Chapter 35 Chapter thirty-five
The night was cold enough to bite through fur and skin alike, and Roger waited in it like a shadow among the ruins. Around him, the forest was still except for the restless murmuring of the wind through dead branches.
Roger stood near the remains of an old well, his cloak drawn tight, the hood casting his face into obscurity. The stone beneath his boots was slick with moss. He’d been waiting for over an hour, but patience was something he’d long since learned to master. He wasn’t the kind of man who fidgeted or sighed. He waited, and in his waiting, he calculated.
At last, he heard the faint shuffle of boots against leaves. He smiled, a small, curved thing without warmth. The messenger was punctual. Good.
From the dark, a figure emerged,a soldier in the uniform of Claus’s soldiers. The man’s chest heaved from the long run, his eyes wary as he approached.
“Did you deliver it?” Roger’s voice was smooth, almost quiet, but it carried like a blade’s whisper.
The soldier nodded quickly, wiping sweat from his brow. “yes, Beta. Delivered straight into the alpha’s hand. He read it himself.”
Roger’s lips twitched in a faint smirk. “And his face?”
The the hesitated, then gave a nervous chuckle. “Surprised. Confused. Just as you said he would be.”
Roger’s smirk deepened, cutting into his face like a scar that refused to heal. He stepped forward, circling the soldier once, his boots crunching over twigs and leaves. “You’ve done well,” he murmured. “You’ve earned your place.”
The werewolf straightened with pride, it is a good thing he is able to please his master and his master has applaud his effort.
“Come with me,” Roger said, turning toward the path that led deeper into the woods. “We’ve still work to finish.”
"Yes, Beta." The soldier said.
The soldier fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for hours, the moon crossing its path above the tangled branches, watching like a pale sentinel. The forest thickened around them, swallowing the faint trail until even the air seemed to turn heavier.
When the black shape of an abandoned house appeared between the trees, Roger slowed. It was an old structure, its roof sagging, its walls veined with cracks. The air smelled of dust and rusted metal, of time forgotten.
Roger’s expression didn’t change as he stepped through the threshold. The hinges screamed at the intrusion. Inside, the air was stale, filled with the dust and freshly cut grass.
A man was waiting inside, bound to a chair in the far corner. His head hung forward, his uniform torn but recognizable: Claus’s armies uniform colors. His breathing was shallow, but alive.
The soldier froze beside Roger, blinking in confusion. “Who...who’s that?”
Roger didn’t answer. He walked forward, silent as a shadow. The man in the chair stirred, lifting his head weakly. His eyes widened when he saw Roger and even wider when he saw the uniform on the werewolf beside him.
“No…” the captive rasped, voice raw. “No, that’s my uniform....”
He tried to rise, but the ropes bit into his arms. Roger watched him with cold detachment. He’d seen fear in countless faces, this one was no different. It was a language he understood well.
Before the captive could speak again, Roger’s hand moved. The dagger flashed once in the moonlight, a curved blade of pure silver. He drove it straight into the man’s chest. The sound it made was soft, almost intimate, like fabric tearing.
The man gasped, choked, and went still. Blood spread like ink.
The soldier flinched, stumbling back a step. “Beta, sir...why?”
Roger wiped the blade with the edge of his cloak. His expression didn’t flicker. “Loose ends,” he said simply. “He was the real soldier. The one you replaced. Did you think I’d let him live long enough to raise alarm?”
The soldier swallowed, nodding hastily. “Of course, Beta. Of course. I just didn’t know...”
“Knowing too much,” Roger cut in smoothly, “is often more dangerous than ignorance.”
Roger sheathed the dagger with deliberate calm, then faced them. “We’ve reached the point of no return,” he said. “The letter will unsettle Claus. Distract him. But distraction isn’t victory. We move to the next phase.”
The soldier stepped forward. “What’s the next move, Beta?”
Roger’s gaze lifted to the broken window, where the moonlight painted the world in silver. His eyes were cold and reflective.
“The pack has cracks, they is a seed of doubt and betrayal planted in the brothers heart,” he said. “Small ones, but enough for poison to seep through. We’ll widen them.” He paused, then turned his head slightly, studying each of his men in turn. “We strike where they least expect it, where they think themselves safe.”
He began to pace slowly, his voice low, measured. “The heart of any pack is its unity. And what binds them closer than blood and loyalty?”
No one answered. Roger didn’t expect them to.
“Their water,” he said softly. “Every creature drinks. Every soldier, every child, every wolf. Contaminate the water, and the poison will do what blades cannot do.”
He could feel their unease ripple through the air, though none dared speak it. Roger smiled faintly, a shadow of satisfaction crossing his face. “Silver,” he continued. “Ground fine enough to mix without detection. Just enough to weaken. Not kill, not yet. Let them rot slowly from within. Let their strength crumble before they even know they’re dying.”
The soldier cleared his throat, voice cautious. “And if Claus suspects...?”
Roger’s eyes flicked toward him. “He won’t. He’s too busy chasing ghosts. The letter will see to that.”
He returned to the corpse, crouching briefly beside it. Blood had pooled beneath the chair, glimmering darkly in the moonlight. Roger dipped a gloved finger into it, studying the color before wiping it against the floorboards.
"Just wait Claus, I will make sure I take everything from you. I will make sure your generation go into extinct." He laughed like a madman.