Chapter 35: Sight
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
The werewolf Hayden wore long, shoulder-length curly hair, and his beard stretched from his ears down to his neck. Compared to Volvo, also a werewolf, Hayden was less muscular. The Guard Captain’s physique fit perfectly with the classic image of a young werewolf in literature — if he weren’t a prison guard but a fitness coach, he might have charmed countless women and even some men. In contrast, Hayden was much more ordinary. Though solidly built, he didn’t appear as tough and determined as the guards did.
Trailing behind Hayden were three prisoners: two were werewolves, and the other was a human wizard. The wizard was a short, middle-aged man with a slight limp, constantly hunched as he followed the werewolves. He refused to give his name, so everyone here simply called him Wizard. At that moment, the wizard whispered something into Hayden’s ear, and Guard Captain Volvo had no doubt it was about Driftwood.
Hayden didn’t answer; he just laughed wildly. The surrounding prisoners shrank back, avoiding him.
“Do you really just let prisoners roam freely like that?” John noticed some creatures — he couldn’t even identify what species — walking toward a small door at the edge of the wall.
Volvo explained, “Prisoners’ free activity zones are limited to this plaza, the prisoner recreation room, and the library. Not much space at all. Plus, each one has a tracking chip, made of some magical material. I don’t know the specifics, but Mr. Russell does. From the office, Mr. Russell can monitor their movements, and the Demon Hunter Society can track every chip’s location. Can you imagine? The higher-ups rented satellite access through an IT company.”
He paused and sighed, a trace of helplessness flashing in his pale eyes. “The guards are the same. We don’t have much room to move either.”
Not only Volvo, but many guards here were werewolves or former hunters. Like the prisoners, they had to spend long stretches locked inside the Bunker. The only perk was a few scattered days off every few months.
“Even…we have tracking chips inside us,” Volvo said with a bitter smile. “Of course, human guards don’t, only werewolves. Like those little tags pets wear on their ears.”
“Did Mr. Russell implant them?” John asked.
“Definitely not him. He has one too.”
“What? I thought Russell was human!”
“He is human, but he’s also a wizard,” Volvo said, pointing at the wizard following Hayden. “Like that guy.”
“Why? You’re not trusted?”
“Yes. Even I don’t trust myself,” Volvo looked at John. “I can’t guarantee… if I were outside, without the special diet the organization provides” — he meant the bloody innards — “and the medicine that suppresses excessive appetite. Without those, someday, I might lose control. Who can say it won’t happen? Aren’t you worried you might one day rip open someone’s throat?”
“I…” John looked far away at Coraci. “I don’t think I will.”
“Yeah, you’re a vampire. From the perspective of humans and all others, werewolves are more dangerous than vampires. Because you can attack quietly, suck blood, and leave, and your targets mostly survive. But if we abandon our humanity to hunt, anyone we attack is doomed.”
Hearing this, John realized something: there really were no werewolves at the Association offices in West Bay City. He hadn’t even heard of any hunter being a werewolf. Instead, some bloodkin became hunters.
“You can always go home on your days off,” John said.
“Home? No. This is our home. To the Demon Hunter Society or ordinary people, we’re dangerous. Outside, we could turn into Hayden or Driftwood at any time. Here, we always have things to do — managing prisoners takes my strength. But outside…what could I do? As a werewolf?”
“You could do a lot,” John said offhand, honestly unsure what exactly werewolves could do since he didn’t know much about them. “Travel, for one. A lot of things. What you do here is already tough. You stay because of your abilities. The Bunker needs you. If it were me or Coraci, we wouldn’t make good guards.”
Volvo smiled like a big kid and patted John’s back hard again. “Are all you Association people like this?”
“Like what?”
“Especially good at comforting others. Do you treat all non-humans the same way?”
Volvo’s question echoed John’s own curiosity about Coraci.
“No, I really mean it,” John said. “Before, I thought the Bunker must be awful since no one from the Association wanted to come. It is a bit boring here, guards have to do all the chores, and there are tons of monster prisoners… but making friends is pretty nice.”
Volvo smiled even wider. He pulled out a leather cord with a bone-colored fang strung on it.
