My Werewolf System

Chapter 1393: A leaving Note

The fleet of nearly a hundred cars was an intimidating sight as it thundered down the highway. The road ahead, with its four wide lanes, would soon narrow into two as they approached the city, forcing the cars into a tighter, almost bumper-to-bumper formation.

Inside the vehicles sat members of the Ironfang Pack, scattered strategically throughout the convoy. The most powerful among them had been placed with purpose, each covering different areas of the fleet.

At the front of the line, riding in the lead car, was Luzen, positioned there in case they ran into serious trouble before reaching their destination.

Further back, in one of the reinforced vehicles, Ylva sat silently, her gaze focused ahead.

“It sounds like Luzen’s engaged in a fight,” she said calmly.

“You can hear that from back here? Over the roar of the engine?” the driver, a member of the pack, asked, surprised.

“No,” Ylva replied, eyes narrowing slightly. “But I can feel it. And the cars have slowed down just a little. That’s enough to tell me something’s happening.”

Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “Regardless, we’ll keep pressing on. Our destination is Slough, and whatever’s in Luzen’s path… he’ll handle it.”

Many would assume that if a pack of werewolves were preparing for a coordinated strike, the Luna and Alpha would travel together. After all, when united, their presence enhanced one another’s power, a critical factor in drawing out their full strength.

But it was because of that connection that the decision had been made to separate them.

The Ironfangs knew the Howlers would do everything they could to stop Lupus from transforming into his true Alpha form. Keeping the Alpha and Luna apart, and hiding which vehicle either of them rode in, was a tactic to keep the enemy guessing. Only Lupus and Ylva knew each other’s exact location within the convoy.

“I don’t know why Lupus suddenly changed his mind about all of this,” Ylva said aloud, her voice a low growl. “But it doesn’t matter. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

She turned to the side, and her eyes locked onto the creature beside her.

“The Howlers humiliated me. Me!” she snapped. “I am the Luna of the only pack that should exist. And tonight… they’ll finally understand that.”

Seated beside her, hunched over from the cramped space, was a fully transformed werewolf, its breathing heavy, shoulders rising and falling in slow heaves. A thick iron contraption clamped over its snout, giving the beast a terrifying, restrained appearance.

Meanwhile, in the city of Slough, within a quiet residential block, stood a dojo, nestled between local shops. Outside, a young man with long, tied-up hair gazed at the sky with a furrowed brow.

“An evacuation notice… for that part of the city?” Blake muttered. “There’s no doubt now. It has to be them.”

He turned and walked into the dojo’s main hall. Once an empty space meant for sword practice, it now looked more like a war room.

From the secret underground area beneath the dojo, Blake had begun bringing everything up, books, armor, weapons, and masks. The relics of the Altered Hunters were being sorted, cleaned, and stacked in piles.

The Altered Hunters were gone now. So was his father.

There were a few things Blake wanted to keep, memories he wasn’t ready to part with, but the rest? He planned to destroy or bury them. Their time was over.

As he stepped over to one of the tables, his eyes rested on an old mask and a full set of gear. Most of his own equipment had been destroyed in his last battle. But what he had now… was different.

This set was a pristine, five-star Altered Hunter uniform. And it had once belonged to his father.

“I guess I’ve finally grown big enough to wear your armor,” Blake said softly, holding the mask. “I don’t even remember when that happened.”

He stared at it for a moment longer before pulling the gear close.

“The city’s under attack… and if it’s them, then I need to fight. I have to fight.”

With practiced speed, Blake donned the Altered Hunter armor. The black vest, crafted from high-grade beast gear, was both flexible and strong, capable of deflecting the claws of even high-tier Altereds. A belt strapped around his waist held various gadgets and tools. Over his back, he slung a loaded crossbow.

But something still felt missing.

He turned and walked across the room to a specific crate, one that had remained sealed until now.

This… this was delivered by Blackjack, he thought, fingers brushing the wooden lid.

During Blackjack’s recent visit to Slough, he had made a stop at Blake’s home. He’d brought the crate personally, saying it was a gift from Edvard. Inside, he said, were items that had once belonged to Blake’s father, things that never suited Edvard himself… but were perfect for someone more special.

Blake opened the lid.

Inside were two gleaming swords, resting in dark velvet. Both blades had deep black hilts, and the steel shimmered with a violet edge that glowed faintly under the light. A folded note sat on top of them.

He picked it up and began to read.

“These dual blades are among the rarest weapons the Altered Hunters ever forged. Edvard once told me I saved his life on a mission, and as a reward, he let me choose anything.

There wasn’t a single weapon that suited me… but these, these felt like they belonged to someone else.

I always believed there was one person, someone who was far more skilled with two swords than one. But powerful blades like these… they have to be earned. You have to master them before you’re worthy.

If you’re reading this, then I wasn’t able to pass them to you myself. I hope by now you live in a world where swords aren’t needed anymore. And if that day comes… just hang them somewhere and think of me.”

The note ended, and Blake exhaled.

He picked up the twin blades and strapped them to his sides, feeling their weight settle against his body.

“Father…” Blake whispered. “The world isn’t better. Not yet. But I’m going to fix that.”

His eyes narrowed with purpose as he stepped out of the dojo, the weapons at his waist ready to be drawn.

“I have to get rid of her first… before I can even think about hanging up these swords.”

****

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