55: Crazy beastman

The trumpeter climbed the camp's wooden palisade and blew a victory horn towards the feigning attack force.

With the help of various factions, this punitive expedition finally came to an end.

Ms. Kamara's mercenary group lost three members, and two others who were critically wounded were pulled back from the brink of death by Arthur's divine magic.

The Blood Lion mercenary group was almost completely wiped out, with only its leader Kai and two mid-level commanders surviving.

Half an hour later, Dylan led the feigning attack team into the camp.

Interrogation and inventory work quickly began, as light emerged on the horizon and the sun was rising.

Arthur, who had been busy all night, found a place to rest; he needed some time to plan his next steps.

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The banker's mansion was this magnificent Amn Western-style building.

Golden vines spiraled and wound between the windows and the front door, which was inlaid with swirling silver patterns.

“This house is amazing!” Old Dwarf, a former stonemason, thought generously, although the damaged hinges on the front door and the bloodstains on the door panel somewhat diminished the beautiful sight.

“There’s never an easy job, is there?” Old Dwarf muttered, carefully pushing the door open.

Jessica had already drawn his weapon, and Newt also held his short knife in his hand.

“Kid, you stay outside,” Old Dwarf said to the half-elf, “If anything happens, signal us.”

Newt nodded.

The mansion's entrance hall was impressive, with valuable carpets, tall plants, and glass cabinets neatly arranged on both sides, filled with objects of strange and varied colors.

But beneath the opulent exterior, there were more signs of struggle—shattered glass and soil spilled from overturned vases were strewn everywhere, and the carpets and walls bore more ominous stains.

“Dwarf's beard!” Iron Shovel covered his nose.

A familiar stench wafted over, a slightly sweet, metallic odor of blood mixed with internal organs.

But he saw no bodies, only a reddish-brown trail leading up the winding staircase to the second floor.

Jessica bent down, carefully examining the blood-stained carpet, then looked at the smashed cabinet, and the walls splattered with fragments of internal organs.

“Were-creatures,” he whispered, “These stains… no signs of murder, all caused by insane violence.”

“And judging by the degree of blood coagulation, not much time has passed; the perpetrator wanted to solve the problem quickly, so he chose the fastest method.”

Old Dwarf nodded; this place looked like a beast had run rampant.

Now, the most important thing was to figure out what kind of were-creature had caused this mess.

Suddenly, a series of rapid, scraping sounds came from upstairs; whatever it was, it was moving very fast.

Old Dwarf felt cold sweat trickle down his spine; he still remembered the sight of those beasts kept by the Falcon Family rushing into the village late that night.

It was a complete massacre.

Those damned beasts came from the darkness, moving stealthily and possessing astonishing strength.

Most importantly, they had no humanity whatsoever; old people, women, and children were nothing but prey in their eyes.

Iron Shovel glanced at Jessica, finding him grimly staring at the ceiling.

“You go first this time,” Old Dwarf said.

The two climbed the stairs, at the end of which was a hexagonal room, flanked by statues of the Golden Lady carved from ornate marble.

A massive portrait overlooked the entire room; it depicted a halfling in an exquisite robe.

His aquiline nose was stained with blood on the canvas.

This should be the person they were looking for—Anton Grinski, Old Dwarf speculated.

Jessica surveyed the chaotic room; he guessed it had once been a drawing-room, as many high-end wines and artifacts were scattered on the floor.

“I think we’ve found the servants,” Old Dwarf suddenly said.

Jessica looked up to see the murdered servants nailed to the wall like cured meat.

Now he knew what kind of were-creature it was: a dangerous one that had completely lost its mind and was immersed in slaughter.

It had turned this place into its lair, and the hanging servants were the best proof—they were its food reserves.

Something warm and wet dripped onto his face.

Jessica's gaze quickly swept over the ceiling above; too late, he only caught a glimpse of a dark shadow.

He tried to swing his weapon, but the shadow landed on his shoulder, slamming him to the ground.

He decisively dropped the heavier hammer and used his short sword to block the creature's claws; sharp nails tore scraps of fabric from his forearm, scraping his wrist guard.

The creature opened its mouth, trying to bite his throat.

A foul stench rushed into Jessica's nostrils; he struggled to suppress the urge to vomit.

Pressing down on Jessica was a large, shaggy brown werewolf.

Old Dwarf rushed over, his hammer aimed at the demon's back.

The werewolf nimbly twisted its body, grabbed the descending hammer with one hand, and used terrifying brute force to swing it aside.

Jessica desperately swung his short sword, leaving several wounds on the terrifying creature's waist.

As the demon howled in pain, Old Dwarf's fist slammed hard into its face.

The werewolf leaped aside, landing like a cat, then sprang forward, crashing into Old Dwarf.

Iron Shovel's head was struck hard, and he fell, no longer moving.

Jessica sprang from the ground, throwing his short sword, but the damned thing was too fast.

It leaped onto an display cabinet, its crimson eyes fixed on the two intruders in its lair.

Old Dwarf stumbled to his feet, cursing and touching the wound on his forehead.

He felt dizzy from the impact. But praise Moradin, he hadn't fallen yet.

However, he noticed those crimson eyes staring intently at him.

“Iron Shovel, get out of the way!” Jessica shouted.

The werewolf lunged at the weakest dwarf.

In the nick of time, a flying glass bottle struck the werewolf's shoulder.

The glass bottle immediately shattered, and red powder enveloped the werewolf's face.

The unbearable pungent sensation made it lose its balance, sending it crashing to the ground.

It frantically rubbed its face with its claws, not stopping even when wounded by its own sharp nails.

Jessica seized the opportunity, picked up his mace, and slammed it hard into the werewolf.

The hammer struck the monster's abdomen, and Jessica easily dodged the werewolf's wild counterattacks.

“Sword!” Newt, who had come to assist, threw his short sword to Jessica.

Jessica dodged a swipe from the werewolf, caught the short sword, and plunged it forcefully into the beast's heart.

The werewolf let out a deafening shriek; it clutched its wound, weakly trying to pull out the short sword.

Jessica spun, using the momentum, and the mace heavily struck the werewolf's temple.

The werewolf staggered backward, then crashed to the ground.

“Damn it, Newt, what the hell did you use?” Old Dwarf asked, his nose running.

“A chili bomb Old Joe gave me. He gave one to me and one to Catherine for self-defense.”

“Gray Dwarf's ass, this stuff is really potent! Ah, I can't see.”

As Old Dwarf complained, Jessica heard a faint rustling sound coming from the wooden cabinet on the left.

Newt had clearly heard it too; the two exchanged glances, Jessica tossed the short sword back to the half-elf, then picked up his own short sword.

Then, the two walked to the front of the wooden cabinet, turned their heads, and aimed their short swords at the cabinet.

Jessica reached out, grabbed the cabinet door handle, and yanked it open.

An arrow whizzed through the air; fortunately, the archer's aim was poor, and the arrow flew between the two, embedding itself in the portrait.

Jessica frowned, looking into the empty corner of the cabinet, where a halfling was crouching.

He tightly gripped a light crossbow, almost as large as himself.

“Anton Grinski?” Jessica asked, reaching out to take the light crossbow.

The halfling nodded frantically.

Then, he was knocked unconscious by the hilt of the sword.