James spent his final week in the camp seeking out extra training to prepare for his fight with Kaela.
The method he used to secure this training was entirely straightforward: he simply asked her.
To his surprise, she actually said yes. Granted, she had been incredibly drunk at the time, which left James wondering just how much alcohol a werewolf had to consume before feeling its effects.
He assumed it required an absurd volume of wine—gallons upon gallons, most likely.
Judging by the scent, the liquor she favored had been fermenting for an incredibly long time, probably for three centuries or more.
He blinked as he remembered that details like that were normal here.
He often forgot that werewolves were immortal.
After reading the texts provided by Selene—bless her heart, she truly was a sweet lady—he discovered the specific mechanics of werewolf immortality.
They were biologically immortal, but they could absolutely still be killed.
There were records of werewolves surviving catastrophic explosive magic that completely destroyed their flesh, leaving behind nothing but skeletal remains from which they still managed to regenerate.
A werewolf's bones were incredibly dense and durable; no man-made physical weapon could cut through them.
Magical weapons were an entirely different story, but that wasn't his current focus.
According to the texts, the standard way to execute a werewolf required severing the head cleanly from the torso using a weapon forged from at least 99.99% pure silver.
If the purity was any lower, the effectiveness of the strike dropped drastically. Severing the neck was already an immense physical challenge, given that a werewolf's neck muscles were dense enough to support millions of pounds of force.
This explained why human hunters preferred to attempt executions while a wolf was trapped in human form.
James also learned that being knocked unconscious typically forced a werewolf to revert to human form.
However, evidence showed that if the underlying wolf spirit sensed that remaining transformed was safer for the host's survival, the body would stay in its wolf state.
When facing hunters, staying in the larger, more durable wolf form forced the attackers to waste critical time trying to cut through a much thicker neck, granting the rest of the pack a larger window to track down and rescue their comrade.
It was a valid, evolutionary defense mechanism.
Once the head was successfully removed, the executioner then had to burn the head and the body separately until both were reduced entirely to ash.
Only then was a werewolf permanently dead.
The second method of elimination involved legendary magical beasts or artifacts—weapons renowned for poisoning or slaying deities.
If a weapon possessed enough conceptual power to kill a god, it could easily end a werewolf or leave them permanently crippled.
Lastly, high-tier magical spells capable of completely erasing a target's physical matter could bypass regeneration entirely.
James figured that high-level aura could likely achieve the exact same result.
Luna had already demonstrated that advanced aura could temporarily negate a werewolf's healing factor altogether.
He realized with a jolt that if his final slash against Mira had actually connected cleanly during their match, she might have died.
He felt a pang of guilt at the thought, realizing he might need to consciously hold back in future matches.
Yet, he also knew that the moment Mira sensed him holding back, she would be completely furious.
James sighed, sitting on the edge of his cot as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. He was currently positioned behind thick, iron-reinforced bars.
There was no silver in the alloy this time; it was just heavy iron.
The cage wasn't intended as a punishment, but rather as a holding area before the official trial.
It felt deeply ironic to him that on both his very first day here and on his one-month anniversary, he found himself sitting behind bars.
A day prior, Caius had personally escorted him to the holding area, explaining that James was required to spend the final twenty-four hours before the trial inside the cell.
Caius had been perfectly blunt about the arrangement.
"It stops you from running away or getting cold feet," the older man had said.
In addition to preventing escape, Caius noted that the isolation served a physiological purpose.
"It also allows your body a full day to completely detoxify and heal, ensuring you can fight at one hundred percent capacity."
James doubted many werewolves actually backed down from an official challenge, so physical recovery was likely the primary reason for the protocol.
During the walk over, James had also asked about the dark-skinned, sharp-eared figure he had briefly glimpsed earlier in the camp.
Caius hadn't denied the individual's existence, offering only a brief response.
"That is a subject for another time." He had simply reminded James to keep his focus entirely on the upcoming trial and nothing else.
It wasn't a punishment cage.
Caius had personally escorted him here the previous afternoon, explaining that the final twenty-four hours before the trial required absolute isolation to ensure his internal core stabilized without any external ambient interference.
James sat up, stretching his arms until his muscles gave off a deeply satisfying pop. His mind immediately drifted back to the feast he was about to demolish.
He had been given the rules of the trial, and he intended to follow them precisely.
The guidelines were simple: no weapons, pure physical and magical output, and you could order whatever food you wanted beforehand—provided it wasn't an alchemical potion meant to artificially buff your stats.
James fully intended to take advantage of that loophole.
"So like, what's a good, filling meal?" he had asked the guard the previous day.
"Everything is good," the guard had replied, scratching his chin. "But if I were to choose, fire salamander meat is delicious."
"Then I'll have a lot of that, with honey, cow's milk, and some lemonade." Yes, he had felt particularly ravenous that day.
"No can do." The guard looked a bit apologetic. "Bronn ate the last cow like an hour ago, so we have no milk."
James blinked. It sounded like this happened around here on a regular basis. "Can I get a replacement milk?"
