Chapter 2: Warmth

Artisans often demonstrate their skills in the details of daily life, a simple expression of the need for self-actualization.
Old Macken and Macken, blacksmiths whose craft had been passed down through generations, applied their expertise to this hidden cellar. The intricate and winding iron ventilation system was of at least level 2, meaning that even if six or seven people stayed inside and lit a fire, they wouldn’t feel suffocated.
Even better, Neo didn’t need to light a fire at all, as there was a small pig iron stove in the cellar. Neo knew that its chimney, which wound around the entire room before leading outside, used the design of a camp stove—meaning there was no risk of smoke or heat escaping attracting attention.
Together with the sturdy steel bolt framework and a basic bathroom, the cellar met all the basic needs of a hiding place. With sufficient supplies, it could sustain them for a month or so.
Originally, the cellar was filled with finished and semi-finished illegal weapons, but the last time Neo was there, he used it as a storage place for the corpses of Dark Cultists who had been killed. The bones were useless, but the equipment of the Dark Cultists, especially their cotton garments, was still valuable to Milien and Dave.
There was also some coal and coke, but it took time for the small pig iron stove to warm the cellar. The principle of keeping clothes warm was simply to retain the body’s heat better. After this relocation, both Dave and Milien needed body heat the most.
Given their relatively weak constitutions, constant fear, exhaustion, poor nutrition, and thin clothing, it wasn’t surprising that they were in such a state after traveling in the cold.
Neo knew something about their physical conditions, but he was worried that they might fall ill or suffer organ failure due to hypothermia. As a temporary solution, he had no choice but to ignore conventional norms and rub them to warm them up, transforming into a werewolf to use his own body heat and fur to keep them warm.
A handsome young man and a beautiful young woman being touched and hugged by a werewolf—naturally, the situation was a bit awkward. But neither Dave nor Milien was thinking about such trivial matters at the moment, as this was the first time they had seen Neo in his werewolf form up close.
It had been almost five years since Neo was chosen by Lord Manmoris and redeemed to be brought back to his family. During those five years, Neo had fought 13 times on behalf of the Manmoris family, with the most dangerous being the Wine Festival competition. In that battle, Neo transformed into a werewolf using the moon energy from his pendant, but the situation remained extremely perilous. Although Milien and Dave were there, they didn’t have the heart to watch closely, and they were far away. Neo remained in his werewolf form for less than three minutes.
This time was different. Up close, despite the limited light from the stove, they could see very clearly.
Even Dave had to admit that Neo in his werewolf form was the coolest and most attractive werewolf he had ever seen.

Its mane was a deep ink blue like the night sky, with silver tips at the edges. Each strand was bold, smooth, and sleek. Most striking was a tuft of silver-white hair above the nose, shaped like an arrow that stretched straight back to the base of the skull, disappearing into the spine beneath the shoulder blades.

Dive did not know that this was the unique mark of the oldest lineage among the seven bloodlines of the Dark Wolves—the “Silver Arrow,” also known as the “Arrow of Dawn.”

It is said that the ancestors of the Dark Wolves were fierce warriors from the Black Claw family named Spanser, who were notorious for their brutality and coldness in the wolf kingdom of that time. At a family festival, Spanser, incited by others, rashly challenged Naba-Black Claw, who had returned in the guise of a king and was one of the incarnations of the deity. Spanser was no match at all; Naba punished him by shaving off the hair from his forehead with a single strike of light. In awe of Naba’s power, Spanser shaved off his forehead hair and the hair behind it for life as a constant reminder that there are always those stronger than oneself.

From then on, Spanser’s descendants adopted this as a family tradition, starting the custom of shaving their forehead hair upon reaching adulthood. Later, it is unclear from which generation onward, this branch of wolves was born with silver-white hair on their foreheads, and the tradition changed. They came to be known as the White-Front Wolves. Like other wolf races, they went through the trials of successive centuries, multiplying until, under the pressure of demons and the expanding forces of humanity, they dwindled. Hundreds of years ago, they joined with several other declining wolf clans to form the Dark Wolves.

