Under the Pale Moon.

Night in Hara Nation. The bright stars twinkled, scattered all over the skies of the great nation, forming a starry light that illuminated down in the thick woods of the Weeping Forest.

The Pale Moon glistened the green leaves of the enormous mourk trees, shadowed and blanketed the tall figures that looked smaller than midgets amongst the giant-like Mourk Trees.

The groups stood in these howling woods. One group dressed in identical commoner styled clothes. They're soiled, ripped, breeches and loose white V-necks turned completely brown, soiled from hard day's labour, and soured from being continuously worn.

The leader stood out though, adorning a V-neck lace long sleeve, better looking than the top with brown colors, moth holes, and rolled up hems. His tight breeches weren't that bad as it looked pressed, and thoroughly washed to erase the brown stains that now looked faded. His hood though was black, and thick, fit for a middle-class man.

He narrowed his one eye black, one eye maroon, at the other group before him. A lock of brown hair fell on his dark eyes, as the big hand holding onto the edge of his sheathed sword tightened.

"This was not the deal, Lord Howard, I refuse one hundred pieces of gold for this artifact," His voice was deep yet quiet…. But it's quietness could not hide the hardness underlying in the voice.

A haughty laugh resounded. A robust figure walked out from the encirclement of armoured men. The men behind him were wearing silver armors with the thick and bold inscription of a roaring wolf, they all had rich dark eyes that stared menacingly at the smaller party in front of them.

The robust man with black hair, tainted with grey strands, and clear red eyes, shining in the darkness of the Weeping Forest.

"Our great King Lycaon once said, when a favour is granted more than once the lesser party begins to ask for more," the red eyed man sniffed. "Are you in a position to bargain, half breed?"

The "half breed" took a step, his hand never leaving the edge of his sword as his square jaw ticked and his mixed eyed hardened. "You are not in the position to bargain, Lord Howard, you are outnumbered, I will not be threatened." He spoke through gritted teeth.

The Lord let out another chuckle but the message of irritation and growing anger had begun to flash in his red eyes. "Outnumbered? Between man and beast who do you think shall come out alive?" His eyes flickered at the men behind the half breed. "Listen to the words I speak, Gentry, your peasant farmers and smugglers are no match for my beasts."

Gentry the half breed knew the Lord was correct. The men he has behind him were men who were fairly trained, although these men had no fear of death, men who had starved far too much, and seen Family die a number of times by those so-called beasts, but truly speaking all they had was hatred.

Their hatred had been sowed and had blossomed so beautiful, like a rose folded with deadly thorns. They could die with a smile on their faces if they could spit in the faces of those beasts who had stood with their feet on their skulls.

But….. hatred and drive were not skill. And without skill and blessing from one evil god out there one could not kill those beasts…. Those creatures….. Part man…. Part wolf.

Werewolves.

The Lord himself, nevermind his robust frame and his cartoonish lasting expression was a ruthless monster. It was not the fact that he had secretly burnt and pillaged small commoner villages, or that he had accosted Food bestowed by the Royals to the commoners….. No, those things did not make the ugly bastard a Monster.

It was because he fitted into one of those things that brought shivers to the spines of commoners and other Werewolves themselves. He was a part man, part wolf. A monster that lorded over a monster, a special kind of shape shifter….. he was an Alpha Werewolf.

Combine Gentry– who fitted into the role of the worst of both worlds, an abomination, a Part human, Part Werewolf– and then the entire team of Humans behind him, they could not take on The Lord himself.

They would end up ripped and destroyed. That was the power of an Alpha.

Luckily though….. Gentry had made preparations for this. He glanced down at the coffin on the ground. "Lord Howard, you must think I am stupid. I already made plans for your greed. Right now I have a spy in the Investigative Office, the moment he catches wind of death, he will hand over a well detailed letter with enough evidence of our cooperation."

Gentry's mixed eyes glanced down at the short Lord. "Do not test me, Lord Howard, the other Nobles might not care what an Alpha does to commoners, but they will surely take actions when they learn you screwed them over to cooperate with me for this artifact."

Lord Howard's face screwed into the tightest of frowns, laced with anger and disgust. He spoke, "Fucking mongrel! You think you can make me fear! You! A peasant Myriad! Wolves, erase these fools from my sight!"

The moment the words flew from the Lord's mouth, the other Wolf group behind him unsheathed their swords, ready for the slaughter, as the Lord turned his back to escape the future crime scene.

As the Lord backed Gentry, a cold air slapped his pasty white face, filled with pigmentation. He sucked in a breath as the cold metallic texture of a sharp sword grazed his skin, dancing against his short wide neck.

Hair rubbed Lord Howard's folded skin, and the hot breath from Gentry's uneven breathing was the only thing that kept his now pale cold body warm. From the corner of his eyes he could glance at Gentry's eyes that were now full blown red.

He spoke. "Y-you madman! Poverty has made you insane! You use F-Forbidden Magic!"

It was true. The half breed had used Forbidden Magic to elevate his status momentarily from a mere half breed to an Alpha.

"I do," Gentry confessed fearlessly, breathing the words into the Lord's ear. "Now listen carefully. I have trained for the day I shall slaughter you like the animal you are for many years, so if I were you, I would call off your dogs."

The Lord felt his throat scratch against the sword as he swallowed thickly. "Insane! Insane! The Royal Family would surely wipe out your lineage, and those peasant lap dogs when they discover you use Forbidden Magic!"

Gentry rolled his deep red eyes. "Five," Gentry breathed out.

Lord Howard felt his heart begun to pummel against his chest, threatening to burst out if his chest was not cut open so it would run away.

"W-what are you doing?" Lord Howard asked, legs beginning to tremble violently at the moment.

"Two,"

Lord Howard's entire body was shaking, cold had leaped away, leaving only shear heat and smoke. "You skipped two whole numbers!"

"On–"

"Wait!"

Blood splattered onto the youthful face of Gentry. His cold stainless sword had now been stained by the thick dark red blood of Lord Howard.

Eyes bulging out of the skull of the Lord in surprise, face ashen in fear, and mouth dropped from his instantaneous death. A thin line appeared on the short neck of the Lord, blood began to swiftly deep from the thin line and in that shocking second the Lord's Head fell from his body, allowing blood to shower from the headless neck like rain.

Gentry stepped back, eyes descending on his bloody sword, before it fell from his hand. His short and uneven breath forcefully croaked out of his mouth and nose.

I… I…. I "Did not do it," he spoke softly.

Of course he did not. The Perpetrator bent on top a Mourk Tree, thighs spread, body in a squatting position, and hand holding onto a large and excessively wide blade, delicate yet deadly looking under the Pale Blue Moon.

Gentry snapped his neck to the dead Lord's men when he heard one yell. "It's Bleach! Run!"

A pair of slender and deathly pale fingers swept into short black hair, and bloodshot eyes gazed down with a maniacal glint in them.

For a moment….. Just for a moment Gentry could have sworn he saw the human-like creature tilt it's lips into a wolfish smirk.