“For you, if you don’t mind that it’s simple.”
“What’s this?” John took it hesitantly, but couldn’t help but start worrying — Could it be his tooth from when he transforms? Accepting such a gift is too weird!
“My tooth,” Volvo grinned brightly… Exactly what John had feared became true.
“Werewolf teeth are like shark teeth — they replace themselves for life,” Volvo explained, pulling three more from his pocket and shaking them. “I often carve on my discarded teeth for fun. By the way, the one I gave you is engraved with Cleave.” (Note 1)
“What?”
“It’s a term from the board game I play. Anyway, it means something good!”
John praised Volvo’s craftsmanship and gladly accepted the fang necklace.
Once again, he instinctively searched for Coraci and spotted him standing at the edge of the plaza…
Driftwood sat a few steps away from Coraci, while the werewolf Hayden and a few others circled around them!
John jumped. These men moved casually as if on a stroll, their eyes locked on Driftwood. Coraci stood with his arms crossed with a friendly expression but never taking his gaze off the werewolves. The white-winged creature was curled up at his feet.
The pack showed no signs of aggression, but danger radiated from them.
John hurried over with Volvo following.
“Don’t be so tense,” Volvo whispered. “Your partner’s very experienced. Actually, Hayden’s a little afraid of him.”
“Really?” John saw Coraci as the most vulnerable person on the whole plaza. It was hard to imagine Hayden, who was feared by the prisoners, would be afraid of him.
“I can read the body language of my kind. See, Mr. Coraci keeps staring at Hayden, but Hayden is afraid to meet his eyes.”
Hayden tried to approach Driftwood, maybe to attack, maybe just to intimidate or humiliate. Coraci had been helping the sick white-winged creature walk. When he saw Hayden getting close, Coraci moved closer too, saying nothing, only staring Hayden down.
Usually, minor conflicts during free activity time didn’t draw guard intervention unless they escalated to real fights. Strictly speaking, Coraci wasn’t interfering — he was just standing there.
John walked over to stand beside him and joined him in watching Hayden. But Hayden didn’t seem afraid of John. He actually glared at him fiercely.
“You two had a fun time chatting,” Coraci finally tore his gaze from Hayden and looked at John’s wrist, where the fang necklace hung. “Why didn’t any of you notice?”
“Notice what?” John’s focus shifted to the creature by Coraci’s feet — the so-called mothman girl. She sat hugging her knees beside Coraci’s legs, her long blond hair nearly covering her whole body.
Coraci was unusually gentle with her. John always felt something was off about that, though he couldn’t say what exactly. Maybe because she was a prisoner, after all — who knew what dangerous things she’d done?
Coraci looked at John, silently signaling him to watch Driftwood.
John then noticed Driftwood was gripping something in his hand. Under the occasional glint of light, it flashed with a sharp metallic gleam.
Driftwood sat casually, his hands resting loosely on his legs, showing no hint of aggression. What he hid up his sleeve, nobody knew — but it had to be something sharp, something forbidden in the cellblock.
John had assumed Coraci was warning Hayden not to get close to Driftwood, but it turned out to be the opposite. Coraci was actually guarding against Driftwood making a dangerous move.
From the end of free time until dinner, the prisoners had to return to their cells, giving the guards a brief chance to relax. Coraci personally escorted the sick mothman back to her cell, instructing her to rest more.
Afterward, Coraci explained to John that when he noticed Hayden approaching Driftwood, he also saw the object concealed in Driftwood’s hand. No matter how arrogant Hayden acted, the fact that he was still alive meant he knew his limits and wouldn’t cause a scene in public. Driftwood, however, was a different matter.
Coraci said Driftwood’s gaze looked far more dangerous than Hayden’s. Since Driftwood hated monsters, who knew what he might do.
The reason Coraci didn’t expose the weapon was because he considered that Driftwood had to protect himself in this underground prison. Monsters hated hunters, and it might actually be useful for hunters to keep some contraband weapons, as long as they didn’t start fights first.
“But if you stand there, Driftwood won’t attack Hayden, right?” John asked.