Such is the history of life—some become powerful, while others decline and fade from history. Perhaps one day, the Dark Wolves will also be completely wiped out, just like the Kinney Mountain Wolves, the Newsonler Wolves, and the Polar Wolves. But for now, they have an outstanding heir: Neo-Daknis, son of the former leader of the Dark Wolves, Marcus-Daknis. He is growing up, possessing almost all the qualities necessary for success, including great charm.

Charm originally referred to the power of succubi. It is said that there was an ancient demon named a succubus, whose beauty was breathtaking, and whose powers could lure people into corruption. Without the need for weapons, she could conquer kingdoms and make everyone submit. This power was both alluring and terrifying, and the term “charm” was coined as a warning against such extraordinary beauty that could bewitch and confuse people.

There is also a more modern explanation: the love of beauty is human nature. People appreciate beauty, try to understand it, feel closer to it, and eventually fall in love. Almost everyone is unable to resist this. Thus, those who study such an attractive, moving, and even confusing force call it charm.

In any case, even the Glorious Church has specific clauses when selecting candidates for divine roles, politely stating, “We don’t want misfits!”

If charm were to be measured on a numerical scale, Dive believed Neo’s charm was at least above 10.

In his human form, Neo appeared somewhat thin, resembling a warrior from the Wild Elf tribe. He lacked a robust and imposing presence, appearing instead light and agile, yet not as mysterious and gloomy as a Ranger.

In his werewolf form, Neo completely lacked this feeling. From today’s human perspective, the werewolf Neo was the epitome of perfect physique—neither too bulky nor too thin, strong, robust, and formidable, like a finely crafted black iron two-handed sword that, simply standing there, captured attention and exuded a sense of pressure.

What truly attracted people about Neo were his eyes. In his human form, his eyes were a deep blue, seemingly containing the vastness of the sky and the depth of the ocean—bright and clear, truly appealing. In his werewolf form, his pupils turned blue-purple, the color of lightning in the sky—bright blue and dazzling purple. It was then that his gaze best reflected his true nature: less depth of feeling, more wildness. Looking into such eyes, one knew that such a person could be defeated but never conquered.

Rarely, there was also a wisdom in those eyes, something seldom seen in werewolves. When this wisdom merged with his earlier traits, it created a truly unique presence.

“What an enviable guy!” Dave thought to himself.

Whether it was Dave or Milien, their relationship with Neo began with a strong impression of his charm. Men love beautiful women, and women love handsome men. At their teenage years, no matter how mature they seemed, they couldn’t yet develop a deep, heartfelt affection. Even Neo himself admitted that he was initially moved by Milien’s pitiful beauty.

Time passed quietly. Through the cracks of the small iron furnace, one could see the bright glow of the fire. Its presence made the darkness less eerie and turned it into a sense of tranquility. In the air, thick with the scent of oil and rust, there was an invisible warmth that dispelled the cold and brought a faint comfort to heavy, sorrowful hearts.

It had been three hours since they entered this secret room, and Dave felt that each hour passed faster than a minute in the previous two days. About an hour ago, he had eaten his first hot meal in three days—just a simple stew of horse meat, beans, and wild vegetables, along with coarse wheat bread. Yet its sweetness almost brought tears to his eyes.

Now, the warmth from the food spread through his limbs. Lying on a makeshift bed, Dave felt a sense of peace and mild comfort, growing drowsy. The bed was made from the cotton robes of the Dark Cultists, inevitably carrying an unpleasant odor. As relics of the dead, they also gave off a somewhat unsettling feeling. But these were desperate times, and Dave had little to complain about. All of this was thanks to Neo. If not for his timely appearance, his sister would have become a plaything of some brutish man, and he himself would have had to endure humiliation in hopes of a slim chance of survival.

