Chapter Eighty-Seven: Temporary Berth

Inside the passenger carriage, everyone else shrank away from the corpses, but Hendel followed Mulan as he inspected the scene. Of course, there was no possibility that any of the werewolves were still alive.

"Professor, these creatures are starting to turn back into humans!"

Hendel looked down at some of the bodies in mild astonishment. Several corpses had already begun to shed their fur, revealing bald, naked human forms beneath. The ones that had been slashed by swords were one thing, but for those killed by bullets, the wounds on their now-human bodies were surprisingly small. This showed just how formidable their regeneration had been—except where Hendel’s silver bullets or Mulan’s shots had struck, the wounds there were unnaturally large, as if corroded and torn.

Mulan watched as a corpse beside him gradually lost its black wolf’s fur. He crouched down, gently pinched a tuft of fur, and felt a faint resistance; with a slight tug, the fur came away, and the rest of the hair shrank back into the pores.

"They’re still dying."

"Huh?" Hendel was puzzled—still dying? Hadn’t they been dead already?

Mulan looked up at him. "Cadet Hendel, fetch your notebook and take this down. The werewolf’s cells are dying. Only once complete cellular death occurs do the bodies return to human form. The timing is about an hour to an hour and a half after death. This observation is based on low-level infected individuals."

"Yes, Professor!" Hendel hurried back to his seat, opened his trunk, pulled out his notebook, and grabbed the pen from his breast pocket. Biting off the cap and shaking it a couple of times, he began to record swiftly.

As he noted Mulan’s observations, Hendel also drew his own inferences, running from corpse to corpse to examine them, jotting down his findings and hypotheses. Mulan nodded approvingly—this was precisely the attitude he was looking for.

The passengers in the carriage were growing drowsy; the gently swaying train had become a giant cradle.

At that moment, the conductor approached, forcing himself to endure the stench and his own nausea as he stopped beside Mulan. Before he could speak, he noticed with shock that the horrifying werewolf corpses were all turning back into humans.

"Sir Jonst, they—they’re…"

Mulan had already used tweezers and small vials to collect samples: one vial held freshly plucked fur, another blood, a third a bit of muscle and skin tissue. Hearing the conductor’s voice, he pressed the stopper into the last vial and slowly stood.

"I imagine you’ve heard the legends of werewolves—if they’re transformed from humans, it’s only natural they turn back, however pitiful the manner."

He glanced at the bodies as he spoke, then turned to the conductor. "So, what did you want to ask?"

The conductor snapped back to his purpose. "Sir Jonst, we’ll be arriving at Shire Station in about half an hour. Given the state of the train, we plan to make a temporary stop. I wanted to ask your opinion."

"I have no objections. Do as you see fit." Mulan nodded his assent at once. The conductor, unable to stand the smell any longer, quickly made his excuses and hurried away.

...

About forty minutes later, the train began to slow noticeably. The silhouette of a station soon emerged ahead. Among the passengers, a man stood and hurried towards Mulan, who had long since returned to his seat. The young man who had been seated by Mulan was now squeezed in with others elsewhere, not daring to disturb Mulan’s rest.

The passenger came up to Mulan, who sensed his approach and turned to look at him.

"Sir Jonst, we shouldn’t be stopping at this station."

Mulan scrutinized the man in the glow of the carriage’s kerosene lamps. His complexion was slightly waxen, but still within the bounds of normalcy; his lips, however, were pale.

Mulan might not have noticed this passenger before, but now that the man had approached him directly, a certain intuition grew stronger—this was no ordinary person.

"You’re a bit late with your warning," Mulan replied, glancing out the window. The train was already slowing to a crawl and, within seconds, slid to a stop within the station.

"You may remain aboard or step out for some air—but don’t wander far! We’ll go look for help," came the voices of the conductor and crew as the train doors swung open. The air inside had become unbearable, and the passengers, desperate for relief, poured out onto the platform.

Mulan fixed his gaze on the man beside him. "Is there something in particular you wish to tell me?"

