Odelliana had been awake for a long while, yet she lay still in bed, paralyzed by the relentless swirl of her thoughts. They weighed on her so heavily that even the act of sitting up felt impossible.
What exactly is Matthias?
Perhaps it was only now—after realizing how little she truly knew—that her curiosity began to surface. The confidence, even pride, she’d once held in believing she understood him better than anyone was beginning to crumble.
All she truly knew about his real nature was a single, vague fact: he was a wolf. And even that had come secondhand from Joslin. She had never seen it for herself, never witnessed the transformation. It was nothing more than a murky truth, passed along like folklore.
There were so many questions burning inside her. What are you, really? How powerful are you, and what kind of life have you lived? Why, as a beast, do you wear the face of a man—and why tie yourself to a limping woman like me? She didn’t just want to know his goals; she longed to understand the unseen narrative behind them.
You had the strength to swim in much bigger waters. You didn’t need to wander through slums like Köbeck. You had the power to fight off the kids who tormented you. And if you’d wanted, you could have become a knight—without someone like me.
You don’t need someone like me.
And the moment that truth dawned on her, her desire to know him vanished.
Not because he was some enigmatic creature cloaked in mystery—but because she feared the answer. She feared that his unwavering devotion, his quiet loyalty, might be nothing more than a game. A performance. A fleeting amusement in the palm of his hand.
Her arrogant claim to guide his life—her self-appointed role as his patron, his protector—now felt hollow, even laughable. In hindsight, it was as if she’d been dancing on strings, all the while unaware that the puppeteer was him. It hadn’t been her who tamed him with care or effort. He had simply chosen, of his own volition, to play along.
What had felt like a desperate struggle for survival to her might have been nothing more than a passing amusement to a sixteen-year-old boy. A game he could abandon the moment it bored him.
It’s not me showing mercy to Matthias. It’s me relying on his.
Could a bond like this truly exist without terms, without cost? What are you trying to gain from this senseless attachment?
For the first time, her young disciple truly frightened her.
* * *
The collapse of part of Eisenwald’s fortress wall under Vanagand’s attack sent shockwaves throughout the territory.
Lord Blair immediately reported the incident to Duke Schaller and dispatched a secret letter requesting reinforcements. Without delay, he poured both the territory’s remaining funds and his own personal wealth into ordering the wall’s reconstruction. He also deployed Eisenwald’s forces along the outer battlements in an effort to brace for further attacks from the beasts.
But to call it preparedness would have been generous. In truth, the situation was a mess.
Years of peace had dulled the city’s knights. Complacent and undisciplined, they moved sluggishly, and their poorly maintained equipment was all but useless. Worse still, there were neither the materials nor the skilled manpower needed to forge new weapons or armor.
Panic swept through the region. To the terrified residents, Vanagand was no longer just a beast—it had become a living embodiment of the “curse of the calamity god.” Some began to hurriedly pack their belongings, preparing to flee. But thankfully, most chose to stay, unwilling to abandon the land they had spent their lives cultivating. Instead, they turned their fear into action, choosing to help rebuild the wall.
The reconstruction began swiftly. Despite their anxiety, the townspeople rallied in their own way, spurred into unity by the speeches Blair delivered as he personally visited every corner of Eisenwald.
He spoke not with empty reassurances, but with honesty. In each address, he acknowledged the grim reality—the dire lack of manpower, troops, and resources—and yet he never wavered in his promise to protect Eisenwald. His passion, his refusal to abandon the land or its people, resonated deeply.
They say a heartfelt word can repay even the greatest debt. Blair’s sincerity became the glue that held Eisenwald together just when it threatened to fall apart.
His resolve, his sense of duty as lord, gave the people something they hadn’t felt in days: hope. He didn’t bark orders. He didn’t posture. He asked—genuinely—for their help. He laid out the challenges ahead, proposed real solutions, and held nothing back.
They say sincerity moves hearts—and this time, it proved true.
Young and old, women and children alike rolled up their sleeves. The women prepared and distributed meals to the workers and soldiers, while the children helped however they could—clearing debris, running errands, and lending small but vital hands. The men—whether elderly, middle-aged, or just boys—threw themselves into the reconstruction efforts with determination.
