Chapter 368

The South Gate guard captain adjusted his hat. The feathered hat was his symbol. He tilted the brim a few times, then looked up at the full moon bathing everything in bright light.

‘What is my duty?’

To protect the capital.

It wasn’t some sudden realization. He had known it from the start, but recently, it had been sharpened into something he couldn’t ignore.

A noble of the Royal Palace—a prodigal son returned at last.

A blood relative of the Queen, openly carrying duty and responsibility on his shoulders.

Then the guard captain should do his own job where he stood.

In the end, he could no longer tolerate the Moonlight Beast.

So he did what he had to do. With a Squire already attacked, he moved with full preparation.

“Let’s go this way.”

The guard captain spoke to his subordinate.

“But Captain, is it really coming out?”

The subordinate—his beard scruffy from days without shaving—asked.

“Of course.”

There were people in the capital who were interested in the Moonlight Beast itself. The South Gate guard captain was one of them.

He had asked around, confirmed what he could, and predicted where it was likely to appear.

In other words, he was following the same line of reasoning as Encrid.

‘Full moon.’

A place far from the nobles’ residential areas.

‘Here.’

If he was wrong, he could start again. There wasn’t enough manpower to search the entire district.

He had brought only three trusted soldiers.

With him and three subordinates, they should be able to catch a single werewolf.

He didn’t know how it hid during the day and appeared only at night.

‘It must be using some strange magic.’

A spell cast by a crazed Mage.

He scanned the surroundings under the moonlight.

Would it really appear?

His expectation was answered.

Thud!

A tearing sound, then the stench of blood. It came from inside an alley. He sprinted straight in.

“Captain?”

“Follow me!”

He barked the order as he ran—and there it was, a blood-soaked monster filling the alley.

Pointed ears stood tall. Instead of fur, steel-like feathers covered its entire body.

It was twice a man’s height. Its forearms were as thick as thighs.

The narrow space felt too small for it.

The guard captain swallowed hard. If he let fear take him, he would lose even a winnable fight.

He steadied himself and spoke.

“Was it an Owlbear instead of a werewolf?”

He drew his sword.

Clang.

The blade caught the moonlight.

He gripped it with both hands and fixed his eyes on the monster. The Owlbear’s side profile was visible.

Red veins bulged across its round eyes, visible even in the moonlight.

He had to crane his neck just to meet its gaze.

His eyes swept down.

The ground was slick with blood. A corpse lay crumpled to one side. The monster’s claws—sharp and heavy—were stained dark.

Shredded remains lay scattered in dull crimson under the moon.

Each claw looked like a thick, brutally honed blade.

The Owlbear shook its body, indifferent to the guard captain’s stare.

In that motion, the guard captain understood instinctively: the creature was enjoying this. It was drunk on slaughter.

“You were enjoying it!”

Protect the city. Protect the citizens. Killing the monster that dyed the moonlit night with fear was the guard’s duty.

He kicked off the ground and rushed in, plunging his sword down in a vertical cut.

He closed the distance in a single step and brought the blade down. He wasn’t aiming to sever an arm or split a torso in one stroke. A clean angle would be enough to carve flesh.

It was his specialty—One-Cut Carving.

The Owlbear blocked it with a casual swing of its arm. As the blade came in, it twisted one finger-claw and caught the strike on the outer edge.

Clang!

Sparks burst, scattering moonlight.

The guard captain retreated immediately.

He hadn’t become Royal Guard, but he was skilled enough to handle most opponents.

At minimum, he judged himself at Squire level.

That was why he held the position of guard captain.

But this—

Wasn’t it said a Squire had barely lost?

‘Even if I didn’t put my full weight into it.’

His wrist nearly tore from the shock alone. And that movement—an angle and defense that looked like trained technique.

He was being pushed back. Alone, he would die. He would end like the Squire.

Fortunately, he wasn’t alone.

Cold sweat poured down his back, but instead of shrinking, he leapt back and shouted.

“Surround it!”

The Owlbear’s eyes turned on him—joy, desire, murderous intent, hostility, all swirling together.

Those thick, red veins made fear crawl up his spine. Even without opening its beak, it felt like being caught by it would pierce straight through him.

Those eyes were the worst. They resembled human eyes just enough to be wrong.

There was no time to dwell on that.

As he stepped back, the Owlbear followed, slow and quiet.

For something that large, its gait was unnervingly soundless.

If it wanted to slip behind someone, it could do so without being felt.

A born hunter’s walk.

The monster emerged from the alley and faced the three spears aimed at it.

Moonlight lit the mouth of the alley perfectly, making the interior behind it look even darker.

One subordinate swallowed, knuckles white on his spear.

The guard captain was drenched in sweat.

