiet laughter.

Vinigo grunted, nocked another arrow, and used Banish again. This time, though there was movement in the den, after a few long howls, the pack fell silent once more.

“They’re not taking the bait,” Vinigo grumbled. After a moment’s thought, he rummaged through his pockets for a few dangerous trinkets, a sly smile spreading across his face.