The Prince Who Was Reborn as a Monster

The Men Who Carried the Wolf

Kael had learned three things about his new life.

First, hunger could make him stupid.

Second, pain was an excellent teacher, provided he survived the lesson.

Third, humans were far more dangerous when they believed themselves superior.

He followed the hunters through the forest with Murk several paces ahead. The scavenger moved between the trees as if he had been born from their shadows, stopping occasionally to inspect the ground or sniff the air.

Kael had to work harder.

His claws caught on roots. His tail struck branches. Twice, he nearly stepped on dry twigs, and once he slipped down a muddy slope, scraping his shoulder against a stone.

Each mistake irritated him.

Each mistake also taught him something about the Gloomfang body.

Its hind legs were stronger than its forelimbs. Its tail helped with balance, but only when he remembered to use it. Its hearing was sharper than a human's, yet unfamiliar sounds could distract him at the worst moments.

He would have to master the body before attempting anything ambitious.

Ahead, the hunters emerged onto the ruined road.

Their wagon rattled between broken stone pillars. The captured creature inside the cage had stopped struggling, its head hanging beneath the dark cloth.

The hunter carrying the crystal walked beside the wagon.

Kael watched the object closely.

Even through the trees, he could feel something pulling at the unstable core inside his chest.

Not hunger.

Recognition.

“What is that crystal?” he whispered.

Murk glanced back. “You can sense it?”

“Answer the question.”

“I don't know what it is called. Hunters collect them from monsters, ruins, and places where the ground glows at night. They sell the useful ones and bury the dangerous ones.”

“Why?”

“Because people are very clever until something explodes in their hands.”

Kael ignored the remark.

“Do monsters have them too?”

“Some. Stronger creatures usually have something valuable inside their bodies. A core, a shard, a stone—depends on the creature. Hunters cut them out and turn them into weapons, charms, or whatever expensive rubbish rich people enjoy buying.”

Kael remembered the dark crystal beneath the ribs of the creature he had killed.

He had assumed it was merely a source of energy.

Perhaps it was something more.

The hunters turned off the road and entered a narrow valley. At its far end stood a fortified camp built around the remains of an old stone bridge. Wooden palisades blocked the approaches, and watch platforms rose above the walls.

Smoke drifted from two chimneys.

Men moved between tents while several captured monsters occupied iron cages near the camp's center.

Kael's eyes narrowed.

This was not a wandering hunting party.

It was an organized operation.

A black banner hung above the gate. Beneath a red sun was the image of a wolf, its jaws open around a broken crown.

The emblem stirred something cold in Kael's memory.

He had seen the crowned wolf before.

But never with a red sun above it.

“Who are they?” he asked.

Murk crouched beside him.

“Wolf-banner hunters. They operate across this region. Take contracts, collect cores, capture unusual creatures. Sometimes they escort merchants. Sometimes they escort prisoners.”

“Who commands them?”

“Depends on the camp. This one belongs to a man named Captain Rusk.”

Kael studied the walls.

“How many?”

“Inside? Thirty, perhaps forty. More if the patrols return before sunset.”

“And you brought me here.”

“I brought you to a place where the hunters take their prisoners. You asked to know where they went.”

Murk scratched his cheek.

“I did not promise the answer would make you happy.”

Kael surveyed the camp again.

A frontal assault would be suicide. The palisade was too high, the entrance too narrow, and the hunters had ranged weapons. Even if he killed several, the noise would bring the entire camp down on him.

He needed information.

And perhaps an opportunity.

The wagon stopped beside a stone building near the center of the camp. Two guards opened the cage door while another dragged the captive creature out by its chains.

The creature collapsed onto the dirt.

One guard kicked it.

“Get up.”

It struggled to its knees.

The guard kicked it again.

Kael's claws dug into the soil.

He had seen men beaten before. Soldiers punished for desertion. Prisoners questioned after battle. Criminals dragged before royal courts.

