"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 399: Put Down Your Weapons, Child—He Is Douglas!
"This is it."
Aldo pointed to the largest of the mine entrances, his voice trembling with hope and anxiety. "This is one of our tribe's most secret strongholds—our last hope. If they're not here... I truly don't know where else they could be..."
Douglas said nothing. He simply strode forward, leading the way into the mine.
Lupin and Aldo followed close behind.
Inside, the light vanished almost immediately, swallowed by the earth. The air was thick with the damp tang of soil and a lingering scent of rusted metal.
The tunnels twisted and branched like a labyrinth, countless forks leading deeper underground.
Relying on memory, Aldo took the lead, guiding them through this maze—turn after turn, as if they were burrowing toward the heart of the world.
"This is our core sanctuary," he explained, his voice echoing off the stone. "We carved it out years ago to escape both the Church and a rival werewolf clan. For safety, we dug false tunnels everywhere, turned the place into a maze. It takes longer to get anywhere, but it keeps us safe. And there's an underground river running through here. If things go wrong, we can always escape by water."
As they pressed on, the air grew warmer, and the faint sound of running water drifted from somewhere ahead.
Lupin felt it first—the unmistakable scent of werewolves, growing stronger with every step.
At last, behind a massive stalagmite shaped like a beast's fang, they spotted signs of human handiwork: an entrance shored up with thick logs and rough stones.
Beside the entrance, a campfire blazed, orange flames leaping joyfully, pushing back the darkness and cold, filling the air with a fragile sense of warmth and hope.
Hope—so close he could almost touch it.
But just as they took in the scene, two shadows sprang from either side of the entrance—young, quick, and deadly. Spears gleamed, bowstrings were drawn taut, arrowheads aimed straight at their hearts.
Two young warriors.
They wore rough but sturdy leather armor, their faces streaked with camouflage paint, eyes sharp and wild—like panthers ready to pounce.
When they spotted Aldo and the two unfamiliar figures behind him, their weapons rose even higher, fingers tightening on spear and string.
"Don't shoot! It's me—Aldo!"
Aldo called out, stepping forward boldly, letting the unique tribal scent of Ashclaw flow from him—one only their kin could recognize.
The young guards hesitated, confusion flickering in their eyes. But as they recognized Aldo's weathered face and caught that familiar scent, the tension in their arms finally eased.
The older guard slung his bow over his shoulder and rushed to support the breathless Aldo, his voice trembling with relief and disbelief. "Elder Aldo! It's really you! We... we thought you were—"
The second guard kept his spear leveled at Douglas and Lupin, eyes still wary. "Elder, who are they?"
Aldo patted his shoulder, signaling him to stand down. Then he turned, his voice reverent and solemn:
"Lower your weapons, child. This is Professor Douglas Holmes."
He paused, glancing at Lupin. "And this is Mr. Remus Lupin. They've come to help us."
"Douglas Holmes."
The name echoed through the cavern, carrying a strange, almost magical weight.
The two young guards froze, exchanging glances. Their hands trembled on their weapons.
The quicker of the two stared hard at Douglas, eyes filled with shock, suspicion—and a flicker of awe. Without another word, he turned and sprinted into the depths of the cave, his footsteps fading into darkness.
The remaining guard stayed put, spear still held ready, but his posture relaxed, and his eyes shone with barely contained excitement as he looked to Aldo.
Moments later, the sound of hurried but steady footsteps approached from within.
As the steps drew nearer, the last guard lowered his spear, stepping aside with newfound respect.
A tall, broad-shouldered werewolf in his thirties strode out, his face marked with fresh scars and sharp, unyielding eyes—the look of a lone wolf who'd survived countless hunts.
This was Marco, chief of the Ashclaw tribe.
"Aldo!"
Marco's eyes lit up with relief and joy at the sight of his battered elder. He crossed the space in a few strides, catching the swaying Aldo in a firm embrace.
"You're alive—thank the stars! We all thought..."
His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion.
Aldo clung to his chief's arm, his single eye blazing with life again. "Chief! I... I brought Professor Holmes and Mr. Lupin!"
Marco's gaze shifted instantly to Douglas and Lupin. It was a leader's look—steady, appraising, without a hint of submission. Only the gravity of someone who carried his people's fate on his shoulders.
He studied Douglas first—the legendary British wizard that Isabella had spoken of in almost mythical terms. The man before him looked younger than expected, calm, his eyes deep and knowing, as if he saw everything and waited for nothing.
Then he turned to Lupin, sensing a kinship—a werewolf's presence, but gentler, more restrained than any he'd ever met.
"Professor Douglas Holmes. Mr. Remus Lupin."
Marco released Aldo and stepped forward, extending his right hand, its palm and knuckles thick with the calluses of a lifetime of battle.
"I am Marco of Ashclaw. Welcome to our humble refuge, and thank you for braving so much to answer our call for help."
Douglas took his hand—a handshake warm and strong.
"Chief Marco, I'm glad to see you safe. Aldo has told us everything."
"Come in," Marco said, wasting no time on pleasantries. "This isn't the place for talk."
The young sentry, seeing this, finally lowered his spear completely, awe and excitement shining in his eyes as he stepped aside.
Marco led them through the reinforced entrance, deeper into the mine's heart.
Aldo was supported by the older guard, following behind.
Only then did they discover—the real sanctuary lay hidden within.
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