Chapter 3 — Silver-Eyed Klos
1344 Words
Watson’s body swelled larger and larger as his furious roar echoed through the cellar. The metal chains on his wrists and ankles snapped apart one by one. Coarse hair sprouted rapidly from his legs—visible even to the naked eye.
Yet despite Watson’s grotesque transformation, Klos showed no trace of fear.
He had only one thought in his mind—kill his opponent.
And a man driven solely by the desire to kill had no room left for fear.
Then, just as Klos prepared to strike, Watson suddenly turned on his heel—and bolted.
Klos froze for a brief second before taking off after him. He didn’t know what the brute intended, but he knew clearly what he wanted to do. This was the perfect moment for a surprise attack.
But Watson was fast—far faster than any normal man.
By the time Klos reached the exit, the big man had already burst out of the cellar.
When Klos finally emerged into the open, the sight before him made him stop short in astonishment.
The being known as Watson was not human at all.
He was a brutal sub-race—a werewolf.
Though Klos had never encountered true sorcery or mana in his world, he knew of the many races that walked it.
Among the half-breeds, werewolves were one of the most feared.
The creature before him was covered head to toe in silver fur, his frame even larger than before. Three claw scars ran down the left side of his face, and a pair of crimson eyes glowed as they fixed upon Klos’s much smaller form.
Seeing Watson’s true shape, Klos gradually regained his composure.
He knew well that the power of his awakened bloodline could easily crush any ordinary human—but against a werewolf, that was another matter entirely.
And there was something else.
That sudden, overwhelming power he’d unleashed to slay the necromancer—did he still have it now?
The thought made his throat tighten.
Running, perhaps, would be the wisest choice.
But before he could move, the werewolf spoke.
“My name is Watson,” the beast said, his deep voice surprisingly calm. “As you can see, I am a werewolf.”
“You have my gratitude for killing the necromancer. You freed me from his control.”
“However, I suggest you abandon the idea of killing me. You are strong—but so am I.”
With that, Watson tossed something small toward him.
Klos caught it on instinct. It was a fang—smooth and polished.
He frowned. “A wolf fang?”
Watson nodded.
“A charm from my tribe. A token of protection. It’s yours now.”
Then, without another word, he turned and sprinted into the forest.
Within moments, his silver form vanished among the trees.
Under the pale moonlight, Klos stood motionless, staring after him.
He was astonished—not just that Watson had sensed his killing intent, but that he had so accurately gauged the balance of strength between them.
What puzzled him more was how a creature as powerful as Watson could have been enslaved by a necromancer in the first place—and why he’d fled so hastily after gaining freedom.
Still, those questions didn’t matter for now.
What mattered was that Watson was a werewolf—his secret would not spread among humans. And more importantly, he had avoided an unnecessary battle.
Klos forced himself to focus. He was still far from safe.
He didn’t know where he was, nor how long it had been since his death and rebirth.
Without that knowledge, there could be no sense of security.
He quickly surveyed his surroundings.
Apart from the cellar and a wooden cabin nearby, all around him stretched a dense forest.
This place was clearly a hidden retreat deep in the mountains.
After getting a general sense of the area, he rushed back into the secret chamber below, retrieved the fallen torch, and began to inspect the room carefully.
At the center lay an oval stone slab, likely the necromancer’s worktable for his deathly experiments. In one corner, a heap of white bones gleamed faintly—discarded remains of those same experiments.
None of it was useful to him. What he needed was information—anything that could tell him where he was and what had happened.
Fortunately, there was still one thing in the room that could yield answers—the necromancer’s corpse.
He dragged the body to the cellar entrance and began his search.
Almost immediately, something caught his eye: a ring.
Its surface was engraved with the image of a serpent biting its own tail—an Ouroboros.
This was no ordinary piece of jewelry.
It was the mark of a secret organization known as Endless Reincarnation.
Klos had heard of it back at the academy—but only as a name, a rumor whispered among scholars. Nothing more.
He pocketed the ring and continued his search.
The rest of the necromancer’s belongings were worthless.
Once finished, Klos gathered dry branches and leaves as kindling, then set the corpse aflame.
He wasn’t trying to hide evidence.
He simply feared that the necromancer might resurrect again. To prevent that risk, he had to destroy the body completely.
The flames didn’t burn long. The body didn’t turn fully to ash—but it was charred enough that the exposed white bones showed through.
Even if revived, such a body would be useless. The job was done.
Klos moved to the cabin and began another round of searching.
On the table, he found a letter.
To the Great Leader, Lord Harriman,
The corpse of Silver-Eyed Klos has arrived safely at Fort Everfall.
Tonight, he will reach the Twilight Mountains and be reborn through the power of great necromancy.
From here, the organization shall proceed according to plan.
You must understand—Klos’s body is our only leverage in gaining control over the Klein domain.
And I am the only one capable of bringing him back to life.
I share this not to boast, but to make clear that my requests are far from unreasonable.
—Eid, the only necromancer of Endless Reincarnation.
The place names in the letter allowed Klos to quickly deduce his location.
The Twilight Mountains lay between the Kersman Empire and the Syada Kingdom.
To the southwest lay Syada; to the northeast, the Klein County, part of the Kersman Empire.
The mountains served as a natural barrier between the two nations—but what truly made them impassable were the demons that dwelled within.
As a child, Klos had often heard tales of the Twilight Mountains’ horrors.
They weren’t bedtime stories meant to frighten children—they were warnings for foolhardy adventurers.
Even so, many still ventured into those cursed peaks every year—never to return.
Beyond the mountains lay a small stretch of open plains, where the Empire’s first emperor had built a fortress named Fort Everfall.
He had declared that the fortress would never fall, serving as the Empire’s shield against Syada for generations.
And indeed, throughout history, Fort Everfall had never been breached.
Today, it stood as the largest stronghold within the Klein territory.
Which meant that Klos was now somewhere at the southeastern edge of the Twilight Mountains—near Fort Everfall.
As for the “organization” mentioned in the letter, it was almost certainly Endless Reincarnation.
What he couldn’t understand was why the group believed possessing the body of the Count’s eldest son would grant them control over Klein County.
After all, Klos knew one thing for certain—even with his father’s death, he would never be the next lord.
Because when Klos was five years old, Count Soth Klein had publicly declared the truth to the entire territory:
“Klos Klein is my adopted son.
He holds no title, and no right of succession.
My heir shall be my blood-born child, soon to be born.”
That proclamation had given Klos the name he would carry for life—
Silver-Eyed Klos.
- Writer
