Chapter Ninety-Eight: An Unexpected Visitor

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Mulan knelt halfway before the forest, gazing at the corpse of the Silver-Maned Werewolf beside him. In a somewhat melodramatic way, he thought to himself: The despicable humans, using all sorts of cunning tricks combined with considerable strength, finally managed to kill the Silver-Maned Werewolf.

In the shadows of the night, a smile appeared on Mulan’s face. He reached out his hand and pressed it atop the werewolf’s head. From the darkness, the silhouette of a demon slowly rose. The demon’s razor-sharp claws aligned with Mulan’s arm, gradually slicing through the werewolf’s skull and body.

Dark power, come to your true master!

At this moment, Mulan was exhausted, yet his spirit soared with exhilaration. However, this time he could not dispose of the corpse along with it.

Meanwhile, Hendel and the others had already descended from the small hill where they had been watching and hurried over to Mulan’s side.

“Professor, are you alright?”

“Lord Charl, are you unharmed?”

Mulan, having withdrawn the demon’s shadow, waved to them with a relatively normal smile.

“I’m fine, not dead yet. Hendel, come help me up.”

Hendel quickly ran over and carefully grasped Mulan’s right hand, helping him to slowly stand.

“Ugh...”

At times like this, Mulan’s adrenaline was fading, and the intense soreness in his muscles along with the pain from various wounds surged all at once. Even he couldn’t help but grimace, recalling the state of his body when he first arrived in this world.

“That was the werewolf leader, right? He’s dead?”

Charl stood a bit aside, still reluctant to approach the Silver-Maned Werewolf’s corpse too closely. Mulan’s perception of Baron Charl had shifted significantly by now, so he responded with a relatively light-hearted tone.

“He’s dead through and through, couldn’t be more dead. For death, Farolinch knows better—you can ask him.”

Charl instinctively glanced at the dark-faced man nearby, who nodded slightly and answered simply and directly.

“Dead.”

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Steadying himself, Mulan kept contracting his own strength. During the recent battle, he had operated at an almost constant state of overload, and the toll was undeniably excessive. Fortunately, the death of the Silver-Maned Werewolf brought him a generous reward.

“Hendel, cut off a portion of the Silver-Maned Werewolf’s tissue now, then bury the body on the spot before we leave.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Charl, help me to sit over there and rest a bit.”

Hendel immediately began taking out test tubes, tweezers, and other instruments from his luggage. Farolinch watched with curiosity, while Charl cautiously supported Mulan as he sat down on a nearby rock, eyes fixed on the horrifying condition from Mulan’s left shoulder to his left chest.

Mulan’s clothes were already torn to shreds, half his body soaked in sticky blood. Though the exact wounds were obscured, the injuries were undoubtedly severe. The fact that Mulan could still joke and smile was nothing short of a miracle.

“Lord Charl, are you really sure you’re alright?”

Charl asked again about Mulan’s condition. Mulan tore at his shredded clothes with his right hand, exposing his left shoulder and chest. Only then could Charl, Farolinch, and the others clearly see the wounds, and they all gasped sharply.

The injuries were terrifying—large swaths of muscle ripped open, some wounds deep enough to reveal bone, all from bites inflicted by the werewolf.

“This werewolf wasn’t ordinary. Its name was Silver-Maned Donorich, the Mad Ripper. If it hadn’t taken a blast beforehand and been hit by those special silver bullets, it would have been very difficult to defeat. But the outcome is good; these wounds are an acceptable price.”

Mulan looked seriously at Baron Charl as he spoke.

“Charl, entering the supernatural realm isn’t as straightforward as you might imagine. For example, this time you were nearly trapped by vampires. Though their motives aren’t pure, you did obtain a higher-rank bloodline, one with a purity unlike the common kind.”

As Mulan slowly tore off his shirt, he spoke with Charl.

“Now, it’s unlikely you can fully revert to being human. To become a bit more normal, you’d have to undergo blood replacement: multiple transfusions with blood of the same type as yours, gradually flushing out the original blood in your body. But this method only dilutes your blood; it can never completely cleanse it. The vampire blood is already affecting your entire body. So this is only a temporary fix.”

“By the way, few medical institutions have reached this level of technology. Of course, if you want, the Black Castle has plenty of people who like research and would be willing to help.”

Upon hearing the words “help you,” Charl instinctively shrank his neck.

“Of course, you also have another choice: maintain your current state, keep hiding here, continue hiding within that vampire organization. Perhaps you could do some deeds that won’t be widely remembered, but are nonetheless noble.”

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“But didn’t you say their purpose in giving me blood isn’t pure? If I continue like this, won’t I be in great danger?”

“Hahaha, yes, their motives aren’t pure. And I can tell you, the vampire who gave you blood wants to possess your body someday. But not now—your body is too weak for that yet. He’ll wait until you’ve grown strong enough, at least until you start reaching prosperity. That won’t be a short wait. Until then, they’ll treat you well. And when the time comes, I won’t let them succeed.”

Charl forced a smile. Though he sensed Mulan’s words were sincere, whether the vampire would succeed or not was not something a promise now could resolve.

Of course, Mulan understood Charl’s concerns. He was merely mentioning this now, without expecting an immediate agreement.

Half an hour later, Hendel and Farolinch finished handling the werewolf’s corpse and went to check the mine shaft, confirming no other werewolves had escaped. They then covered the small hole dug up for the Silver-Maned Werewolf’s body with large stones.

Afterwards, the group, along with the heavily injured Mulan, boarded the still intact carriage to descend the mountain. Only one horse remained; the explosion had startled the horses, causing the carriage to bolt, and one had even broken free.

Since the journey was not short, the explosion’s noise was not very noticeable in Charl Town. Mulan and the others returned directly to the baron’s mansion, where Charl immediately prepared various tools to urgently treat Mulan’s wounds.

Boiling water, alcohol, gauze, cotton balls, a variety of hemostatic and disinfectant medicines, needles, scissors...

The blood was cleaned bit by bit, revealing the wounds more clearly. Aside from Hendel occasionally assisting, Mulan mostly tended to the treatment himself.

The wounds made Charl’s scalp tingle and caused Farolinch to frown repeatedly, but Mulan insisted it was bearable.

In fact, if someone else at a similar stage as Mulan had such injuries, they would never appear so calm. But Mulan’s demon shadow had absorbed a considerable portion of the Silver-Maned Werewolf’s dark and spiritual power, putting him in a state of great replenishment. His spirit nourished his body, making his condition surprisingly good.

Though the wounds were deep enough to reveal bone, the Silver-Maned Werewolf was already at its end, and Mulan’s radiant knight profession meant he was physically robust. No irreversible damage was done. Though the injuries looked frightening, Mulan casually dismissed them as “superficial.”

At dawn, Charl Town awoke peacefully. People began going about their work and lives, unaware of what had happened the night before. At most, some mentioned hearing distant noises in the night.

Hendel left the baron’s mansion early to head to the town post office, sending two urgent letters on Mulan’s behalf—one to the royal palace, the other to the Black Castle. He roughly described the encounters with vampires and werewolves and the situation in Charl’s area, but withheld details regarding Baron Charl.

When Mulan woke at noon and went out for a walk, he unexpectedly ran into a familiar face in Charl Town—Owen. The letters had only been sent that morning and couldn’t have reached the capital yet.