NOVPUBHans didn’t bother asking Ludger why he had given him a wolf fang.
After all, no one knew his own body better than he did.
“No matter what, if I go alone, the atmosphere just won’t work. You always need someone big in the back to add a bit of pressure.”
“...If a fight breaks out, I’m outta there. I’ll bolt.”
“You don’t need to worry about that part.”
“Haa.”
With a sigh, Hans took the wolf fang in hand and drove it into his palm until blood welled up.
Fssshhh—
Immediately, dark fur began to sprout in thick patches from Hans’s body, starting from the fang.
The gene embedded in the fang had touched his blood through the wound, triggering his unique beast transformation constitution.
Crack—
Bones twisted and reshaped with a grotesque crunch as Hans’s build swelled to nearly one and a half times his usual size.
What now stood in his place was a black-furred werewolf, his clothes stretched almost to the point of bursting.
Feeling suffocated, Hans carefully removed his top and set it down nearby.
“All set?”
“Hm. Not bad. Honestly, I was going to say you didn’t need pants either...”
“...Please have mercy.”
“Right. I should be understanding about that.”
If the transformation ended and he was stark naked... well, few things could be more horrifying.
Hans let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s a comfort.”
“Your bulk isn’t bad either. It really does depend on which beast’s fang you use—shapes vary accordingly.”
“...Well, that’s something I was forced to learn the hard way through way too much trial and error. Not like I ever wanted to.”
“Shame. If I could’ve gotten my hands on a bear or tiger fang, I’d have stashed one of those too.”
Hans didn’t need to be bitten directly by a beast.
His transformation was triggered the moment a beast’s genetic material came into contact with his body.
In other words, as long as he inflicted a wound using that beast’s fang, the condition for transformation was met.
“Still, this wolf fang seems particularly strong, doesn’t it?”
Hans looked himself over, turning this way and that as he spoke.
Because he’d unwillingly transformed into so many forms before, he could tell this one was far superior.
Power surged through his body. His muscle and bone structure felt about 1.5 times thicker than usual.
This wasn’t just an ordinary wolf’s fang—he was sure of that.
“Yeah. That’s a fang from a Blackfang—a species from the Northern Continent.”
“...Wait, those savage beasts that are considered some of the most dangerous around? No wonder. I was wondering why I felt so damn strong.”
“Compared to any form you’ve taken before, this one definitely ranks among the top. Of course, if you used that little gift I gave you... you’d become even stronger than anyone.”
At the mention of that from Ludger, Hans visibly grimaced—even in werewolf form, it was easy to see.
“Boss... no offense, but that thing’s way too risky. If I’m not careful, it might consume me entirely.”
“I only gave it to you just in case. The world’s unpredictable. If your life’s on the line, use it. Better than dying.”
“Well... yeah, that’s true...”
Hans thought of the massive molar fang.
It was so huge that it had to be carved down into the shape of a dagger just to be usable.
A special gift from Ludger just for him.
Hans, who considered his own body a curse, kept the weapon close—but always with unease.
“Alright. Let’s get going.”
“Just reminding you, the moment a fight breaks out, I’m gone.”
“I told you—you’re just there to set the mood. I’ll go in first. Wait for my signal before you follow.”
“Phew... fine.”
Ludger, dressed in black, and Hans, now a black beast, slipped into the alleyway’s shadows like they were melting into the darkness.
* * *
The outskirts of Rederbelk city—specifically the Forges District—was known for its variety of shops, restaurants, and music halls.
Some areas even housed mechanical workshops where spring-powered devices were built, making it a lively area for both adults and children.
Deep inside that very district—
Right on the edge where the city's bright streets faded into shadowy alleys—
There was a large bar well-known among those “in the know.” Tonight, there were no regular customers. Instead, it was packed wall-to-wall with rough-looking men, creating a stifling atmosphere.
“Goddamn it!”
One of them—a red-haired man—was guzzling liquor straight from the bottle.
Compared to the bulky brutes around him, his build wasn’t particularly imposing. But his face... now that was another story.
He had long sideburns and a huge scar running across one eye, making him look especially menacing.
When he snapped in frustration, the underlings around him all flinched and watched him warily.
That’s when one of his subordinates—clearly trying to play the advisor role—nervously stepped forward.
“Boss... are you alright?”
“Do I look alright to you?”