“I’m human,” Coraci said, “so at least Driftwood doesn’t hate me. But if Hayden provokes him first, Driftwood would try to kill him. Driftwood is capable of it. After all, he’s not the same person anymore, right?”
When Driftwood first arrived at the Bunker and underwent magical inspection, John had felt the hunter’s dark glare on him. He knew Coraci was right.
Though John didn’t fully understand what “not the same person anymore” meant, he guessed Coraci was referring to how Driftwood’s mindset had changed since imprisonment — but that didn’t seem to be the whole truth. His attention was pulled away by something else, and he forgot to ask further.
“So what about Hayden? Does he avoid Driftwood because of you?” John and Coraci stood in the shadowed corner of the cellblock hallway, lowering their voices as much as possible.
Coraci shook his head with a smile. “No, werewolves don’t fear me. He’s afraid of Moss.”
“Who’s Moss?”
“The mothman. She’s been watching Hayden too — didn’t you notice? Many creatures fear being looked at by a mothman. Moss rarely meets anyone’s gaze directly these days.”
“She seems to always lean against your leg, with her head down…”
“She doesn’t need to look at people with her head. Didn’t you notice her eyes?” Coraci said matter-of-factly, but John only grew more confused.
Seeing John’s expression, Coraci realized John didn’t know about this.
“John, did you read that book?”
“Which one?”
“The one on the short cabinet — the one with the feather you touched.”
John nodded. “Yeah, I saw it, but I didn’t really understand the mothman section.”
Coraci stretched out his hands, gesturing on his own body. “Here, and here. Did you see the red eyes on her shoulder blades and collarbone?”
“What?!” John couldn’t help but raise his voice. “Eyes?!”
“Yes, those are her eyes. Didn’t you notice the entry said mothmen have eyes on their bodies? They don’t have heads.”
“So what’s her head…her ‘head-like thing’?” John asked.
“It’s her mouthparts and mimicry organs,” Coraci explained, gesturing above the base of his neck. “Everything above here. Only elderly mothmen grow mimicry organs. When they’re young, their mouthparts are at the very top of their bodies, with eyes roughly at shoulder level, and they have a pair of bat-like wings. Many people have fainted from fright after encountering adult mothmen. But the elderly mothmen aren’t so terrifying. They gradually develop mimicry organs with realistic human faces on them, and feathers start growing on their wings, making them look rather angelic. Ironically, encounters with young mothmen are often described as demon sightings, while sightings of elderly mothmen are mistaken for encounters with actual angels.”
John stood there, mouth slightly open, stunned for a long moment.
“You look like a frozen phone screen,” Coraci teased with a smile.
“So…” John suddenly felt a wave of clarity wash over him. “You’re actually helping a sick elderly creature?”
“In a way, yes. She has viral herpes — don’t worry, it’s not contagious to humans — as well as osteoarthritis and cataracts. Her vision has deteriorated to roughly human levels now.”
“I see… I thought maybe—”
“You thought what? That I’d fall for a pretty angelic girl?” Coraci shook his head. “I’ve even met succubi. If I were interested in monsters that easily, I’d have died countless times by now.”
John denied it vehemently, as if his weak spot had been hit. “No, no, I know you don’t become friends with dark creatures. It’s just…you’re always so warm and enthusiastic that I worry. I worry that she might take advantage of you. She looks fragile, but ultimately, she’s still a prisoner.”
“You’re right about that. But you’re wrong about one thing,” Coraci said, looking at him. “I do become friends with dark creatures. Like you.”
John was momentarily at a loss for words. Coraci smiled, turned, and waved his hand over his shoulder.
“I’m going to the lounge to grab something to eat. I still have to help Mr. Russell check the magical defenses tonight.”
Author’s Notes:
Note 1: Cleave is a feat in D&D that allows you to attack an adjacent enemy immediately after killing one in the same turn. The exact details aren’t important — it’s just something the Guard Captain likes… (melee fighters usually do).
Though mothmen like her are elderly, they can live quite long lives…even if old age brings plenty of ailments. John felt a bit relieved when he heard she wasn’t truly humanoid. (…?)
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