He had not always intervened.

A kingdom could not survive if its ruler allowed every emotion to dictate his decisions.

But neither could a ruler build anything worth protecting if he became indifferent to suffering.

He forced himself to watch.

The guard pulled the creature toward the stone building. Its chains scraped across the ground.

Then the hunter carrying the crystal approached Captain Rusk, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running from his left ear to his jaw.

“Captain. The crystal reacted again.”

Rusk took it.

“Here?”

“Near the ruins. Stronger than before.”

The captain's expression changed.

“Did you find the source?”

“No. We found fresh Gloomfang tracks. The creature may have been close.”

“May have?”

The hunter lowered his eyes. “It escaped.”

Rusk closed his fist around the crystal.

“Then find it.”

“We have already searched—”

“Search again.” His voice sharpened. “If the resonance is connected to the old ruins, I want the creature alive. The guild has offered a substantial reward for anything that reacts to these relics.”

Kael went still.

The old ruins.

The resonance.

The words connected with the silver lines he had seen above the ruined tower.

The crystal was not simply a monster's core. It was reacting to something ancient—and somehow, he was connected to it.

Murk shifted beside him.

“Whatever you're thinking, stop.”

Kael looked at him.

“Why?”

“Because your face is doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The thing that says you're about to turn a bad situation into a much worse one.”

Kael looked back at the camp.

The captured creature was being dragged through the stone building's doorway. For a brief moment, its cloth-covered head turned toward the forest.

Then it disappeared inside.

Kael made his decision.

“We need to get closer.”

Murk stared at him.

“No.”

“I wasn't asking.”

“And I wasn't negotiating.”

Kael rose slightly.

Murk seized his forelimb with surprising strength.

“Listen, you stubborn lump of darkness. Those men have crossbows, spears, iron cages, and enough numbers to bury you beneath their boots. You walk through that gate, and you'll be hanging beside the other trophies before the next moonrise.”

“Then we don't use the gate.”

Murk's grip loosened.

Kael pointed toward the far side of the camp, where a section of the palisade leaned against a ruined watchtower. Beyond it lay a narrow ditch filled with weeds and broken stones.

“There's a gap.”

“There's a ditch,” Murk corrected. “The gap is where the guards can see you crawling into the ditch.”

“Not if something draws their attention.”

Murk's yellow eyes narrowed.

“You want a distraction.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to create it.”

“Yes.”

“You've known me for less than an hour.”

Kael said nothing.

Murk released his forelimb with a disgusted click of his tongue.

“I should have left you beneath those roots.”

“Probably.”

“And if we die, I shall haunt you.”

“Get in line.”

For a moment, Murk looked almost impressed.

Then he shook his head.

“Fine. But we do this my way.”

They waited until the sun began sinking behind the ridge.

The camp grew louder as the hunters returned from their patrols. Fires were lit. Food was distributed. Guards changed positions around the palisade, and the two men watching the ruined watchtower moved toward the main gate to argue over a ration of dried meat.

Murk disappeared into the brush.

Kael remained hidden near the ditch, watching the guards.

He counted their movements and measured the time between patrols. He identified three crossbowmen on the watch platforms, two guards at the main gate, and another pair near the stone building.

The camp was better defended than it first appeared.

A careless approach would get him killed.

A sudden, metallic crash erupted from the far side of the camp.

Then came a shout.

“Something's in the supplies!”

A second crash followed.

Several hunters abandoned their posts and rushed toward the noise.

Kael stared.

Murk had not created a small distraction.

He had apparently attacked the kitchen.

A moment later, a cloud of dark smoke rose above the tents.

“Fire!” someone screamed.

Kael moved.

He slipped into the ditch and crawled beneath the leaning palisade. One splinter tore at his back, but he swallowed the pain and kept moving.

Inside the camp, the air smelled of smoke, sweat, and cooked meat.

He stayed beneath a stack of broken timber until two hunters ran past. Then he crossed behind a tent and reached the stone building.