“...Honestly? It’d be hard to say yes.”
This man was Dutrieu, the boss of the Red Society.
And frankly, it made perfect sense for him to be furious right now.
Belvotte Rixon—his biggest backer and financial pillar—had suddenly dropped dead.
As someone who had grown the Red Society with Belvotte’s power behind him, Dutrieu now faced the collapse of a major foundation.
Sure, he still had a few other connections left, but the problem was that just before Belvotte’s death, the Red Society had made massive investments in his [N O V E L I G H T] ventures.
Now that Belvotte was gone, it was inevitable that his fortune would be scattered.
Most of it would be divvied up by other investors, but for someone like Dutrieu—who operated in shady money—it would be difficult to recover his principal.
It wasn’t like the Red Society would go under from this, but the mood was definitely souring.
“Still, we’re not sunk yet. If we find a new way forward, we’ll survive.”
“That’s why I called you all here. I think it’s time we expand the business—big time.”
Business expansion.
It sounded simple, but in truth, it meant violence and bloodshed.
They might even end up clashing with other gangs who’d only been baring their teeth until now.
But no one in the room seemed worried.
This was the Red Society, the top dog of Rederbelk’s back alley underworld.
“First, we need to stomp out those Black Rose bitches—”
Dutrieu was muttering when—
Screeeak.
The tavern door creaked open, and a single person stepped inside.
“Huh?”
“What the hell?”
At first, everyone assumed it was a latecomer.
But they quickly realized something was off.
The man was far too clean-cut to be one of them.
Black Inverness coat, a cane in one hand, a black silk top hat, and a monocle over one eye.
He looked like a gentleman—a man of wealth and leisure.
“The hell is this guy? Hey, you blind? We’re closed!”
Drunk and red-faced, Dutrieu glared at the intruder.
But the man calmly pulled out a nearby chair and sat right in the middle of the room.
He spread his legs slightly, resting both hands on his cane. The posture radiated a strange, quiet authority—something hard to describe but impossible to ignore.
“...Who the hell is that?”
“Some nutcase?”
Every Red Society thug in the room turned to glare at the uninvited guest.
Dutrieu drained the rest of his bottle and stood up abruptly.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Dutrieu. Boss of the Red Society. That’s you, right?”
“...Yeah. And who the hell are you? I don’t recall us ever meeting.”
“We haven’t. First time.”
Dutrieu let out a snort of disbelief.
“Heh. So you walked into the Red Society’s den, knowing exactly who we are? You must really trust whatever it is you’ve got backing you.”
“Backing? Of course I’ve got something. Why else would I come?”
Surrounded by hostile stares, the man remained completely unfazed.
Something about that struck a chord of unease in Dutrieu.
This wasn’t arrogance.
He’d spent enough time in the back alleys to know the difference between a poser’s bluff and the natural confidence of a true powerhouse.
And this man—he was the latter.
That outfit alone screams money. And that aura? No ordinary guy has that.
Someone like that had come looking for him?
Dutrieu decided it might be worth hearing him out.
“Hm. So what’s your reason for seeking me out?”
“I’ve only recently arrived in this city. I was thinking of starting a new business.”
“Aha! Business! I like the sound of that! You came to the right man!”
Dutrieu clapped his hands in delight.
This man may have said “business,” but everyone in the room understood what that meant.
Money. Dirty money.
Given his attire and his vibe—
He was clearly someone who knew what he was getting into.
Another wealthy bastard with dark ambitions, just like Belvotte Rixon.
A client willing to pay—no matter the method.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
‘So he’s someone whose money we must secure.’
But Dutrieu didn’t allow himself to get excited so easily. In this world, getting blindsided was the price of trusting someone you didn’t fully understand. That was just how things worked.
If you didn’t know someone—never trust them.
If you did know them—only trust them halfway.
And if you suspect betrayal—betray first.
That was the law of the gutter, the code by which people like him survived.
“So then... what might your name be, sir?”
At Dutrieu’s question, the man answered in a tone surprisingly smooth.
“James Moriarty.”
“...Huh? James Moriarty?”
The name struck a strange chord of familiarity in Dutrieu. It felt like something he’d heard before, though the details escaped him.
That’s when his right-hand man and advisor suddenly leaned in and whispered something quickly into his ear.
‘James Moriarty! It’s that man!’
‘That man? Who?’