The Owlbear stepped forward and drew in a breath. Its chest swelled.

“Attack!”

The guard captain shouted, judging it better to strike first. It was the last defiance of a frightened man.

Even faced with unexpected strength, his sense of duty did not waver.

He shouted—

Oooooooo!

The monster roared, swallowing his voice whole.

The sound rolled through the air and crashed into human ears.

The moment it hit, the guard captain’s body locked.

His heart began pounding on its own, muscles tensing until they froze.

Prey that meets its natural enemy cannot escape fear.

That was why monsters were called human predators.

And high-ranking monsters could freeze the body with a single roar.

The guard captain saw it—claws tearing into him, the end arriving before he could move.

His body turned rigid.

The soldiers froze too.

‘I’m going to die.’

Fear swallowed him.

Like a mouse before a cat.

The Owlbear raised its claws, having subdued them with a single cry.

It was about to take their heads one by one.

“Kuheuh.”

A laugh escaped.

A pleasure no human life could provide was right here.

At first, he had resented this body.

Not anymore.

It was enjoyable. It was intoxicating.

Why deny it?

As long as he didn’t run into Squires like before.

No—what human from the Royal Palace would be in a place like this now?

What would they even send to catch him?

At best, two Squires? Guards?

The men collapsed before him had shown him the truth.

Now the capital was his restaurant.

Food was everywhere, ready to be taken one by one.

How could he not be happy?

Joy surged through him. Feathers trembled across his body as his muscles tightened and loosened.

It was time to indulge.

“Kuhehehehe.”

Saliva dripped. He wanted to tear into them quickly.

He was about to stop thinking and plunge his claws in—

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps struck the ground, clear in his ears.

Left rear, about twenty paces by human measure.

With an Owlbear’s body, his hearing had sharpened beyond anything he’d had as a man.

Measuring distance by sound was effortless.

The monster sensed the steps closing in.

Instinct moved before reason.

Swoosh!

His claws extended—twice as long as before—and he crossed his arms in front of him.

In the alley’s darkness, his vision caught the figure that burst out.

Night vision made the world sharp as day.

A shape leapt from the dark, leaving a pale afterimage.

And then it accelerated.

Something three times faster than running sound itself shot toward him.

Whoosh!

Two lines carved through the air—drawn from the attacker’s arms, slicing toward his body.

The Owlbear raised his forearms, holding them like shields.

The lines struck.

Thud.

A dull impact.

The feathers held—steel didn’t cut easily—but the force still rattled through him.

The attacker retreated faster than the attack had come.

The moment the Owlbear blocked, he kicked forward to crush where the opponent stood, but the opponent had already slipped away.

His claws swept empty air and returned.

The monster straightened and tilted its head, speaking as if it were nothing.

“…What, is there another one besides me? Plenty of meals.”

It was a Beastkin—half-human, half-beast.

And it spoke human words without strain.

As it spoke, the Owlbear realized through smell and sound that there were more opponents nearby.

But it couldn’t afford to look away.

The pressure coming from the one in front of him wouldn’t allow it.

The golden-eyed Beastkin glared at him. Those eyes shone even under moonlight.

“Hey, I’m a Beastkin.”

As if telling himself.

“What’s the difference? I become human, then I become an Owlbear.”

His joy had been interrupted, but there was no reason to fight a comrade.

The restaurant was large. The meals were many.

Why fight over pleasure?

Whether old or young, man or woman—it didn’t matter to his claws.

The golden-eyed Beastkin clenched her teeth and shouted.

“You fucking bastard, there are no owls among the Beastkin!”

Dunbakel launched forward in the form of a white lion.

Bang!

She kicked off the ground, body stretching long with speed.

In both hands, she held two curved swords.

Shorter than scimitars by a span, but she was already used to them.

The blades drew trembling lines as they dropped toward the Owlbear’s forearms.

It was a technique she had refined for days—Falling Thrust.

A technique Encrid had shaped into his own while watching others learn.

It cut and stabbed, stabbed and cut—messy, full of changes.

But the Owlbear’s perception caught all of it.

And its body could respond to every speed and trajectory.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

It swung claws harder than steel, blocking and deflecting, hunting for gaps.

When he was human, he had trained too. He knew technique.

He reached again, aiming for an opening—claws extending to rip Dunbakel’s abdomen in an instant.

Dunbakel pivoted on her left foot, spinning her body.

As she turned, she swung the curved sword—

Ping!

A slash twice as fast as before cut horizontally through the air.

The Owlbear halted, refusing to step into it.

‘Tricky.’

She fought better than the Squire from before.

Was that a problem?

He decided it wasn’t.

If things turned bad, he could simply run—

“What, is it an owl bastard?”

He couldn’t finish the thought.