The door was guarded by a single man.

Kael waited until the guard turned to look toward the smoke.

Then he struck.

He sprang from the shadows, slammed into the man's legs, and drove him face-first into the dirt. Before the hunter could shout, Kael clamped his jaws around the man's armored forearm.

The man cried out.

Kael twisted.

The crossbow fell from the hunter's hand. Kael struck his head against the ground once, then again, until the man stopped resisting.

He released him and recoiled.

His heart hammered.

He had killed before. The horned predator in the forest had been a necessity.

This was different.

The man was a human being.

For one brief moment, Kael saw the faces of his former soldiers. Men who had followed his orders into battle. Men who had died believing their prince would bring them home.

Then he remembered Garrick's sword.

He dragged the unconscious guard behind the building and took the keys from his belt.

There was no time for guilt.

Inside, the corridor was dim and smelled of damp stone. A narrow staircase descended beneath the building. From below came the rattle of chains and a low, pained growl.

Kael followed the sound.

At the bottom, he found three cages.

Two were empty.

The third contained the creature from the wagon.

The dark cloth had been removed from its head. It had a narrow face, pale skin, and long ears pressed flat against its skull. Its eyes were an unusual silver-gray.

It stared at Kael.

“You're not one of them,” it whispered.

“No.”

“Then get me out.”

Kael examined the lock.

The key ring held six keys. He tried the first. It did not fit.

The second scraped uselessly inside the lock.

Footsteps sounded above.

Kael tried the third key.

The lock clicked.

The creature pushed against the cage door, but Kael raised a claw.

“Quiet.”

It froze.

He opened the cage and stepped aside.

“Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“Can you fight?”

The creature looked at his claws, then at the unconscious guard visible through the open doorway.

“Better than you, probably.”

Kael almost smiled.

“Then prove it.”

They climbed the stairs together.

Voices echoed through the corridor.

“Captain Rusk wants the relic secured!”

“Where's Harlan? He was supposed to be watching the lower door!”

Kael swore silently.

The creature moved toward a narrow window at the end of the corridor.

“This way.”

Kael followed as it squeezed through the opening and dropped into a narrow alley behind the building. They ran toward the palisade, keeping close to the walls.

They were almost at the ditch when a voice rang out behind them.

“You!”

A crossbowman stood at the corner of the building.

His weapon was already raised.

Kael shoved the captive creature sideways.

The bolt struck his shoulder.

Pain exploded through his body.

He stumbled, nearly falling, while the creature caught his forelimb and dragged him toward the gap.

“Move!”

Kael forced his legs forward.

They plunged into the ditch as another bolt struck the earth behind them. The creature scrambled up the opposite bank and disappeared into the brush.

Kael tried to follow.

His wounded shoulder gave way.

He collapsed among the weeds, breathing hard.

The creature turned back.

“Get up!”

Kael bared his teeth.

“I'm trying.”

A horn sounded from the camp.

Then another.

Torches began appearing along the palisade.

The hunters had discovered the escape.

The creature grabbed Kael beneath his forelimbs and pulled him toward the trees with a strength its thin frame should not have possessed.

“Listen carefully, Gloomfang,” it hissed. “If they catch us, they'll take us both back. And the next cage won't have a lock you can open.”

Kael staggered upright.

“Who are you?”

The creature glanced toward the camp, where Captain Rusk had emerged beneath the wolf banner.

For the first time, genuine fear crossed its face.

“Someone they were never supposed to find.”

Behind them, Rusk raised the dark crystal.

Silver light burst across its surface.

Kael's unstable core answered with a violent pulse.

The world blurred.

A line of ancient markings flashed across his vision, followed by a voice colder than the grave.

Resonance detected.

Royal bloodline signature confirmed.

Kael stopped breathing.

The creature beside him whispered a word he had not heard in a hundred years.

“Aurelion.”

Then the crystal shattered in Captain Rusk's hand.