Volume 1

Czcibor had been keeping watch in the hunting lodge for two days and two nights.
The fresh snow that fell that morning covered the forest, making the night
exceptionally quiet. Even he, a seasoned hunter, couldn't shake the drowsiness.
But the memory of that girl in the village with her throat torn open, blood
gushing relentlessly...

"That scoundrel must pay the price!" This thought made Czcibor pull himself
together. The dense forest seemed like a black veil woven from nightmares. At
this moment, he heard a faint rustling sound from the southeast. A massive, dark
shadow was approaching rapidly. In the blink of an eye, it was upon him. Czcibor
gripped his crossbow tightly. There was poor visibility from his vantage point
as a fallen pine tree blocked his view of the dark, shadowy figure. Through gaps
in the pine needles, he could make out its foreclaws. Those claws were as large
as his head, and the beast's coarse, jet-black fur resembled thorns sprouting
from the night itself.

Suddenly, the monster stopped. Had it seen me? Czcibor's muscles tensed, ready
for battle. Unexpectedly, the beast before him turned away abruptly. "Whoosh!"
Instinctively, he fired an arrow from his crossbow, striking the creature
squarely in the right shoulder. Wincing in pain, the monster plunged headlong
into the forest without looking back. Czcibor didn't hit a vital spot, of
course, but at such close range, the wound must have been significant.

Czcibor followed the trail of blood. The crimson trail vanished before a
magnificent estate deep within the dense forest. It was almost as if the mansion
within the estate was cut from an old oil painting and then transposed into the
gloomy sea of trees. Its soaring spires pierced the treetops; faint white light
seeped through the window panes, watching the visitors with cold, vigilant eyes.
"This is way too strange, no? Someone who lives in a house like this, choosing
to stay in such a remote area?" Czcibor rang the doorbell of the ancient mansion
with suspicion.

An elderly, well-dressed butler answered the door. Aside from a slightly pallid
complexion, he appeared to be human for certain. When Czcibor inquired about the
wounded beast, the old butler shook his head blankly, claiming to have never
seen it. The hunter explained that the trail of blood had led him here,
suggesting that the monster might be hiding within the estate. Unless the
monster was found, everyone would be in danger. After a moment's thought, the
old butler brought the hunter to the master of the house — a young man in his
early twenties, strikingly handsome. His thick, jet-black hair cascaded to his
waist, fine and graceful. He listened quietly to their account before nodding
and saying,

"You really trudged all the way here through the snow... A true hunter never
lets go of prey that has already fallen into their grasp, it seems." To thank
the hunter for his help, the master of the estate extended a warm invitation for
the hunter to join him for dinner. A blizzard had begun raging outside, after
all. Regardless of whether the hunter wanted to protect those within the manor
or to hunt down the monster, he ought to take lodging there for the night.

"Black hair..." Czcibor felt a twinge of suspicion. He had grown up in the
Frostmoon Scions' encampment and had once heard the old priestess say that,
among the fae, the "Varcolac" were the trickiest things to deal with. They had
two hearts and could transform into two entirely distinct forms: human and fae.
Yet, no matter which form they took on, their fur remained the same color. The
wolf-like monster's fur was the exact same color as this young nobleman's hair.

Czcibor hesitated briefly before accepting the invitation. Throughout the meal,
he tried to get a read on the other man in all sorts of ways. Whether by adding
pepper and garlic, flavors wolves detested, to the food, or by displaying the
amulet he wore, which shimmered in the moonlight, nothing seemed to cause his
host any displeasure. The young man ate the food elegantly and even took
Czcibor's amulet in his hands, examining it closely. After the sumptuous meal,
he even entertained Czcibor by playing a melodious song on the organ. Of course,
the hunter did not let down his guard — naturally, he had no inclination to
listen.