Dave glanced again at Neo, who was sitting against the wall not far away. In the dim light of the furnace, he saw a profile with clear contours and bright eyes—handsome, resolute, with a hint of maturity that didn’t quite match his age, making him appear more steady and trustworthy.

Yes, he’s trustworthy—time and time again. Dave could no longer remember how many times it had happened, butNeo always proved with his actions that what he said could be kept and what he promised could be fulfilled. He was brave and skilled at using wisdom to solve problems; he was hardworking and positive; he was resilient—no difficulty seemed to stump him. He was somewhat quiet, but got along well with many people in Tulip Town… Even Dave, who had been instilled with concepts of hierarchy since childhood, sometimes thought it would be great ifNeo weren’t a werewolf!
“Too bad…” Dave sighed inwardly.
Reality was cruel. Dave knew that hypotheticals and “what ifs”—concepts full of fantasy—had no practical meaning.
Even in the Frey Alliance, the most progressive of the three kingdoms, where werewolves held many positions in government, especially in the military and related key roles, and even had over ten seats in the Upper House, marriage between werewolves and humans remained a taboo among the nobility.
No one dared to openly challenge this taboo, not even those rough and reckless werewolves. It meant going against the Glorious Church’s doctrine of “pure-blooded nobility,” which meant being excluded by the Church from care, cooperation, protection, and all such things. And that, in turn, would cause the local nobility to avoid such a family as if it were plague. By then, even the servants would refuse to serve such a hopeless family. What nobility could there be in a family rejected by nearly the entire society?
Dave sighed again in silence. “Everyone only sees the glory of the nobility, but have they ever seen the efforts and hardships behind it?” Thinking of these heavy and complicated matters, Dave’s drowsiness vanished once more. He tightened his grip on the family crest in his hand—a golden tulip cast in black iron.
Black symbolized firmness and loyalty (sometimes also hinting at the crest owner’s sad emotions or temperament), while the golden tulip represented elegance, rarity, and wealth. The Manmores’ family crest, and thus their family symbol, seemed rather plain in comparison.
“The tulip is only suitable as a backdrop. The main symbol should at least be a ram (symbolizing power and authority). Even without wavy patterns representing land or clouds representing rivers and oceans, there should be fences, spikes, or stakes (to symbolize a warrior who gains glory and everything through strength and resilience)!”
If strength and glory had once been just a boy’s dream for Dave, then ever since Tulip Town was conquered by dark forces and his family was destroyed, and ever since he heard the dark believers shouting recklessly, “Victor has been killed! Look at his head—this is what happens to those who dare to resist!” his desire for strength and glory had become the sole pursuit of his life. For this, he was prepared to sacrifice everything he could—even his emotions. Of course, it wasn’t easy, but the fact that his fingers turned white from gripping the family crest under his blanket showed the stubbornness in his heart.
Neo couldn’t analyze the impact of this dark invasion on a young man with noble pride and high aspirations. His mind wasn’t on Dave at all at that moment.