The man frowned, then shook his head. "I was just frightened earlier tonight and don’t want the train stopping at night."

Mulan smiled faintly and stood. Through the window, he saw the suspicious passenger had already left the train.

"Excuse me, I need some air," he said.

The man quickly stepped aside, allowing Mulan to leave with his cane. He soon disembarked.

The station was old, but at least it had a sizable canopy—a decided improvement over the exposed open-air stations. Gas lamps provided ample light, imparting a sense of modern security and helping to put the passengers at ease.

The conductor was already negotiating with the station staff, seeking help with cleaning the carriages and tending to the wounded—many had been hurt in the chaos, some even shot, though luckily none fatally.

As Mulan stepped off the train, many passengers nodded or even doffed their hats in respect; some addressed him as "Sir Knight." He returned their greetings with a nod, but his purpose was clear as he strode directly toward the suspicious man.

The pale-faced man noticed Mulan approaching and instinctively tried to evade him, quickening his pace. Mulan, appearing unhurried, nonetheless increased his speed as well.

This only made the man more uneasy. Realizing Mulan had locked onto him as a target, he quickened his pace, hurriedly skirting around the waiting area to avoid Mulan’s gaze, then picked up his speed again.

But when he glanced back, Mulan was nowhere to be seen. Looking toward the train, he saw groups of passengers clustered around it, but even with his keen night vision, he couldn’t spot that man returning.

"What are you looking for—me?" Mulan’s voice suddenly sounded from ahead, making the man jump. He looked up in shock to see the man he so deeply feared standing in the shadows.

Moving silently to get in front of him? The man had observed Mulan’s fighting style closely—he shouldn’t be capable of such movement, not without a trace of presence.

The speed and uncanny stealth made the man tense, but he quickly forced an expression of feigned surprise.

"Sir Jonst? What a coincidence! I just needed to relieve myself urgently."

Mulan made no move, his voice calm. "Oh? Why not on the train?"

"Sir Jonst, you know the stench in there—it’s unbearable! I was thinking of waiting here for the next train. Are you also here for… the same reason?"

A slight smile tugged at Mulan’s lips. His words were blunt. "Don’t move. You strike me as suspicious. In fact, before we dealt with the werewolves, we encountered a vampire, which most passengers don’t know. And you—I find something odd about you."

"No, no, Sir Jonst, how could I possibly—"

With a blur, Mulan’s hand flickered, a flash of silver cut the air.

A spurt of blood, a metallic clang—silver pierced the air, and a hand that had been waving a moment before was now pinned by a fang to a pillar beside the pale man.

"Aaah..." The man howled in agony as Mulan strode calmly closer.

"I told you not to move."

Knowing his cover was blown, the man dropped the pretense. "Mulan Jonst, do you really think you can keep me here? How naive!"

His eyes burned red, his face grew even paler, sinews stood out beneath the skin, and his fangs jutted from his mouth. But he could not pull his pinned hand free.

The vampire jerked his head to look at his impaled hand. The silver blade, now shrouded in a strange shadow, resembled a monstrous beast or a venomous serpent, coiling around his hand and biting down with terrifying fangs.

A wave of searing pain, enough to make even a vampire tremble, surged through him.

"Aaa—what is this? You—"

He looked back again, only to find Mulan close at hand. The breeze in the station stirred Mulan’s hair, revealing a cruel smile and eyes gleaming with a dreadful light.

As if death itself were staring at him, the vampire’s body froze. In his crimson eyes, he seemed to see an enormous shadow behind Mulan, spreading its wings and extending its claws.

Terror, horror, incredulity—feelings the man had not experienced since becoming a vampire now flooded back.

"Who—who are you?"

"Tell me what you, or your people, are really doing. At first, I thought you were simply hunting on the train, but when I saw you could control the werewolves, I knew it wasn’t so simple. Tell me, and I’ll let you go. Otherwise, death will be a thousand times kinder than what awaits you."

At this moment, Mulan was utterly sinister, his voice carrying a hypnotic power that filled the vampire with crushing dread.