At long last, bedtime arrived. The young master rose to take his leave.
Suddenly, he turned back to the hunter. With a meaningful look, he said, "There
is no moonlight tonight, and a snowstorm rages outside. Please do not leave your
quarters under any circumstances. We can investigate that monster together first
thing in the morning." Hmph, of course you'd say that, Czcibor thought to
himself. He remained in his quarters until it was quiet outside, then ventured
out carefully in the darkness. Skulking through the night was, after all,
precisely a hunter's forte.

There was something very wrong about this estate.

He examined several servants, deep in slumber. All of them had strange scars on
their limbs, neither deep nor shallow. They were not fatal, but it did not look
as if they had injured themselves while working. Recalling the old butler's
pallid complexion, Czcibor grew increasingly alarmed. He'd heard tales of the
Varcolac having a particular fondness for tasting fresh, human blood. What sent
another chill down his spine was the organ, which was actually made from bone!
Moreover, as an experienced hunter, it did not seem as if the bones were from an
ordinary wild beast or common livestock... Just as he was about to take a closer
look, he heard the barely audible sound of footsteps coming from the room at the
end of the corridor, running lightly towards the main gates. Czcibor slipped
into the shadows and followed. Through the snowstorm outside, he could vaguely
make out the figure ahead — it was the young master of the house.

The hunter pressed on, step by step, through the snowstorm. The two men arrived
at a clearing in the dense forest one after the other. Suddenly, the young man
stopped. Czcibor peered out from behind a tree. Amid the swirling snow, the
dark-haired youth slowly stripped off every last garment he wore. There, on his
right shoulder! A fresh, unhealed arrow wound!

Suddenly, all the snow beside the young man — both the snow in the sky and on
the ground — hung suspended in midair, revealing the Frostlamp Flowers on the
forest floor, previously buried by the snow. The shimmering light on the
flowers, like blood, streamed ceaselessly toward the young man. Whether it was
an illusion or not, the wound on his shoulder seemed to begin healing gradually.

It was the Varcolac! Czcibor hesitated no more. A sneak attack was hardly
honorable, but he was a human trying to kill a fae, and so he had no choice.
Pulling out his dagger, he sprang from his hiding place, stabbing at the young
man. Who would've thought that the young man would suddenly turn around and
seize his wrist, almost plunging the blade into his chest? They fell to the
ground, wrestling as the blade flashed at their fingertips. Their breaths and
roars mingled in a chaotic tangle as neither would yield. In the struggle,
Czcibor's strength gradually waned. Impossible! There was no way this slender
young man could best him with sheer strength alone. "Monster! You monster!"
Sensing that the tides had turned, the hunter let out a desperate, hopeless
scream.

"No... I'm not... I'm not a monster..."

A hint of hesitation flashed through the young man's eyes. Now's his chance!
Czcibor snatched the dagger back, burying it into his opponent's heart. Blood
splattered through the falling snow as the young man's eyes slowly dimmed.
Before the hunter could catch his breath, thick black fur began sprouting eerily
from the body that should have been dead. The young man was rapidly transforming
into the form of that enormous wolf-like monster. Shocked, Czcibor tried to pull
out his dagger in an attempt to deliver more blows. But a massive claw pressed
upon the blade's hilt, pinning it deep within its chest. The monster roared with
laughter, the cruel sound ringing through the snowstorm. Staring at the hunter,
it growled hoarsely yet excitedly:

"We Varcolac are born with two hearts." Blood gushed from the open wound, but
the monster's eyes burned ever brighter. "Thank you for piercing through that
extraneous heart for me. Now, I am finally complete!"

Scarcely had the words been spoken when the monster opened its maw, its fangs
gleaming cruelly. With a cruel snap of its jaw, it lunged for the hunter's neck.

The tale abruptly ends here. Who can say for certain whether this is a legend or
an undiscovered truth? Perhaps the fae known as the "Varcolac" really possess
two hearts. They are now nearly extinct, and many have dismissed them as absurd
myths. However, rumor has it that the Duchess, Lady Evlampiya Orlova of
Snezhnaya, is actually a Varcolac, albeit one not covered in wolf fur. Verifying
this legend would be simple enough. But, dear reader, you likely lack the
courage to question that exalted lady herself!