Love blinds people. Perhaps there’s some truth to that—at least right now, Neo’s mind was entirely occupied with thinking about how to comfort the heartbroken and wounded Milien, with no other thoughts in his head.
“Neo, my dear! You have no idea how much I love you!” Milien shed her usual shyness and modesty, curling up in Neo’s arms, resting her head on his shoulder, whispering those words over and over in his ear.
Her obsessive attachment stemmed from the fact that Neo was now her greatest source of support, coupled with the longing from these past days and her need to express her emotions. Another important reason was her inability to let go.
Milien felt she didn’t have much time left. With the responsibilities of her family weighing on her, and believing she had betrayed true love, she foresaw the agony of loss. She didn’t know how she would endure those lonely nights ahead, avoiding the heart-wrenching pain.
Though in her lover’s arms, she felt as if her soul had been torn away. The thought of leaving her beloved to work with someone she didn’t love in order to gain his help, reclaim everything belonging to the Manmoris family, and rebuild their home made her heart ache terribly. She wished this night would last forever.
“My lover, you have no idea how much I love you…” The whispers became desperate cries in her heart. Though she knew that every moment of attachment would bring more pain later, she still couldn’t resist wanting to be close to him, even ready to give her heart and body completely, without reservation, to Neo.
The filthy greasiness disappeared after transforming into a wolf; what Neo smelled now was Milien’s youthful scent, and what he felt was the touch of her soft, full body. He had already reverted to his human form, yet Milien was still almost completely naked in his arms. Her body moved restlessly, her breath hot as the flames of a furnace. Neo couldn’t help but act like a beast in such a situation—his underwear was already straining.
“Right now, here?” His remaining sense of reason questioned his soul: Did he love Milien as a person, or did he prefer the thought of stripping her naked and indulging in lustful acts? If it was the former, then what was the right time? What was he going to do? Take advantage of her vulnerability? Exploit a girl who had just lost her family, her father, and was emotionally fragile? Was this what his love entailed?
“Bastard!” Neo despised himself inwardly. He took deep, slow breaths to calm his agitation, focusing on his hand covering Milien’s feet.
Milien’s feet were always cold, especially in winter. Neo remembered when they were secretly in love, how she thought he was asleep and secretly slipped her cold feet under the blanket to touch his chest and abdomen, only to be caught by him grabbing her feet abruptly…
Thinking of those moments from the past, Neo’s lust subsided, leaving only love and compassion. His poor little one—he couldn’t share her sorrow, but he could give her as much warmth as possible. He loved her, and giving her anything brought him joy. As for that physical desire, it would only create imperfect memories.

He kissed Milien’s lips, soft as petals, then her forehead. Like soothing a child to sleep, Nio gently rocked her, humming softly and off-key a song from his homeland, allowing a sense of protection to slowly fill his heart…
The naked embrace no longer carried any sense of lewdness; instead, it had a feeling of unity, sharing breath and fate. Milien gradually calmed down. She was already tired and weary, and the soup, bread, and Nio’s embrace gave her a sense of warmth, comfort, and safety as if she hadn’t felt them in ten thousand years.
Milien fell into a deep sleep, holding Nio’s arm tightly—like a lock, securing her beloved forever.
The Dark Cultist’s cotton coat kept them warm against the cold. Nio carefully carried Milien into his homemade backpack.
This backpack was made of three layers—lambskin and thin felt—sewn together, with a leather strap for the top compartment and adjustable vents, offering excellent warmth, comfort, and breathability.
It was quiet at night, and the room was still as well.
Dive was once again drowsy when the cold metal pressed against his forehead, waking him up.
Seeing the cold gleam of the sword, Dive’s heart clenched. For a moment, he thought Nio intended to harm him, but then he heard Nio say, “Hold your sword, be smart—act like a man!”
Dive felt ashamed, not only for his selfish thoughts but also for his behavior. Usually, he considered himself a man of the Manmoris family and was respected among his peers by his elders. But in times of crisis, his performance was beyond his own expectations.
“Damn it! How can I talk about gaining power and glory like this? I need to get stronger—start by becoming a proper man!” Dive reproached himself silently.
At the same time, he saw that Nio had already armed himself—sword, spear, bow made of purple wood… His eyes gleamed like blades, fully prepared for battle.
“What are you doing?”
“Those dark minions can’t be allowed to live in comfort. Only by constantly hurting them, keeping them on edge, can we force them to tighten their grip. That’s when we’ll leave.” Nio said, glancing at Milien once more before heading toward the secret door.
“Nio!” Dive bit his lower lip but mustered the courage to say, “It was me who betrayed you!”
Nio stopped, turned, and gave Dive a fierce look before saying gravely, “After the trial in Solis City, I no longer owe anything to the Manmoris family!”
With that, Nio strode out.