‘The legend who once ruled the Delica Kingdom’s underworld!’
‘Ah.’
That’s when it clicked for Dutrieu.
James Moriarty.
People called him Professor Moriarty.
A man who styled himself a “professor” while operating as a notorious criminal consultant in the shadows.
The Iron Kingdom of Delica had risen to glory through its steel industry. And beneath the surface of that gleaming prosperity was this man, who had gripped its underworld in the palm of his hand.
The stories about him were the stuff of half-legend among those in the business.
‘But... that was actually true?’
Dutrieu felt a twinge of doubt.
Professor Moriarty had vanished from Delica years ago.
Rumor had it he was brought down by a famous noble-born detective.
Some said he’d been captured and rotted in the deepest prison of Delica.
Others claimed he took his own life before anyone could touch him.
Either way, the fact remained—there hadn’t been a single whisper of him for years.
Which meant... it was entirely possible the man before him was a fraud.
‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough.’
Clearing his throat, Dutrieu gave a polite nod.
“So you’re Professor Moriarty. I’ve certainly heard the name before.”
“I’m flattered to be recognized.”
“Hm. But see, this is where things get a bit tricky. How do I know whether you’re the real Professor Moriarty or not?”
“You think I’m an imposter?”
“Well, you did vanish without a trace all those years ago, and now here you are, suddenly standing in front of me.”
Moriarty casually glanced around.
One by one, the gang members around the room were drawing weapons from their belts.
They looked more like pistols than knives—easier to conceal and faster to fire.
The faint sting of cheap gunpowder wafted into his nose, confirming his suspicion.
The Red Society had armed even its lowest-ranking thugs with guns. That alone said plenty about how large this operation really was.
“I’ll give you a bit of advice.”
“Go on.”
“I strongly recommend you not draw those guns.”
Moriarty calmly raised his right hand.
Chajajak!
Instantly, nearly every thug in the bar had a weapon drawn and aimed squarely at him.
If he made even the slightest move, they’d fill him with lead.
But Moriarty didn’t flinch.
If anything, his poise dared them to try.
The calmness in his bearing only deepened Dutrieu’s creeping suspicion that this man just might be the real deal.
“You’re all so dramatic.”
Moriarty’s provocative tone sent a few of the thugs into a rage.
They looked to Dutrieu for the signal.
Dutrieu, deep in thought for a moment, gave the slightest nod.
One of the gang members, understanding the cue, slowly pulled the trigger of the gun aimed at Moriarty—not at his head, but his shoulder.
Just one shot. Just enough to make him show his true colors.
Click.
But nothing fired.
“W-What the...?”
“It... it won’t shoot?!”
It wasn’t just that one gun.
Every weapon in the tavern had suddenly jammed.
“I did warn you, didn’t I?”
As the confusion spread, Moriarty quietly smiled.
“Not to draw your guns.”
“A-A mage!”
Dutrieu immediately understood what had happened.
The spell [Silence of Fire]—a specialized magic used by certain mages to disable firearms.
Which meant, regardless of what else this man might be...
He was definitely a mage.
Just then, Moriarty whistled.
The sound echoed through the bar and spilled into the streets beyond.
Moments later, the tavern door was blasted off its hinges as a massive figure charged in.
“Ugh!”
“Wh-What the hell is that?!”
It was a giant wolf walking on two legs.
Its entire body was covered in thick black fur. It had to stand at least 2.5 meters tall. Its arms were long, muscular, and tipped with deadly claws.
Everyone in Rederbelk knew of the recent werewolf incident. The entire city had been buzzing with fear and speculation.
The creature slowly stepped inside the bar, then stopped right behind Moriarty.
Like a bodyguard. Like a beast obeying its master.
Dutrieu’s demeanor shifted in an instant.
“Aigoo. You really are the man himself. Forgive me—I didn’t recognize such an honored guest.”
“Was that enough proof for you?”
“Haha. More than enough. More than I could ask for.”
“Then I suppose we can get to the real conversation now.”
“Yes, of course. What kind of business are you looking to conduct? How can the Red Society be of use?”
“Before that... there’s a message I need to deliver.”
“A message?”
At Moriarty’s words, Dutrieu blinked in confusion.
“I don’t care much for filth. For squalor and scum.”
“...Excuse me?”
“What I mean is... the Red Society will cease to exist here, as of today.”