From one side, a man holding a long-handled axe stepped in, swinging it loosely.

‘A familiar face.’

Where had he seen him?

Memory scraped uselessly.

But the force rolling off him was unmistakable.

‘Should I run?’

Instinct warned him. Reason agreed.

“If you just answer the question, you can leave peacefully.”

A voice came from behind him.

The Owlbear jolted and swung his elbow on reflex.

Steel-feathers were a weapon. A clean hit could crush a man.

But the opponent wasn’t there.

He had stepped back after speaking, as if he’d predicted the counter.

Retreating was faster than attacking.

The Owlbear sensed it in the air itself.

“Who is the leader of the Black Sword?”

The question came again.

The Owlbear compressed air into his stomach and released it—

Oooooooo!

A roar meant to crush them with fear.

The air shook.

At least one of them should collapse, like the soldiers earlier.

The guard captain in the feathered hat barely endured, but the other soldiers dropped—some even wetting themselves.

Everyone flinched at the roar, but it didn’t give him the satisfaction he expected.

Why was everyone still standing?

The man with the axe even smirked.

“Don’t make so much noise, monster.”

Then another figure approached—a man walking in slowly from one side, a long whip in his hand.

“What? You came out for a night stroll too?”

The man with the axe asked.

The whip-holder was someone the Owlbear recognized.

‘He shouldn’t be leaving his post.’

Matthew.

The escort of Crianath Randeus Nauril.

The one who had caused chaos in the Royal Palace by declaring he would rise as Grand duke.

Because of that man, the timing had been perfect for feeding.

The more chaotic the Royal Palace became, the fewer people would pay attention to him.

A few people going missing at night wouldn’t cause a stir.

At best, guards would come.

That was why he had targeted commoners—especially the poor.

He didn’t target nobles and invite retaliation for no reason.

Who would step in unless their own territory was threatened?

And yet—

All of this was unexpected.

There were people who stepped forward for citizens’ safety, not for their own benefit.

There were people who spoke of responsibility and duty and risked their lives to chase him.

There were people who grasped the principles of his movements through observation and insight.

The Owlbear didn’t understand any of that.

He was simply addicted to slaughter, like a man crawling back to a drug.

Even so, he believed himself rational.

He thought he judged and moved on reason.

It was all nonsense.

His reason had become a tool for pleasure.

A side effect he didn’t even recognize.

“What, you guys.”

The South Gate guard captain forced himself upright.

He had barely pushed through his fear. His jaw chattered, but he clenched his teeth and endured.

As he did, he felt steadier.

The air around him helped.

The atmosphere had reversed.

The Owlbear couldn’t crush the soldiers he had knocked down.

He couldn’t tear apart the white lion Beastkin as he pleased.

A crisis.

He felt it. The flow of the fight had changed.

But he couldn’t die.

‘Absolutely not.’

He had tasted pleasure. He couldn’t forget it.

He would survive—and live like that again.

He would chew and swallow countless humans, living off their bodies.

Ooh.

A short roar hardened his will.

Even if the path was wrong, his determination was clear.

He had seriously wounded a Squire once.

The monster’s power, combined with the remnants of human skill, had made it possible.

“How laughable!”

The Owlbear shouted, the meaning carried clearly in the sound.

Those who heard it reacted.

“Why does that guy speak human so well?”

The axe-man muttered.

“Did you come out on the Marquis’s orders? He did say he’d handle it himself.”

Matthew was more concerned with the people around him than the monster.

“My ears hurt, you monster bastard.”

Dunbakel frowned.

The man standing behind him didn’t even reach for his sword.

He simply watched, indifferent.

Even so, it was terrifying.

If the Owlbear went near that man, he would die.

That warning came from instinct, not reason.

And it was right.

Ragna was deciding whether to cut him down.

On top of that—

“Tell me who the leader of the Black Sword is. I’ll send you off cleanly, so you don’t get hit by that barbarian’s axe or torn apart by a crude swordsman.”

A calm voice spoke from behind, confident and steady.

Who the hell is this guy?

What’s with him constantly offering to send me somewhere?

“Let’s go quietly.”

He said it, and the figure standing in the moonlight was visible—yet blurred.

It was because sound dulled and even his presence grew faint around him.

If I lost track of him, he’d be behind me in an instant, burying a knife in my back. He was the kind of man who made your skin crawl.

“Speak.”

“I don’t know any of that.”

The Owlbear was pushed back by the pressure and answered without realizing it.

“Is that so.”

The man murmured and took a step back. Just from that, the pressure eased noticeably.

Of course, that didn’t mean the danger had lessened.

It was simply the moment I was tightening my guard to its limit and searching for a way out—

“Captain of the Guard?”

Another voice cut in.

It was a voice I recognized immediately.