The guard raised his brows before nodding. "Don't worry, we have goat's milk."
"Yeah, I can do that just fine. That'll do."
When the food finally arrived, James was all smiles. The guard laid out a massive, heavy wooden tray that looked ready to snap under the weight of the spread. Sitting in the center was forty pounds of fire salamander meat.
Even days after the creature's death, the meat naturally retained a radiating, sizzling heat, glowing with a faint, ember-like orange hue beneath a beautifully charred crust.
Thick ribbons of steam curled off the platter, carrying an aroma that was deeply savory, smoky, and laced with a natural, peppery spice.
Beside it sat a deep stone bowl filled with thick, golden wild honey that caught the torchlight, alongside a massive, frosted clay pitcher of fresh-squeezed lemonade, a large iron jug of rich, creamy goat's milk, and a small dish of dense, sweet maple syrup on the side.
James didn't hesitate. He dived straight in, and it tasted absolutely heavenly. The salamander meat hit his tongue like pure, savory fire—tender, incredibly juicy, and packing a natural heat that paired perfectly when he drizzled the thick, sweet honey right over the charred edges.
He devoured it like his life depended on it, alternating between massive bites of the smoking meat and huge gulps of the rich, velvety goat's milk to cool the spice.
To cut through the richness, he chugged down the crisp, tart lemonade, occasionally swirling a bit of the sweet syrup into his cup for a custom flavor experiment.
The sheer caloric intake worked absolute miracles. As the mountain of food disappeared, a deep, radiating metabolic energy flooded his system.
The persistent, throbbing aches and purple internal bruises he had received from his brutal final sparring sessions began to fade, his muscle fibers knitting themselves back together seamlessly under the wave of nutrients.
By the time he finally pulled away from the empty, bone-dry platter, his body felt completely restored, primed and ready for whatever the trial was about to throw at him.
He had just devoured forty pounds of meat, two liters of milk, and a gallon of lemonade. To say he felt stuffed would be the understatement of the century.
After filling himself to capacity, his eyes closed and his body relaxed, getting ready to digest the massive meal and store the energy for later.
As James's consciousness slowly faded away, he appeared in his mental scape once more.
The beautiful forest was back, and the soothing sound of water was still there. But in front of him, the twelve-foot majestic nightmare that had previously crushed his skull was nowhere in sight.
Instead, what sat there was a wolf—four feet tall, about five feet long, and currently taking a nap. It looked exactly like a predator that had just finished a massive feast.
James watched this and smiled wryly. He had been right. He shrunk.
This was a significant improvement from last time; maybe this time he wouldn't get taken out in the first minute.
The four-foot wolf turned its head, raising a sharp, highly skeptical brow at his approach. James stopped exactly four feet away, keeping a respectful distance.
He had intentionally crammed his face with forty pounds of exotic meat the day before for this exact reason—he wasn't just being a glutton; he wanted to ensure his inner predator was completely fed and satisfied so it wouldn't try to instantly delete him the second he stepped into his soul den.
Predators didn't hunt on a full stomach, after all.
"Hey there," James said softly, holding out a hand tentatively. "You doing okay?"
The wolf let out a low, vibrating growl, its golden eyes narrowing.
"Right. Not pressing my luck. Got it," James said smoothly, retracting his hand but maintaining his posture. He cleared his throat.
"Look, I know we didn't exactly start off on the best terms—what with the whole biting-my-head-off thing—but we're stuck together. You're a part of me now. The more I understand myself, the stronger we get."
The creature remained completely silent, simply tolerating his presence with an aura of detached boredom.
James decided to push his luck just a fraction further. "The fight with Raze is today. If I go out there and absolutely handle business—if I push him to use the absolute maximum of his power without relying on a full, wild transformation—do we have a deal? You stop trying to slash my brain into confetti every time I look inward?"
The wolf stared at him for a long, agonizing beat, looking at James with the exact expression a high-tier intellectual would give a complete idiot. It didn't lean in, but it didn't growl either.
Instead, the beast simply let out a massive, dramatic yawn, casually licking its razor-sharp teeth before turning its back to him.
James let out a wry chuckle. "I'll take that as a solid maybe."
Before he could analyze the entity's body language any further, the peaceful garden suddenly began to fracture and dissolve.
A heavy, metallic clanging sound echoed through his skull, violently pulling him back to reality.
"Up and at 'em, pup! Wake your ass up!"
James snapped his eyes open, sitting up instantly on the cot.
A heavy-set vanguard guard was aggressively rattling a wooden baton against the iron bars of his enclosure, the heavy rustic doors already swinging open.
"Time's up," the guard grunted, stepping aside to reveal the bright, blinding sunlight of the main courtyard outside. "The spectator stalls are packed, and Raze is already in the pit. It's time for the fight."
A/N This took longer than it should, but I do have friday chapter practically done, the next 4 ish chapter should mostly just be fade, i am good with that, so they shouldnt take long.
Vote with powerstones.
This chapter should be exactly 2k.