How to Live as a Wandering Knight – Chapter 86.2

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭 (𝟓)

“That’s freakishly fascinating. How did you do it?”

“Do you know that werewolves are fond of the moon?”

“Of course.”

“I heard from a hunter I used to run with. He was an experienced hunter who had caught dozens of werewolves. He said that werewolves go crazy at the sight of moonstone.”


“Yes. While monsters are sensitive to scents, moonstone especially drives them wild. That’s why I mixed moonstone powder into the scent to lure the monsters.”

“I see. So that’s why they’re going berserk like that.”

“Right. The werewolves will pounce on any pig that enters the forest, and the scent on them will transfer to others. . .”

Galambos boasted with pride, showcasing his knowledge. Even the fierce mercenaries of the Arrowhead Mercenary Group listened in awe.

“You deserve the recognition you get from the knights.”

“Don’t be envious. You reap what you sow.”

“Isn’t it a bit arrogant to fight werewolves ourselves?”

At the mercenaries’ words, Galambos waved his hand in warning.

“Don’t threaten carelessly. They might run away immediately.”

In this darkness, surrounded by the forest, no mercenary wanted to engage in a chase with the eastern hunters.

Besides, Galambos’s role was far from over.

“. . .So, when does this Werewolf King appear?”

“Soon. You’ll know by its howl. Just follow the sound.”

“Is it that different from regular werewolves?”

“Bigger in size and different in color. Each leader monster has its own traits. Usually, they’re much faster, stronger, and smarter than regular werewolves.”

Galambos took a sip of beer and continued.

“But a frenzied one is easier to trap. Just do as I say.”

━𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐮𝐲. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬?

━𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭? 𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐛*𝐭𝐜𝐡.


“It wasn’t a lie?”

“. . . . . .”

Botan had a bitter expression. Johan seemed to believe him. . .

“Open your eyes, or I’ll gouge them out.”

“You play the Empire game well.”

“■ ■■■.”

Euclyia blushed and waved her hand shyly at Johan’s compliment. Botan, looking incredulous, said:

“I spoke the truth. That’s a camp over there.”

Like the centaurs’ camp, their camp was expertly concealed, barely letting any light escape. It would have been hard to find without Botan leading them.

Johan was troubled upon actually locating the enemy’s position.

The timing was delicate.

With werewolves rampaging nearby, attacking them could lead to mutual destruction in an unlucky scenario.

These monsters, currently howling at the moon in madness, were unpredictable. They could be drawn by the smell of blood and sounds of battle.

‘𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴.’

Johan pondered, while Euclyia fidgeted beside him, asking, ‘■? ■■?’. Johan patted her back reassuringly.

“Wait. Don’t get any closer.”


“That eastern hunter said he set traps. Stick to this path.”

“Ah. So, the plan was to draw the werewolves here. . . Wait a minute.”

In that moment, Johan felt a wicked idea cross his mind.


“■- ■■■■!”

Johan and Euclyia circled the area, calling out the werewolves. Johan, with a bow in hand, shot at the werewolves’ arms or shoulders.


Johan was increasingly adept at wielding the power of the malevolent spirit. Valkalmur produced optimal results even in challenging situations.

The surrounding werewolves, ceasing their howling, began to gather more and more. Johan signalled to Euclyia.

“This is, really. . .”

“What? Thinking of switching sides again?”

“Don’t insult me with such nonsense!”

Botan, helping out, was first astonished, then serious. He had no intention of returning to Boriska.

However, Johan’s plan was truly horrifying.

To gather the nearby werewolves and take them to that camp!

“This way! This way, you wolf brutes! Come this way!”

Since mastering magic, Johan’s voice had begun to contain a strong power. As Johan shouted, the werewolves followed, as if whipped into changing direction.

“Let’s go! Let’s bring glory to Sir Boriska and the knights!”


Euclyia, with an excited expression, chased after Johan, shouting. Unlike Botan, for a centaur, this was pure enjoyment.


“Wait. That sounds like a human voice.”

Galambos suddenly stood up. There was something odd mixed in with the werewolves’ howling.

“Did you drink the wrong beer?”

“Quiet. There’s a human voice. . .”

“The werewolves howling like this, one could be mistaken.”

“. . .Others have come! It’s definitely those centaur brutes!”

“What? Damn it. You said you were the fastest?”

“Centaurs can be fast too! Am I the only one who’s fast?!”

“We should report to the knight.”

“The knight’s going to freak out.”

“. . .Wait.”

“What. You want us not to report?”

“No. The sound of hooves. . .”

The ground-pounding sound grew louder. Galambos’s face began to sink.


“Damn it!”

Those patrolling nearby spotted it first. They shouted at the top of their lungs.

“Damn wolves, are they crazy?!”

“Hey, hunter! You said they wouldn’t come this way!”

“Shut up and get ready to fight!”

Galambos was also flustered. How could this happen?

But the werewolves were already charging fiercely. The mercenaries hid behind obstacles, drawing their weapons.

“Scatter! Scatter!”

“Shouldn’t we gather?”

“It’s better to scatter when they’re running wild, *sshole! Just listen and call the knight! Tell him to catch a werewolf!”

Thanks to the werewolves drawing attention, Johan easily entered the camp. A mercenary, staring blankly at the werewolves, locked eyes with Johan.

“Where is Sir Boriska?”

“Uh. . .?”


A hole in the body usually loosens the tongue. The mercenary, screaming, pointed in a direction.


Johan rode off. He saw faces coming with torches in the pointed direction. It was Sir Boriska and the other knights.

“Boriska of the Petreo family! Come at me. I’ll give you a chance for revenge!”


Boriska was startled. The one he wanted to avenge suddenly appeared before him?

But his panic didn’t cloud his judgment.

“Turn and block him so he can’t escape! I’ll strike him myself!”


Euclyia, cursing, threw her spear. A knight, turned to dodge, hastily crouched to avoid it.

“This damned centaur. . .”


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